Owen swore. “Where have you put them? Have you informed my aunt?”
Slater remained composed. “In the drawing room. A footman is prepared to go directly to Primrose End, but we are awaiting your direction.”
Somehow, Owen doubted that. He was not so disillusioned as to believe the servants’ loyalty shifted to him with ownership of the house. Aunt Clara would always be chief in their hearts, as she should be. He would wager someone was already on route to inform her of the new visitors.
“She ought to be warned immediately, and ask the person who speaks with her to bring me instruction on how she would like to proceed. If she would like me to keep them away from her, I will find a way. Easily.”
Slater bowed, turning away.
Owen stood in the sun-brightened corridor and drew in a breath for patience. He loved his parents, but he was not blind to their faults or to the way their presence in the house was likely going to make Aunt Clara uncomfortable. They should have at least waited a year after he took up residence. The bedroom she had vacated was hardly cooled.
His eyes drifted closed, and he inhaled, drawing from a deep well of patience to fill his reservoir.
His mother had died during childbirth, and though his father had waited until after his second birthday to remarry, he never remembered life without Catherine Buckley as his mother. But their relationship had strains, a shirt which had been pulled and stretched in the wrong places, fitting uncomfortably though well enough for the small discomforts to be ignored.
They each wanted to love the other, so they did their best. But while Owen could have found his way there, he doubted Catherine could have overcome the pain of never having children of her own.
Owen had not felt comfortable in his own skin until hebegan coming to visit his aunt and uncle at Buckley Place. Here, he had never questioned whether he was wanted.
It was part of the reason Uncle Edward and his father had not gotten along. Uncle Edward hadn’t liked the way Owen was disregarded at home—ignored. He’d once offered for Owen to live at Buckley Place indefinitely, but Owen’s father hadn’t liked the insinuations couched in the proposal and promptly took him home. He’d been eight years old at the time, and devastation was a small word for what he had felt.
A decade of space and time had not provided Owen enough room to overcome his entire past. As he pushed the door open to the drawing room and spotted his parents seated together on the blue sofa, heads bent together in conversation, his heart gave a painful pang. Would it always feel like a divide spanned the space between them? The two of them on one side, he on the other? He wanted to be included—missed, even. Evidently, he had not outgrown his youthful desires.
Owen cleared his throat, emotion lodged there, and placed a bright smile on his face as he strode into the room. “It is good to see you, Mother.” He shifted his attention. “Father.”
The pair of them rose. Catherine’s dark hair was now streaked with lines of silver, her figure rounder and her skin warmer. She appeared more pleasant, her smile growing as he crossed the room, imbuing him with warmth and a sense of hope. Father, on the other hand, looked far older than the last decade allotted for. His skin was pale, and his hair had receded so far as to be nearly gone. He was thin, which made him appear even taller, though Owen could look him squarely in the eye.
“My, you have grown,” Catherine said, affection coloring her tone. Her hand rose in offering and Owen took it, pressing her fingers before accepting a hug. She smelled of orange blossom and powder, immediately transporting him back to his childhood.
He stepped out of her grip and accepted his father’s embrace,inhaling tobacco and Bay Rum. When he had written to supply an update on Uncle Edward’s will, he hadn’t expected a visit. It had been the excuse he needed to explain why he still had not returned home. Now that their company was thrust upon him, he couldn’t stave off the guilt any longer.
“I am sorry for not coming home sooner.” The excuses tied up in Buckley Place and Aunt Clara stuttered on his tongue. He could not bring himself to speak them aloud—not when they were intricately tied up with Emma. If he was being honest.
Catherine clicked her tongue. “You’ve had too much to worry about lately. Do not concern yourself with that.”
“We thought it would be a while yet before you might be able to tear yourself away from your responsibilities here.” Father glanced over his shoulder at the sofa, moving to take a seat after Owen gestured to it. “Our aim was to remove an item from your list of burdens.”
“You could never be a burden.” He spoke of habit and obligation more than reality.
“Perhaps not, but the time away could very well be.” Father spoke plainly, his logic level and sensible. He let out a soft groan as he settled onto the sofa.
Catherine sat primly beside him. “We are here for as long as you need us, Owen. You shan’t find yourself without support, I promise you.”
The faint beginnings of misgiving edged into his chest. “It was kind of you to make the journey, but you need not put yourself out. I’ve hired a bailiff, and he’s set about looking at the books and ensuring everything is in order. The household staff is well-oiled and needs no alterations. Aunt Clara has done a fine job of maintaining the estate.”
The lie shriveled in his mouth.Emmahad done a fine job of it. He did not know why he had not mentioned her name.
“She is no doubt grateful to pass the burden on to another,” Catherine said.
The words were sour, not only in their falsehood, but because of who they came from. Owen didn’t wish to isolate his mother upon her arrival, but he could not stand for his aunt being spoken of in such a manner when she had done so much for him—had stepped in, filling the spaces in his heart that had been left bare.
He cleared his throat, straightening his shoulders. “On the contrary. These last few weeks?—”
“What a nice surprise,” Aunt Clara said, cutting his words to the hilt as she swept into the room. Her timing and uncharacteristic disruption led Owen to believe she had heard the conversation. For why else would she have wished to put an end to it? “I did not realize we were going to be blessed with your company.”
“We could not stay away,” Catherine said.
The women embraced. “I hope you will forgive my impertinence, but I was unaware of the reunion taking place. I brought Owen’s friends, who’ve come for a visit. They should be here any mom—ah, there they are.”
