Something flashed in his eyes so bold and clear, Emma was taken aback. He lowered his voice, the deep timbre of it climbing over her skin. “Do you not see that you provide plenty? You are my friend, and you are kind to my son. This is the only way I could think to repayyou.”
All rational thought fled Emma’s mind. She searched for something to say, but her tongue refused to cooperate.
“There you are, Emma,” Mrs. Buckley said, returning to the church. Her shoes clicked along the stone floor. “The carriage is waiting, dear. Oh, good day, Mr. Lofton.”
He dipped his head, fighting amusement. “Good day, Mrs. Buckley.”
She observed them together for a moment before speaking. “How lovely to find you here. You would not be interested in coming to dine this week, would you? We could use some additional conversation at the dinner table, I think.”
“I would enjoy that very much.”
“Wonderful.” Mrs. Buckley smiled primly. “I will speak to Cook and send round a note when we know the best evening for it.”
He dipped his head. “I look forward to it. I hope we shall continue our conversation another time, Miss Darling.”
Emma slid her arm through Mrs. Buckley’s, leading the woman from the church before she could contrive an offer of marriage from the poor man as well. Warm sunlight bathed her skin, beaming from high overhead amid the blue sky and fluffy white clouds. Spring would soon arrive, chasing away the frigid cold that had lingered in recent weeks.
When they reached the carriage, John handed Mrs. Buckley in before helping Emma.
“What was that for?” Emma asked once they were safely ensconced inside and alone.
“What do you mean?”
Emma stared at Mrs. Buckley. “You were not very subtle.”
“Is it wrong to give the man a little encouragement? He is certainly not receiving any from you.”
Emma fought exasperation. “Perhaps there is a reason for it.”
Mrs. Buckley tucked her chin. “Surely you do not mean I’ve miscalculated.”
“I fear that is precisely what has happened. Mr. Lofton is my friend and nothing more.”
“But he wanted you to have his wife’s dressing table!”
“Which I refused.”
Mrs. Buckley gasped. “No.”
“Indeed. I did not feel it would be seemly. He delivered it to you anyway.”
She closed her eyes. “And I instructed the men to put it in your chamber. Oh, what a dolt I’ve been, Emma. I did not think he was the right one for you, but if he was who you wanted, I was not going to stand in your way.”
It was touching that Mrs. Buckley had cared so deeply about what she believed Emma had wanted, and at her own expense as well. “None of this matters, anyway. You trust I shall never leave you, do you not?”
“Nonsense. You deserve love, Emma.”
“I do not love Mr. Lofton.”
“Well, I know thatnow.” Mrs. Buckley giggled. “But I thought I was aiding you before. Oh, how wonderfully selfless I’ve been!”
Emma joined in her ridiculous laughter. “It would have been selfless, had I desired the connection.”
“We’ll be forced to keep the dinner engagement regardless. We cannot fob the man off now. But perhaps we can invite a few others. The Yardleys? You seem to like them.”
“The Graveleys would make an even-tempered addition,” Emma countered. Simon Yardley still gave her an uncomfortable feeling more often than not. She had never quite trusted the man—not since the leering way he used to watch her made her skin crawl.
A shame, for she had come to enjoy his sister’s company a good deal.
