Emma looked up, exchanging a glance with Owen. It was no coincidence she used the same language Emma had used earlier. Since resting earlier that afternoon, Emma had set to reminding Mrs. Buckley of the reasons it would be wise to take her move from Buckley Place slowly. Leaving first for the dower house would be a good step. She had plenty of time to vacate the estate entirely before major changes were made if she felt the need.
“The invitation to the Yardleys’ house for dinner was renewed in the post today,” Owen said. “It included Emma.”
Emma nearly dropped her fork.
“That is a wonderful notion. Perhaps we should accept now that my half mourning gowns will shortly be arriving.” Mrs. Buckley sounded thoughtful. “Since this home is no longermine, I cannot throw your welcome dinner, Owen. We ought to accept invitations so you can meet the neighbors.”
The look he cast her was equal parts disgust and dismay.
Emma spoke quickly to change the subject. “I am not typically included, for good reason. You should both attend, but it would be uncomfortable for the others there if I accept,” she argued.
Mrs. Buckley stood her ground. “It would make the affair infinitely more comfortable for me, though. Does that not hold merit?”
Emma struggled to think of an excuse quickly enough. Surely Mrs. Buckley understood the root of her reticence, the reasons it would be difficult for her. She had not returned to the house she grew up in since leaving it all those years ago. To do so now when it was likely wholly changed would be strange.
To say nothing for the way she had fallen in station and the uneasiness her presence might bring to the other guests.
“Your comfort is chief among my thoughts,” Emma said honestly. Indeed, it was her occupation. She lifted her wine glass to quench her dry throat. “If you prefer it, I will join you.”
“I would. Now that we’ve settled that matter, you can reply to accept, Owen.”
He glanced at Emma, eyes narrowed. “Mr. Yardley seemed perfectly amiable toward you when we met in the…uh, the lane upon my arrival in town. Surely he would only invite you if your station mattered little to him.”
Emma took another swallow of wine. Owen must not know where the Yardleys lived now—that they’d sold their house and moved into Thornbrook Hall after her parents died. She nodded. “He has always been pleasant.”
Too pleasant on occasion, but she determined to keep that part to herself.
“His sister is a pretty little thing, Owen. Good family, too.They come from trade, but you don’t care for that. You might want to consider her.”
“Thank you, Aunt Clara, but I am not looking for a wife just yet. I have other things to manage first.”
“Like your school for boys,” she supplied.
“Precisely. Which, I must say, I need to schedule my visit to Yorkshire soon. I will plan to leave after the Yardleys’ dinner party.”
Mrs. Buckley lowered her knife and fork. “But you will return? You will not leave Buckley Place without a master?”
“Will you stay here if I say no?”
She scowled. “No.”
He sighed. “Yes, Aunt. I will return after I’ve settled a few affairs and visited my parents.”
She gave a concise nod, placing her attention on her meal again.
Emma couldn’t determine the root of her strange behavior, but it appeared Owen could not either. His brows pulled together, confusion whipping his eyes to her. They shared a look void of understanding before Emma could not bear it anymore and tore her gaze away. The fledgling trust they had been operating under since the reading of the will was delicate and brittle. She feared too much weight would snap it.
It was best to keep her distance, after all.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The Presleys’roof took two days to fix entirely, but once it had been managed, Owen absorbed the rewarding accomplishment that came from working with his hands. He had done so less and less since his promotion to captain, and he had missed exhausting his body to the point of sound, undisturbed sleep.
He immediately took to engaging the workmen who had begun the projects Uncle Edward had left unfinished. He trusted them to know his uncle’s vision and to be skilled and reliable. Uncle Edward had chosen them, after all.
It would take some time for the east wing to be completed, but the staircase would be finished soon, the spindles installed, and that side of the house would become far less dangerous.
Aunt Clara, however, had not altered her opinions much in the week since the will had been read. Owen ceased trying to convince her to remain at Buckley Place and instead poured his focus into keeping her at Primrose End. The repairs and cleaning had begun for the small cottage, and soon they could move her things over.
