“We came here today in our barouche,” Sophia told them. “We can all ride together. What do you say, Captain Buckley?”
Owen nodded. “I have a little time to spare, but I should return to my parents shortly.”
“A quick trip. A quick sweet.” Mr. Yardley gave a brisk nod. “Then we shall return you home forthwith. I will send for the barouche.”
“Very well,” Emma consented. “Would you care to join us, Mrs. Buckley?”
“No. I shall enjoy a quiet house instead.”
As though Emma made any noise at all.
“Shall we bring you anything?” Emma asked.
“A peppermint.”
Emma nodded before she left to fetch her pelisse, bonnet, and gloves. She had not been dressed for an outing, and it took her all of ten minutes to prepare for a brisk ride in the open air. Something about the Yardley siblings rang untrue to her, but she could not identify precisely what it was. They were polite; they were incessantly kind to her, inviting her to all manner of things and drawing her under their wing as though she had alwaysbeen a friend. Was it unfair to assume their actions were driven by motives beyond mere friendship?
Perhaps Sophia merely wanted a friend. Perhaps she was lonely. Emma could understand that, for she had been quite lonely herself.
She sat beside Sophia on the forward-facing seat while the men took the bench opposite. Owen’s long legs brushed her gown, his knees lightly pressing against hers. Whether intentional or not, he did nothing to move them, the pressure increasing as the carriage moved around bends and exited Buckley land.
When Emma’s gaze slid to his, she found him looking directly at her, not even bothering to tear his attention away. Her breath grew shallow until she could not bear it any longer, and she watched the countryside roll by as Briarstead came into view. The shops lining the High Street bustled with typical activity.
“Why do you not ride anymore, Miss Darling?” Mr. Yardley asked, pulling her from her musings.
It was a fair question, and one she did not have a decent answer for. “I am out of practice.”
“But you used to be quite good at it, if I recall correctly.” He watched her. “Years ago.”
Her chest heated, a blush crawling up her skin. “In my youth, yes. But it has been too many years since I’ve been in a saddle. Someday, perhaps I shall ride again, but for now it’s not a priority.”
“If we have time, we ought to step into the milliner’s shop,” Sophia said, heedless of Emma’s discomfort. “I need to retrim an old bonnet. I’m wretched at picking out colors, but I have a feeling you are a deft hand at it, Emma.”
Emma was grateful for the change in topic. She did not like speaking about her past or how well regarded her family had once been. What good did it do to bring attention to her changein station? It only served to make her uncomfortable. “I help Mrs. Buckley on occasion, but I am not certain I have any particular skill in choosing colors. It is helpful that I am intimately familiar with her gowns, so I do my best to match them.”
“Then you are already better at it than I am.” She leaned closer as they came to a full stop and the men climbed out first. “I have never done it before.”
“Never retrimmed a bonnet?”
“No.” Sophia lowered her voice. “My papa usually buys me a new one when I desire a fresh color. Terribly wasteful, I know. I am trying to be better and remake my things this season. Will you help me?”
Emma was trapped in her seat, hedged in by the young woman with pleading doe eyes. She was exposed in the center of the street in an open carriage and felt every bit on display. What would people think, seeing her riding into the village in such a style? Chatting with a young woman of the gentry as though they were old friends?
“Yes,” she said quickly, eager to be free from the confines of the barouche and on even ground. She looked beyond Sophia and caught Mr. Yardley’s quizzical expression as he waited for them beside Owen. “Of course I will help you.”
Sophia made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a squeal, her delight evident in the grin on her face. It made her look younger, highlighting the difference between their ages once again. She took Owen’s proffered hand and stepped from the carriage, looking radiant as she did so.
A young woman like Sophia would make Owen a pleasant wife. Mrs. Buckley was right; it was only a matter of time before he proposed to someone like her.
Or perhaps this would be the woman he chose. A few more outings like this, and Sophia could very well win him over. She was witty and quick, above being beautiful and friendly.
Owen offered his hand to Emma, and she placed hers withinhis, aware of him squeezing her fingers as she stepped down from the carriage. She was jolted back to the present, warmth seeping through her skin where he’d applied pressure despite the layers of gloves that had separated them.
He lingered a moment before releasing her, then clasped his hands behind his back. “Are you well, Miss Darling?”
“Yes, quite. I was distracted a moment ago.”
“Thinking of peppermint sweets?” Mr. Yardley asked.
