“It isn’t their house,” he said grimly, running his fingers over his white side whiskers. “None of their business, is it? You don’t seem the type to let the lads come into Danesbrook and make a muck of our town.”
“I am hoping to raise upstanding gentlemen.”
“Good luck, sir.” Mr. Penworth laughed heartily, his breath beginning to wheeze. “If you are successful with half of your endeavors, you will have done the job well.”
Owen couldn’t help but smile. “Your daughter must be eager for your company. When do you plan to move?”
“June. I won’t travel until it’s warm, mind you. But if you want the house, it’s yours. Saves me the trouble of parading my home in front of countless buyers.”
Warmth filled his chest. “I’ll need to speak to my aunt first, but I do not see why she would not approve. This is…it is a beautiful property, sir. You should be proud of what you’ve built here.”
Mr. Penworth’s blue eyes grew misty. “I raised my family in this house. Five girls, all married with families of their own, now. My wife passed on ten years ago, and I find it doesn’t hold the same magic for me it once did. It’s time I let it go.”
“None of your children want the house?”
“They certainly want it,” he scoffed. “But it’s mine. I’d rather sell and use the money how I wish. When I die, they can split the rest of the money five ways.”
Owen nodded, rubbing his chin. “When do you need an answer?”
“End of the week.”
Owen reached out to shake his hand. “Very well, sir. You shall hear from me soon.”
Owen rodethe rest of the way home with a smile. Things were falling into place for the school, yes, but more than that, speaking to Tom had released a measure of guilt he hadn’t realized he’d been harboring. He felt lighter, as though he’d removed the weighty bag of stones he’d slung over his shoulder for the last few years. Not only guilt for being alive and whole when Tom had given so much for him, but also for the gnawing sense that he hadn’t deserved to be preserved.
Since returning to Briarstead, nothing had occupied his mind so much as Emma. She had settled into his thoughts, refusing to vacate, and he allowed her to remain. But while he had been so capable of reading her thoughts easily at one time, he had lost that ability. She was made of sterner stuff now.
No, that was not correct. She had likely only hardened herouter shell as a protective measure, creating a stone visage to show the world and hide her true feelings.
Owenhopedshe was hiding her true feelings. He deeply yearned for her to be longing for him the way he longed for her.
Have you asked her? As though it could be so easy. As though Owen had not wanted to do so each time he looked at her. As though he had not asked her to be his wife nine years ago and was thoroughly rejected, adding validity to the possibility of rejection again.
Tom was right. Difficult as it would be, Owen needed to speak plainly with her. No more dancing around their feelings. Owen’s opinion of her had only grown, blooming with each new day and interaction at her side. He had made a promise that no harm would come to her reputation, and he had meant it. If rumors abounded, he would squash them. He would marry her if she let him. Owen would burn any obstacle in their path to protect her.
He would not abandon her again.
His distance the last week and how deeply he had missed her had proved one unequivocal truth: he did not want to pass another day without telling her how he felt.
Regardless of the outcome, he would be stronger for learning her answer, because he would finally understand. Either his love would be returned, or he would be able to close that chapter of his life with finality.
The gates to Buckley Place came into view, and peace fell over him. The sense of returning home filled every inch of his body, permeating him with a belonging he’d long been searching for. Something innate within him recognized that the feeling was tied less to the land and house than to the people who resided there. He was not eager to step into the grand hall of Buckley Place, but to see Emma and Aunt Clara again.
A rider was leaving the property as he approached, so he slowed his horse. “Simon,” he called, suppressing his surprise.
“You’ve returned.” Simon’s eyes searched Owen before settling on his face again. He seemed antsy, almost unhappy to find Owen. But that didn’t make sense. “You look exhausted. How was your journey?”
“Productive. I visited with an old friend from the army, and it lifted my spirits considerably. Did you…were you unaware of my absence?”
“Oh…yes, I knew. That is, I did not come to see you.” Simon flashed a smile. “I brought Mrs. Buckley some of my port. Welcomed her to the new house, you know. The proper thing to do.”
Owen ought to feel relief from the explanation, but something about it tugged at him. He observed his friend. “I’m sure she was very grateful. How kind of you.”
“Yes. Well, it was nothing,” Simon’s gaze dipped. “Sophia has been going on about inviting Miss Darling to dine again, and I needed an excuse to make the call. She is a fine-looking woman, is she not? It is a wonder no one has snatched her up yet. Though, from my understanding, there was some to-do with Gifford some years ago.”
Again, he felt unsettled. If Simon had heard whisperings about Emma’s engagement to the baron, had he also heard about her connection to Owen? “Lord Gifford appears happily married now.”
“Indeed, with a half-dozen brats running about his estate. Given any thought to children yourself? I can’t abide them, but Sophia is eager to be a mother. Can’t understand it myself.” Simon looked away again, distracted. “I’d best be on my way. But I shall be seeing you soon.”
