He was confident in the fact that he mattered. But it did not extend to becoming the gentleman farmer of such a grand estate as Buckley Place.
He would find a way to give Aunt Clara her home back. He’d spoken to Mr. Hobbs when they’d walked to the door, and the solicitor confirmed what Owen feared: the inheritance could not be reversed. Owen could not simply refuse to accept it. If he did, it would pass to the next person in line—which was, in fact, Owen—so it was a moot point. The estate was his. But it could legally be in his name while remaining under Aunt Clara’s control. There would be a way, surely.
“If I recall correctly, you used to hate wine,” Emma said.
Owen looked at her sharply. “That has somewhat changed. I would not choose it, but when offered the drink, I can stomach it now.”
“Why do you not ask for something else? This is your house now, Captain.”
His entire body tensed. “It should not be.”
“We are of one mind there, but the facts remain. You ought to accept matters as they are if we are to proceed. I cannot guide both you and Mrs. Buckley through this situation by the leading strings.”
A deep laugh escaped him. “No, I dare say you shall not. But no one need be led anywhere. Aunt Clara will remain precisely where she is. Nothing has to change.”
Emma’s head tilted to the side the smallest amount. Her wide, round eyes soaked in his face with a thoroughness that had him beginning to squirm. “She is proud, Captain. I will be very surprised if you can do anything more than convince her to take up residence at Primrose End.”
“The cottage at the edge of the property? Does the gardener not live there?”
“No, it is more of a dower house than a workman’s lodge. Though I do not believe it has been inhabited in some years. You could perhaps delay her move with the promise to rig it out with updated furniture and manage some much-needed repairs.” Emma looked at her empty glass, her dark honey brows pulling together. “I do not think she will find herself comfortable until she is installed as the mistress of an establishment, even a small one.”
“We shall see what she says tomorrow, after she has been able to sleep.”
Emma’s green eyes flicked up. “Of course. This is all speculation.”
Owen would lay odds she had been correct about each of her assumptions that evening. It was made perfectly clear to him over the previous few days that Emma knew his aunt very well, almost capable of predicting her needs before Aunt Clara couldsense them. She seemed the best of companions, and she did a great service keeping his aunt company here.
The footmen took away their soup and filled the table with the remaining dishes that made up their dinner. Owen ate, chewing his beef as he contemplated what his next steps ought to be.
When his attention fell upon Emma once more, he recognized the immense help she could potentially provide, but his stubborn nature slammed down like a stone wall. He was prideful. Was it wrong of him to want to succeed without her assistance? To show through his actions how little he needed her?
He’d already dismissed her bailiff duties. He couldn’t dismiss her as his aunt’s companion, nor did he wish to. But he could prove that he was capable of seeing to things on his own.
“Perhaps Mrs. Buckley will wish to travel with you to Yorkshire to visit your parents,” Emma suggested, pulling him from the pit of his thoughts.
Had she no notion of the discomfort between them? “I do not think that would be her first choice.”
“To see the brother of her husband?”
He lifted an eyebrow. “How many times have my parents visited Briarstead in my absence?”
Emma blinked. “Never.”
“As I suspected,” Owen continued. “The brothers were not on the friendliest of terms.”
“It could be different for their wives, could it not?”
“Perhaps, but I will not pressure her while she is grieving. She would likely prefer to be surrounded by people who liked Uncle Edward.”
“Then I will not suggest it.” Emma nodded, chewing her bite of potato. “But I am concerned…she was speaking with Mrs. Wickerton in town today, and afterward was all out of sorts. I’m uncertain what the woman said to put her in a state, but she was asking if I consider Buckley Place my home. Perhaps we ought to learn what the root of that was in case it has any bearing on where she wants to live.”
Owen glanced up. “Mrs. Wickerton.” That certainly explained Aunt Clara’s sudden questioning earlier about their past.
“What is it?” Emma sat up. “You know something.”
“She asked me about the state of our past friendship and if it is difficult to be in the same house now.”
“Thatgossip. Can she not mind her tongue for once?”
