“Your parents are here for good, then?”
“For good? I’m not certain about that. It is clear they wish to remain for now, at least. Catherine has begun plotting ways to find me a bride. I’m certain this ball is part of her grand plans.” He narrowed his eyes and smiled. “Pray tell, were you scheming together?”
“No, but it seems that, in this, we are of one mind.”
The door opened and Emma walked in, checking herself on the threshold. She wore a long pelisse buttoned to the neck and gloves. She was dressed warmly for going out. When her green eyes fell on Owen, they darted away swiftly. “Forgive me. I did not realize you had a visitor.”
“In the breakfast room? Why would you, dear? My nephew has come at the most inopportune time and spoiled my meal.”
Owen leaned back in his chair, watching Aunt Clara continue to enjoy her breakfast. “Fiddlesticks. I’ve interrupted nothing.”
“Come and eat, Emma,” Aunt Clara said.
Emma shook her head, tying the ribbon of her bonnet beneath her chin. “I ate earlier. I’m walking into the village to take those muffins to the rectory. Do you have any othererrands for me? Or would you like to join me for some exercise?”
Aunt Clara ate the last of her kippers and set her fork down. “Not today. I’ve just learned Buckley Place will be throwing a ball soon. If you’re to be in town, you ought to select fabric for gowns. Do you think you would have time to make ours? I much prefer yours to the modiste’s handiwork.” She lifted her eyebrows at Owen. “Do not repeat that. Idogive her plenty of business.”
“No one is questioning your goodness or loyalty,” Emma said. “I shall pop into the shop and see if they have a color that will suit you. Did you have anything in mind?”
“Perhaps lavender? Violet?”
Emma looked at Owen. Was she thinking the same thing he was? For a woman determined to act as though she was through with mourning and a ball was a splendid idea, she still wanted to wear half mourning colors.
“Sounds lovely, Mrs. Buckley. I will find something that suits your complexion.”
“Would you like an escort? My nephew seems to be in need of something to occupy him this morning.”
Emma’s cheeks stained red. “Oh, no. That’s not necessary.”
Her swift refusal stung. “I would renew the offer, but I’m afraid I already promised my mother I would attend a few morning visits with her. She has someone she would like me to meet.”
“A young, pretty someone, perhaps?” Aunt Clara asked.
Owen busied himself by straightening his sleeves. He had not needed to add that detail, and he did not know what had compelled him to do so. Emma had not reacted to the news at all, so it had been pointless. “I’m not certain whether she is pretty. I’d best be on my way. I’ll bid you both a good day.”
He bowed to the women and slipped past Emma in the doorway, ignoring the whiff of rose water–tainted air that was unmistakably her.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
The heatof embarrassment still clung to Emma’s cheeks an hour later as she sat in the Graveleys’ kitchen beside Mrs. Clifton and helped her section dough into rolls to rise for their dinner meal. Mrs. Buckley had only meant to be polite, had she not? She couldn’t possibly have been trying to throw Owen and Emma together for any other reason. Not when she was consistently speaking of the other young women he would do well to pay attention to.
And yet…the glimmer in her eye when she proposed they walk into the village together was unmistakable. Scheming woman…she was up tosomething.
Emma would like to believe she had become indispensable. Surely Mrs. Buckley wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize Emma’s role as a companion in her home.
“You spoil me,” Mrs. Clifton said, placing a ball of dough on the pan. “When it is I who should be caring for you.”
“It does us no good to mourn what might have been. If I did that, I would spend my days wishing my parents had never contracted smallpox and that I remained at Thornbrook withthem. I would never accomplish much of anything with my head in those doldrums.”
Mrs. Clifton’s mouth bent into a dry smile as she reached for the mound of dough and pinched off another ball to roll between her hands. “It should be me offering you advice, dear. Of course, I have plenty of things to lament. I miss my sight often, but if I allowed it to consume me, I’d never smile.”
“Which would be a shame for the rest of us, for your smile is a beautiful thing.”
She tossed her dough in Emma’s direction, clicking her tongue. “You flatter me, child.”
Emma lifted the dough from where it had landed on her lap and rolled it into a ball, adding it to the pan. “Where is Mary this morning?”
“Gone to speak to Mr. Walton about our next vegetable order. She borrowed French recipes from Mrs. Wickerton, so we’ll have elevated fare next week. So long as she keeps me busy, I don’t mind what she cooks.”
