Simon and Sophia Yardley entered the room at a much slower pace. They made a beautiful image together, Simon’s dark blond hair combed neatly forward and Sophia the very image of beauty and youth. Her pale pink gown matched the ribbon on her bonnet, framing such dark blonde hair it appeared brown in this light. Her skin was pale and smooth, but her eyes, much like her brother’s, were dark and sharp, their brown pools fixed on Owen.
“We should have chosen a better time to call,” Simon said.
“Nonsense.” Aunt Clara was overly exuberant. “My nephew needs young people to pull him away from his uncle’s old desk.”
Sophia brightened. “Splendid! That is precisely what we intend to do.”
Owen performed the introductions before the conversation could carry on any further. He wanted to ask why Emma had not accompanied them inside but bit his tongue.
He stood beside Simon while Sophia took the last available seat, the remaining cushions being too far from the group to be worthy choices.
“We hoped to entice you out for a ride with us,” Simon said, somewhat sheepishly. “Though now that we’ve met your company, we will settle for inviting you to ride out with us another time.”
“I would enjoy that.”
“Perhaps tomorrow?” Simon asked.
“Where is Miss Darling?” Sophia cut in. “She should come as well.”
Simon shot his sister a glance, but she ignored it.
“She should,” Aunt Clara agreed, “but she will likely refuse the treat. Emma has not made time for riding in years.”
Sophia seemed to take this as a challenge. “Can we persuade her?”
“You may try. She is currently at Primrose End managing a number of domestic things. I recommend you go together, for there is strength in numbers.”
Owen glanced at his aunt, his eyes narrowing. Her tone was so light as to border on flippant, though he couldn’t understand why. This was not the woman he had met when he returned to Buckley Place a month ago. Her attitude was altered, and she clearly had ulterior motives. Emma had been a skilled rider when he courted her. But when he had offered her use of his horse to return to Buckley Place on one of his first days back in Briarstead, she had outright refused. Indeed, she had looked at Philosopher as though he was a brutish beast.
Had something happened to give her an aversion to riding? Or was she merely out of practice?
“We have yet to visit Primrose End,” Simon said.
“Did you move into the dower house?” Catherine asked, leaning slightly away to better see Aunt Clara’s face. “I would have thought you would remain here with Owen.”
Aunt Clara’s expression shuttered. “I wouldn’t wish to be in the way. Primrose End has been a blessing. It is the perfect size for an old woman like me.”
No one in the room commented on the fact that Aunt Clara was noticeably younger than both of Owen’s parents.
The room grew thick with discomfort, years of fraught dinners and unpleasant brotherly encounters filling the space, until Owen had had enough. He gestured toward the door. “Simon, Miss Yardley, would you care to speak to Miss Darling now? I am happy to show you the way to Primrose End. It’s a short walk around the side of the house.”
“Not very short,” Aunt Clara said. “But you are all young and spry. It will be no challenge for the group of you, and Emma could do with a little diversion.”
Owen held his aunt’s gaze. She was up to something. In as long as he’d known her, he hadn’t once seen her willingly choose to spend time in his parents’ company. She lifted her chin, challenging him, and he finally relented. This was not the time or place to question her motives.
“Well, Yardleys. Shall we?”
Miss Yardley eagerly rose, taking Owen primly by the arm and lifting the long skirt of her habit with her free hand. “I’d be delighted.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The cottage was quiet.Mrs. Buckley had gone to the big house to speak to the housekeeper about personal matters—as she’d phrased it—and did not need Emma’s assistance, leaving her free for the afternoon. Since the cottage had just been cleaned and set to rights, there was little to do in the way of household management.
Emma had not been idle in nearly a decade. Thirty minutes of pattering around in search of purpose left her feeling antsy and uncomfortable.
She made her way into the kitchen where Cook was working on the components of dinner already. “Is there anything you’d like help with?”
“From you, Miss Darling? I think not. Wouldn’t want to spoil your nice dress.”
