Owen chuckled, surprised by the vehemence in Emma’s tone. “It is not exactly a secret.”
“It is best left forgotten, though.”
“Agreed.” He nodded, relaxing into his chair. “I put her at ease, assuring her we could be friends as we once were, that living here together was not a trial for either of us. It would be good if we could both prove that to her.”
Emma lifted her chin, searching his eyes. “Which is why you wanted to share dinner tonight. If the servants report that we were amiable, she will relax.”
“Precisely.”
She lifted her glass and took a sip of wine, then pressed her lips together, drawing his attention to her mouth. Those soft lips which had once bent so pliably beneath his.
“Very well.”
So distracted had he been, Owen didn’t knowexactlywhat Emma had agreed to. All he could think of were the moments they’d shared years ago in the garden outside of this house…at the piano in Thornbrook Hall…in the forest after a ride on that particularly sunny day…
Silence pulled taut between them, the only sounds in the dining room those of forks and knives against their plates. Owen cut another bite of his dinner and realized, with a start, that had they been married so long ago as he’d once wished,they would likely be eating their dinner in this same situation, together, after receiving the news of his inheritance. The difference being Emma would be his wife.
He cut too hard, and his knife hit the plate with a loud clink. He set it down, feeling his heart hammering as Emma watched him with confusion. It wasn’t good to think of the past. Indeed, it had no bearing on their present situation. So many years had dulled the consistency with which he’d used to think of her. Now that she had been thrown into his orbit again, he could think of little else.
That needed to change.
“Tell me of your family,” he said, hoping a new conversation would raise them to more neutral ground. He raised his napkin to his lips.
Emma blinked, her hands raised slightly above her plate, her fork and knife hovering there. “Shortly after you left, both of my parents contracted smallpox.”
Owen lowered his napkin, afraid of the information that came next.
“I was sent to stay here, with the Buckleys, since I had not had the pox before, and it saved my life. Unfortunately, neither of my parents were spared.”
“Emma, I did not know.”
She shook her head slightly, looking at the table. “It was a long time ago.”
The way she came to be in this house was only half answered, for that did not explain why she was not presently married to Lord Gifford.
“But enough about me. Would you care to tell me of your time in India? I admit I am curious to hear what you liked about it.”
Because he surely must have loved the place to remain so long, or so she must assume. He would not reveal the truth—the driving force in his continued absence or how easy it hadbeen to stay away once he had gone. Owen leaned back in his chair, his appetite entirely fled, his attention on Emma. He could describe the adventurous country that had stolen a bit of his heart. She would enjoy his anecdotes.
“First, let me tell you of the monkeys.”
A quick lookin Primrose End proved the cottage was ages away from being ready for habitation. Owen had begun a list of needed repairs but found his memory shortly insufficient to remember everything. He would need to return again with a workman who could provide a reasonable estimate of time and cost.
But his first order of business would be to discuss the place with his aunt.
Buckley Place was lit by the noonday sun, highlighting its grandeur. The windows shone. The stone stood out against the rolling hills beyond and the bare trees in the distance. Gravel shifted beneath his boots as he walked, and the sound of distant birdsong heralded the near arrival of spring.
He was cold, but soon enough the earth would warm as they edged closer to summer. Where would Owen be then? Still at Buckley Place or back in Yorkshire?
His stomach turned at the very notion. There might be a house near his parents for sale, but if Owen could find a better situated one, he would.
Something near Briarstead, for instance.
There was no reason he should not choose a place close to his aunt.
He made his way inside and up toward Aunt Clara’s parlor, but she was not within. A brief search led him to her bedchamber, where he heard clattering as he knocked on the door.
Emma opened it, her eyes wide. “Thank heavens you’ve arrived. You are needed swiftly.”
