Emma stopped. “What is this for?”
“We are being sent on an errand to Danesbrook to fetch servants for Primrose End. If you would like to be excused from the duty, I will take you home first. I was instructed to bring you, but I will not do so against your will.”
“Kidnap me? You could never do such a thing.” Her gaze dipped to his arms, giving him the unaccountable need to flexhis muscles, even though she would never be able to notice through the many layers of his coats. He would not allow himself to imagine throwing her over his shoulder and carrying her away. That would be dangerous to his well-being.
Instead, he flashed her a smile. “I am capable, but I would never have need to take such measures.” He lifted a hand for her and she took it, climbing up onto the bench seat and settling in.
“That is confident of you.”
Owen climbed up and sat beside her, his leg pressing against hers out of necessity. He focused on holding the reins. “For all you know, Aunt Clara is unaware that I’ve taken this wagon, and I am spiriting you away now.”
Emma laughed as he flicked the reins, urging the horses to walk on. “Are we for Gretna Green then?”
“Of course not.”
“You needn’t sound so appalled.”
“I’m not.” He commanded the horses to go faster. “If I were going to marry you, Emma, it would not be in secrecy, running from everyone we love. It would be a celebration.”
Her attention burned against the side of his face.
“To be clear,” he asked. “Youdowish to come to Danesbrook and select the servants, yes?”
“I am happy to help.”
“Good. Just making sure I am not kidnapping you.”
Emma’s laughter rang out again. She bumped her shoulder into his. “You sound just like?—”
She fell quiet, nothing but the rumble of the wheels on the road and the horses’ hooves clopping to fill their ears.
“Who do I sound like?”
Emma cleared her throat. “Yourself…you, only…the man I knew nine years ago.”
Owen felt a twinge in his heart. He hadfeltthe carefree man he was able to be then, as well.
She sounded thoughtful. “Since you’ve returned, there has been a heaviness about you that I cannot quite put a name to. As though you carry the weight of burdens around with you.”
He did. War changed a man, but so did time and distance away from his family. Emma had been aware of the struggle he’d felt being good enough for his father and stepmother. The men he’d lost in India had only added to his grief. Those trials remained with a person. They were not burdens one could pick up and put down at will, but instead quietly absorbed into the very nature of his soul, altering the shape of his mind and thoughts and feelings.
He was better for it in some ways and worse in others. But he was different.
“I’ve experienced some great losses,” he finally said. “Some things I chose to sacrifice, and others I had no part in deciding—they were chosen for me. I did not have a say in the matter of a man sacrificing much of himself to save my life.” Owen cleared his throat, keeping his gaze on the road. “There are things I can never take back, and I will forever be changed because of them. I imagine you feel much the same way.”
“I do. Though I’d hardly compare my change in station to war.”
“I was thinking of the loss of your parents.”
Emma nodded. “That grief was all-consuming for a time, but yes…I see what you mean.”
“Each day I think of the men who gave so much for me, more than you could possibly comprehend, and I do my best to live worthy of their sacrifices.”
“Oh, Owen…” Emma turned on the bench, her knee digging into his leg. “You speak as though you must justify your survival.”
“Not exactly.” He could hardly breathe with her so close, the smell of her rose water wafting beneath his nose. “Only that I make it worth it.”
She shook her head, reaching for him, her hand pressing into his forearm. “You do not dishonor your men by living happily. Their sacrifices were not debts meant for repayment. None of them signed on for that. You certainly didn’t. They were gifts freely given.”
