“I knew you would feel that way.” He returned to the shelves, selecting a brown leather-bound novel. “It is a good thing I love my home, or Catherine might be convinced to pack our things and move to Derbyshire.”
Owen laughed, but the rope around his insides cinched further. “I need to dress for dinner. Enjoy your book, Father.”
“I shall.”
Dinner at PrimroseEnd was a breath of fresh air. Owen sat between Aunt Clara and Emma, sinking into the intimacy of a small meal with minimal company. He had a feeling things would be different from here on out. Changes did not merely loom on the horizon; they were already upon him, breaking down the door and forcing their way inside.
“Have you made any progress on your school for poor boys?” Aunt Clara asked, cutting into her lamb with little care.
Owen sipped his wine. “Not recently. I have written to a few friends of mine about a property and the possibility of investing, but I have yet to visit the estate in question. I would like to find something nearer than Yorkshire, to be honest.”
Aunt Clara’s knife and fork stilled above her plate. “Did you not consider…Owen, you have the estate now. It would fit all manner of brats inside and classrooms besides.”
He choked on his drink. “The last thing I would do with Uncle Edward’s legacy is convert it into aschool.”
Silence settled over the room.
Emma cleared her throat gently. “If Mrs. Buckley supplied her permission?—”
“Out of the question.” He watched Aunt Clara for a reaction. Wasthatwhy she had been soquick to move? Could she not bear to see her home overrun with small boys? When she had bandied about the excuse that he would shortly be married and she did not wish to be in the way of a new mistress, it had only been an excuse. Surely the school was the true reason. “Buckley Place will remain the family estate for as long as I have control over it.”
“Owen, truly,” Aunt Clara said.
“Uncle Edward did not intend for you to be ousted from your home and then forced to watch it be converted into a school. OfthatI am certain.” He cut a bite of lamb with more force than was strictly necessary. “Now, perhaps we should speak of more pleasant things.”
“Like your parents,” Emma said brightly. “Are they settling in?”
“Yes, quite comfortably. As far as I am aware, they are settling in for a good long while.”
Aunt Clara chuckled. “Did you expect any less?”
“I suppose not.” Indeed, once he saw Catherine and his father in the drawing room, he felt it was an image he ought to grow accustomed to.
“After so great a distance and time apart, they must have missed you immensely,” Emma said.
Owen had no ready reply, so he took a bite instead, buying himself time to chew. “I might believe that more readily had they sent me more than three letters in the last nine years,” he muttered.
Emma glanced at him sharply.
Aunt Clara did not act as though she had heard him. Which was just as well. He had been surly. Childish. It was not the behavior of a grown man.
“Em—Miss Darling, tell me of your painting these last few years.”
She looked at him, her eyes soaking in every facet of his expression. He felt naked beneath her gaze. If she was decidinghow to reply, he hoped she would lean toward something insipid and meaningless. Anything to distract him.
“Instead, why don’t I tell you of the people you are bound to be introduced to now that your parents have joined you?” She smiled kindly, keeping her attention on her dinner so as not to make him uncomfortable. “With a woman in the house there will be no end of visits, so you ought to prepare yourself.”
“As I said,” Aunt Clara cut in, “married shortly. Mark me.”
Owen ignored the comment. “She is not known to anyone in town.”
Emma chuckled. “Mrs. Wickerton shall be first, I’d wager.”
“A lady shouldn’t wager,” Aunt Clara said. “But I would lay my money on the same. If I did that sort of thing.”
Emma glanced at Owen, shooting him a conspiratorial smile. He returned it, amused by his aunt all the same.
“After Prudence Wickerton, the Graveleys will visit. Though perhaps they might come first, I suppose. It will depend upon who hears of it first. Rest assured that shortly afterward every matron within Briarstead shall use the opportunity to make their pretty daughters known to you.” She drew in a breath. “Emma, shall we predict which young thing will catch Owen’s eye?”
