“I would not say so,” Sophia argued, her gaze locking on Owen. The room drew quiet under her pointed flirtation. “But if you would prefer, we can find something else.”
Mr. Yardley crossed an ankle over his knee. “If given the optionnotto sit in one place for a great length of time, I would choose it.”
The conversation shifted to what could make the best focus for their paintings, Emma providing her input when asked, until they settled back on horses again. It was dangerous to make comparisons, but in this small parlor, she felt at ease, sliding into the role of hostess as though the cottage was hers and she had every right to entertain in that room. The hands on the clock moved at a decent clip. By the time a half hour had passed and the Yardley siblings rose to leave, she was anxiously aware of how much she had liked speaking with Sophia. Mr. Yardley still made her uneasy, though not as terribly as he once had.
Perhaps all she had needed was to live in a smaller house. Everything about this cottage since moving in had lent itself to her comfort and building more comfortable relationships. For one as lonely as Emma had been, the budding friendships she was forming were a healing salve.
Emma walked them to the door, her fingers lightly circling her own wrist. “Mrs. Buckley may consent to sitting for a portrait.”
“That would be beyond my skill level,” Sophia said, “but I would dearly love to watch you accomplish something of the sort.”
“I am out of practice.”
“Then I suppose you ought to do just that,” Sophia quipped, her smile dimpling. Her complexion was smooth, her hair straddling the line between brown and blonde. She was beautiful, and her pleasant demeanor made her all the more so. She wouldmake Owen a fine wife, should he fall under her charming spell. “We shall see you in the morning. I am looking forward to it.”
“As am I.” Emma waited at the door as they departed.
Owen held his hat and ran his fingers over the dark brim, his cloudy gray eyes fixed on the floorboards at their feet. “Aunt Clara would likely appreciate your company at present.”
“Did she say as much?”
“No.” He lifted his gaze. “She is entertaining my parents in the drawing room, however.”
Emma took an involuntary step forward, anxious to protect Owen from the barrage of feelings that must have accompanied their arrival. She was keenly aware of the way he’d been made to feel like an outsider within his own family as a child—how he did not find solace until coming to Buckley Place. “When did they arrive?”
“Nearly the same time as the Yardleys.”
Her eyes flicked to where the brother and sister had stopped on the path, waiting for Owen. “Yet they remained?”
“It is no matter. Aunt Clara practically pushed us out the door in search of you. I haven’t any notion what her motives are, but there is no question she has them.” He gave his head a small shake. “I thought you ought to be warned. She could likely use your support.”
“Of course. I will…I’ll fetch a bonnet and go to her directly.”
Owen’s eyes moved over her face, seeming to take in every detail without settling on any one of them for long. “Thank you.”
“Are you…” She swallowed, hesitating.
“Yes?”
Emma longed to ask whether he was well. He had been subdued. One would expect a more joyful man after reuniting with his parents after so long, yet she knew better, and his pensive attitude confirmed her concerns.
But asking him how he was doing now crossed theboundaries of friendship. They had called a truce. Peace between the lands. Nothing more.
She needed to remain within the sphere of her station. “Are you dining at Buckley Place this evening? With your mother and father here, I assume we will not have your company at the cottage as we’d originally planned.”
“I had not intended to alter my plans.”
Emma’s gaze flicked toward the kitchen door. “I’m not sure Cook has time to prepare enough food for more…if you will wait a moment, I can inquire with her?—”
“That is unnecessary. My mother will undoubtedly take a tray in her room this evening. Travel tends to tire her. And my father would never impose at so late a stage. Our plans need not change in any manner.”
“Should you not…very well, Owen. But if anything is to change, you need only send a note. You know we will not stand on much ceremony here. Mrs. Buckley will take no offense if you remain at home and eat with your father.”
His mouth ticked up in the barest of smiles. “I am fully aware.”
Emma watched him join the Yardleys and begin the trek toward the big house before turning back to fetch her bonnet and gloves. There was certainly a shift occurring, and in some ways she felt inordinately blessed, but in others, apprehensive.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
