“Is Aunt Clara unwell?” he asked, alarmed.
“No. She is packing.”
“Packing?”
“Her trunk. To leave,” Emma whispered, leaning closer to him and bringing a wave of rose water. “You’d best come in and smooth things over, for she will not listen to me.”
If she refused to heed her most constant voice of reason, that did not bode well for him. Owen moved past Emma and found his aunt near the wardrobe, pointing at the things she wanted placed in the trunks as two maids busied themselves with gathering and folding the garments.
“What is the meaning of this?” Owen asked, commanding the attention of each woman in the room.
Aunt Clara smiled kindly at him. “You must know I cannot remain. It is your home now, Owen.”
“You are being nonsensical. I do not want you to leave. I only returned to Briarstead days ago. Besides, this house cannot very well run without you.”
Aunt Clara grew still, her attention caught on a distant thought that no one else could see. “When you marry, which you certainly shall, your wife will not appreciate finding the old mistress still in residence.”
“You have nothing to fear on that score.”
She crossed the room and stopped just before him, her smile sliding to Emma as though in corroboration. “You’ve returned to England even more handsome than when you left, Owen. You are a good man and a captain, which shows dependability. You will certainly have a trail of proper young ladies once you’ve launched yourself into Society.”
Launch? The very word caused him to shudder. “I am not a fresh young debutante.”
“Which is all the more reason you are a desirable match.”Aunt Clara gentled her voice. “You are now the owner of one of the finest estates in Derbyshire and a significant sum of money. You are in great denial if you believe you shall remain unmatched for more than a twelvemonth.”
“Perhaps I do not wish to find a bride.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Who will inherit if you do not? Cousin Lawrence?” Aunt Clara crossed to the chairs before the fireplace and lowered herself. “Good heavens, my home deserves better than that.”
What had gotten into Aunt Clara? She was being ridiculous. Her ideas bordered on silly, which was not a word he would have previously credited to her.
She almost seemed…manic.
Owen exchanged a look with Emma, but she shrugged ever so slightly.
Crossing the room in long, slow steps, Owen hovered beside the chair across from Aunt Clara’s. “For the sake of argument, let us pretend Ido notget married. Then I shall need you. Without you here, Buckley Place doesn’t have a mistress.”
“You shall soon.”
“But if I do not?”
Aunt Clara did not seem to think this possible. “Such an absurd notion is hardly worth speaking of.”
It felt as though Owen was reasoning with a child. Scrubbing a hand over his face, he searched for a better way.
Emma stepped forward, clasping her hands lightly together in front of her. “What shall Captain Buckley do in the meantime? Surely you can see the wisdom in remaining while he searches for a bride.”
Owen suppressed his irritation atthatnotion as well, for she was fighting on his side, at least.
Aunt Clara looked through the window for a length of time before turning her attention back on Emma with a heavy sigh. “I cannot, Emma.”
The look that passed between the women was long and pregnant. Owen noticed the moment Emma relented, her shoulders dropping as she gave a slight nod. “I understand.”
What the devil did that mean? She understood what, exactly? Owen looked between them, noting the resignation and sensing his grasp on the situation slipping away.
“Come, Mrs. Buckley,” Emma said. “I can help you finish packing.”
Aunt Clara stood, a weary set to her eyes Owen hadn’t noticed before.
