Emma stared at her. She didn’t know where that had come from or why the cook felt the need to say so.
“Your guests are waiting,” Cook urged gently.
When Emma paused outside the parlor, she could hear Sophia, Mr. Yardley, and Owen speaking quietly. They sounded as though they had little cares, discussing the merits of sea-bathing as a remedy for illness. She considered the great expanse between them—how years ago, when her parents were alive and still the owners of Thornbrook Hall, they considered the Yardleys just as far below them as they did Owen.
How it would have repulsed them, if they were to see the situations reversed. How Father would have been disappointed to see her now.
She pushed the thoughts aside and arranged a smile on her face as she entered the parlor. Owen looked up first, rising the moment he noticed her. His gray eyes tracked her movement, heat rising beneath her skin, her steps growing heavy.
She dropped a faint curtsy. “Good day.”
The reply chorused.
“To what do I owe this pleasure?” she asked.
Sophia, the only person who had not stood when Emma entered the room, grinned as though she held a tightly guarded secret. She leaned forward, waiting for Emma to take the seat beside her. “We’ve come to persuade you to ride out with us tomorrow morning.”
“Oh.” Emma sat more sharply than she’d meant to, landing on the cushion with a soft thump.
Owen watched her with concern as he sat opposite her, Mr. Yardley settling beside him. “There are horses in the stables you may use.”
“It is kind of you to think of me, but I’m afraid it’s been much too long since I’ve ridden a horse. Besides, I am needed here.”
Sophia’s grin turned catlike. “Mrs. Buckley knew you might say something of the sort. She encouraged us to ask you to join us.”
Emma’s expression froze. She could sense Owen’s attention heavily on her, but it took a moment to process the information. For some reason, all she could think of was his mouth formingthe words that she was like a sister to him. If she was akin to a sister, who did he look at romantically?
“I have no riding habit anymore,” she finally said, the first logical argument to enter her thoughts. “But I do appreciate your consideration.”
Sophia pouted. “If you will not ride with us, will you walk? I shall not be forced to endure my brother’s company alone any longer, Miss Darling. I need a woman at my side.”
“Do not apply such pressure, Sophia.” Mr. Yardley clicked his tongue. “You shall frighten poor Miss Darling away.”
“That is impossible,” Owen muttered. “Nothing scares Miss Darling. She is formidable.”
Emma gave a quiet scoff. “You paint me in a far more flattering light than I deserve.”
He regarded her closely. “I only speak the truth.”
Sophia clapped her hands. “We shall have a picnic.”
“When the ground is still so cold it is nearly frozen?” Mr. Yardley countered. His sister glared at him.
“Do you still paint?” Owen asked suddenly.
Emma’s gaze jumped to his. Her thoughts traveled to the trunk in her room and the thick paper lying within it, the portrait she should never have done. If he was referencing that painting now, he was being entirely unfair. Her hands curled together on her lap. “I haven’t in some time. The skill is probably lost to me.”
“You were a natural, from what I recall.”
“Thenthatis what we shall do!” Sophia looked from the men to Emma. “We shall paint together. I will bring my watercolors.”
“All of us?” Mr. Yardley asked, looking amused.
“You could be our subjects if you’d prefer.”
Emma coughed, choking on the irony of the situation. She could not bring herself to look at Owen, but he was doing nothing to dissuade Sophia’s ridiculous ideas.
“Perhaps the horses could be your subjects,” he suggested. “They’re much easier to look at for extended periods.”
