A dull sheen coated her eyes. “Yes. You always know just the thing. I was looking forward to Cook’s soup. Mr. Graveley, say you will join us.”
“I’m afraid I promised to eat dinner with my wife tonight, but I thank you for the invitation.”
“Of course, Rector. Thank you for joining us. We will need to speak soon about acquiring the organ. I am sure you would like to replace the current instrument with haste.”
“I am in no hurry, madam. You certainly have other things on your mind of much more import than our organ.”
“You are too kind, Mr. Graveley.” Mrs. Buckley stood to walk him to the door while Mr. Hobbs collected his things.
Owen groaned softly. “I cannot believe?—”
“You need not tell me,” Emma whispered. “Tell your aunt.”
He reared back in surprise. “You are angry with me?”
“No, that would be silly.”
“Yet you look as though your eyes are shooting fire at me.”
“Captain Buckley,” Mr. Hobbs said, interrupting their conversation. “I took the liberty of beginning the probate process and filing the will when I wrote to you. Death duties and debts have been taken care of, so Mrs. Buckley did not need to burden her mind with those things, and ownership is very nearly in your name. If I need you to sign anything, I will return in a few days’ time. Will that suit? Shall I find you here or will you be elsewhere?”
Owen appeared lost for a moment. “I will remain here for the next week if you need me to, but I have other matters I need to see to in Yorkshire. I cannot remain—I do not intend tolivehere.”
“It is your house, sir,” Mr. Hobbs said after some silence. When he seemed to notice that Owen refused to continue that conversation, he relented. “I will do my best to manage the business swiftly.”
“Thank you,” Owen said weakly, seeing Mr. Hobbs to the door.
Emma needed a moment to think. She set her cold tea on the table, frowning at the clear liquid. It was unfair to hold Owen to account for things Mr. Buckley did, but it felt unjust to be angry with a dead man—especially a dead man who had done so much for her. But to leave everything to his nephew? Hisnephew? When the estate was not entailed and his wife was alive and perfectly capable of running a household on her own? Goodness, but what was Mrs. Buckley meant to do? Sponge off Owen’s generosity? Surely that was what Mr. Buckley had imagined, but he certainly didn’t know his wife very well if that was the case. She would sooner consider herself a burden and find somewhere else to live.
In two years, when Emma turned thirty and finally aged into receiving her dowry, she would have more money than Mrs. Buckley, which was not saying much. The entire world had flipped in the stroke of a pen.
Emma looked to the doorway and realized she had been left alone. Mrs. Buckley had disappeared, and Owen was gone now as well, both of them guiding guests away. She sat in the silence of the large drawing room, not allowing herself to wonder what would become of her if Mrs. Buckley did not possess the funds to pay her wage now.
She stood, shaking the tiresome thoughts away. Owen wouldnot leave his aunt destitute. She was a proud woman, but he was a good man.
That much, at least, had not changed.
Though he owed Emma nothing. He could provide for his aunt whilst refusing to pay the wage of her companion. It would be within his power to have her dismissed immediately, should he see fit to do so.
Emma took herself to the dining room in search of Mrs. Buckley. She entered it, only to find Owen standing at the table, speaking to Mrs. Rooney. By the look of barely veiled concern on the housekeeper’s face, word of the will had already spread through the servants.
Who had been standing at the door, listening in, Emma wondered?
They turned in Emma’s direction in unison.
“Mrs. Buckley has asked for a tray in her room tonight,” Mrs. Rooney said. “She will not have dinner in here.”
“Thank you. I will go to her.”
“No.” An apologetic look creased Mrs. Rooney’s brows and mouth. “She requested to be left alone.”
Emma stood still, unsure what to say. In the nine years of her residence at Buckley Place, the only time Mrs. Buckley had asked Emma to stay out of her room was when she had contracted a sore throat and feared passing it on to Emma. Since Emma’s parents had died from the pox only six months before, it was only a somewhat reasonable request.
With every illness since then, she had relented and accepted Emma’s ministrations. This heartbreak was evidently something she needed to face on her own.
“Dinner is ready, however, and shall be out shortly,” Mrs. Rooney said.
Emma looked up directly into Owen’s eyes. She could not dine with him.Alone. She searched her mind for a reasonable excuse. “I will take my dinner upstairs as well, Mrs. Rooney.”
