“You are being unfair,” Owen said.
“If you do not want the whole of Derbyshire to believe you are being taken for a fool, you ought to keep your distance from this woman.” Father released a world-weary sigh. “It sounds as though rumors are already being spread about. If you respect her as much as you appear to, distance will only serve to restore her reputation as well. She will never marry, not if she is a companion. You want a wife, do you not?”
Those were points he had not yet considered.
Owen pushed aside the drapes farther and looked out over the Italian garden and the workers spread over the land, bringing it back to life after more than a year of being dirt mounds and empty beds. Men moved about, carrying urns and planting seeds, creating a beautiful space for him to enjoy. But what was the point? What did any of this matter if he was going to be alone? He wanted a wife, children, a family. And if Owenwas honest, when he imagined a future in this house, the person who appeared at his side was Emma.
Emma, palm resting on her rounded belly, walking the finished garden on a sunny summer day and stopping to sit on the new bench beneath a shady tree. Emma, holding the hand of a little girl just learning to take her steps down the long gallery, pointing out each portrait and explaining its significance in a way that would make sense to one so young. Emma, down in the kitchens, filling her basket with leftover buns and carrying them to the tenants to sweeten their day for no reason other than kindness and a desire to avoid waste. Emma, holding his hand as they walked across the lawn to visit Aunt Clara because each of them loved her deeply and truly.
Owen closed his eyes against the future he yearned for so keenly that his body ached for her. Not once since his return had she provided a sign that she would welcome any advance from him, that she wanted Owen the way he wanted her. Each step of progress they had made toward friendship was something he had asked for. The truce, the partnership…those were his ideas.
Emma had been willing, but she would do anything for Mrs. Buckley. It was her job.
“Some distance would be good for both of you,” Catherine said soothingly from behind him, her unwelcome voice penetrating his thoughts. “Perhaps it will give you some time to court some of the local women and decide what you truly want.”
Would that help? Use other women to push her from his heart? If he could develop feelings for someone else, perhaps. If nine years had not eradicated Emma, then a couple of country misses were surely not going to do anything.
He could certainly give it a try, though.
“Very well.” Owen returned to the sofa and picked up his hat. What he needed now more than anything was a bruising ride. “I’m going out.”
Emma had immediately thrownherself into the project of creating Mrs. Buckley’s ball gown when she returned from Briarstead. The fabric and trimmings had been approved, so the women set about looking through theirAckermann’sbooks for a style that would both suit Mrs. Buckley and fall within Emma’s capabilities. She had always been good with a needle, but since becoming a companion and necessity forced her to learn, she had grown that skill until she became excellent.
The trouble was, she was slow. This gown would take her an entire fortnight, but it would be beautiful.
“You are certain you don’t wish to hire the modiste in town?” Emma asked again, seated at the dining room table with the books strewn about them. “You will have the dress finished much faster.”
“But it won’t be exactly what I want. You know how she adds her own touches, Emma. I want you to make it because you knowexactlyhow I like things.”
“So long as you accept the time it will take me away from you.”
Mrs. Buckley turned a page and admired another ball gown. “Have you considered, since we came to Primrose End, that I might need more things to occupy me now that I do not have a large estate? I am finding myself with far more idle time on my hands. I imagine the same is true for you.”
“In some ways, perhaps, but in many ways, nothing has changed.”
Mrs. Buckley pushed the book closer. “This one.”
Emma admired it. The gown fell in a gentle sweep to simple ruching at the hem and rosettes on the sleeves. “It is elegant.”
“Can you do it?”
“Yes. I’m confident I can.” She pulled it closer and looked at the details. “I spoke with Mrs. Wickerton and Mrs. Rowley in the milliner’s shop when I was there today. They feel they’ve neglected you and intend to bring you a cake soon to welcome you to your new home.”
“I had wondered why I wasn’t receiving any visitors, but I assumed no one wished to bring attention to my move in station.”
“You cannot truly believe your station has changed.”
Mrs. Buckley considered this. “Perhaps not. A dower house is respectable. But losing my entire fortune has been something of a shock. I will own to having more compassion for what you must have endured after your parents died and you lost so much, Emma. It is a good deal to suffer through.”
A surge of affection for this woman swept through Emma. “It was difficult, but you and Mr. Buckley were kind to me, and that was a salve.”
“We ought to have done more.”
“There was nothing more you could have done.” Emma traced the hem of the gown on the page. She needed to inform Mrs. Buckley of the other things she had learned in town today, if only so she was aware. It was going to be told to her eventually, and it was better coming from Emma. Why was it so difficult to find the words? “While I was there, I learned other things that you ought to know.”
The door opened. Platt stepped inside, one hand resting on the knob while the other was behind his back. “You’ve a visitor, ma’am. Captain Buckley.”
“Drat his timing.”
