Emma’s cheeks flushed. “That is not very seemly.”
“We are family. There is no harm in it.” Aunt Clara lifted her glass and took a sip.
“Does it matter if I tell you I would rather younotmake such ridiculous predictions?” Owen asked.
“Do not be ridiculous, dear. It’s all in good fun. Now, there is Miss Yardley, but she has been in his company a few times already, and I did not notice a decided preference. She’s pretty, but there’s certainly a bit of intelligence in her gaze that makes one feel one is not quite let in on the joke.”
Owen considered this. He agreed with Aunt Clara, though he had not identified that before now.
“Miss Cooper has a sweet disposition and a pretty figure. I suppose she would turn any man’s eye. Her mother is not overly ambitious, but politeness will dictate a visit, and I am certain she will bring Miss Cooper along.” Aunt Clara set her cup down. “Do you not agree, Emma?”
“She is certainly pretty and sweet.”
Owen could not take any more of this. “Perhaps I do not wish to marry.”
Aunt Clara scoffed. “Don’t be silly.”
“Some people choose not to marry.” He looked at Emma.
Aunt Clara followed his gaze. “You do not know of what you speak. Emma was engaged—but we mustn’t speak of it now. I, for one, am grateful for the direction Emma chose to take. I have been inordinately blessed by it.”
Owen’s neck heated. He never should have tried to redirect the conversation.
“But you do not have the same luxury, Owen,” Aunt Clara continued, spearing him with a pointed look.
“Whyever not?”
She picked up her glass, took a slow sip, and lowered it again. “Because Edward did not leave you this house only for it to be passed off to deplorable Cousin Lawrence. You, my dear, need to provide an heir.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
The Yardley siblingsboth turned out to be excellent artists. The pair painted their horses with striking lines and perfect blends of color. Emma watched them with mild fascination. They were all seated together at the dining table in Primrose End, each with a thick sheet of watercolor paper and the supplies needed to capture a horse. Emma sat beside Owen, and together they faced the Yardleys.
“Have you had any formal training?” she asked.
“Our father brought in a teacher years ago when he realized we each had an aptitude for the arts,” Mr. Yardley said, reaching for a currant bun in the center of the table. He ripped off a piece and popped it into his mouth, leaning back in his seat with a roguish air. His gaze fixed on her in a pointed way, as though he meant to communicate something with a look.
“How indulgent of him,” Emma said, ignoring the attention and doing her best not to squirm.
Sophia shook her head, her smile flat. “It was clear if we were given time to draw or paint, we would excel in the other areas as well. He learned quickly to reward our good behavior if he wanted to entice strong academics from either of us.”
Owen set his pencil down. He, contrary to the rest of them, had made very little headway in regard to his horse. “Is it not unusual to want an academic daughter?”
“He wanted an academicson, but Simon and I preferred to do everything together.”
“It is sweet how close you both are.” Emma dipped her brush in the water and swirled it. “Hearing stories such as that makes me wish I had been blessed with a sibling.”
“Friends are the next best thing,” Sophia said, her smile widening. “Now, shall we compare our horses?”
Emma leaned back to look at Owen’s rendition and stifled a laugh, avoiding his eye. She could feel his attention heavily on her, but since his drawing looked more aquiline than equestrian, she did not think she would be able to hold in her laugh once she met his gaze. It was evident he had opted not to paint the creature at all, having spent the entire allotment of time attempting to adjust the drawing.
“How will we choose a winner?” Sophia asked.
Emma looked at her. “I did not think this was a competition.”
“Everything can be a competition if we choose to make it one. I think we should bring in one of the servants and force them to choose.”
“I have a better idea,” Mr. Yardley countered. “Your aunt can decide, Captain. Or will she choose yours because you are her favorite?”
