“Oh?” Had Owen committed to a dinner as well? The conversation bounced about, not landing anywhere in particular. What had been the objective?
“The ball,” Simon prompted.
“Of course.” It was only days away. He nodded to the manand commanded Philosopher to walk on. After leaving his horse in the stables and sending his things to his room, he set out for Primrose End. It was not to see Emma, but to ascertain that all was well before retiring for the afternoon. Simon’s conversation had felt fidgety, and if the man had been attempting to hide something, Owen needed to understand what it was.
His time serving in the army had taught him many things. One of them was to listen to the feeling deep within his heart that whispered when something did not feel quite right. Something with Simon was definitely off.
The walk felt good, stretching Owen’s cramped limbs after so long in the saddle. His long legs ate up the distance quickly, and he was soon knocking on the front door of Primrose End, his heart beating in his throat. He’d not come to profess his feelings for Emma, but he was afraid one look at her would reveal them all the same.
Platt opened the door.
Disappointment nudged at him, but it was ridiculous. It was not as though he’d expected Emma to answer the door. “Is my aunt in?”
“She is in the parlor, Captain Buckley.”
“Thank you. I’ll see myself in.”
“Very good, sir.” Platt stepped back, allowing him to pass.
Owen knew the way well now that he’d been a guest in the house so frequently over the previous few weeks. The last time he had eagerly made his way into the house, though, he had collided with Emma, so he slowed his gait, tempering his excitement. When he opened the door to the parlor, he searched the room, but it only held one woman.
“Aunt Clara.” He dipped in a bow.
“You’re home.” She set aside her book and rose to greet him. “I trust your journey was successful.”
“In more ways than one, yes.” He swept the room again, but it was small and there was nowhere for a grown woman to hide.
“Emma is not home at present.”
“Oh. I wasn’t—that is, I was only?—”
“You needn’t attempt to hide your thoughts from me, Owen. It was quite obvious you were looking for her.” Aunt Clara sat again, gesturing to the sofa for him to sit as well. “She’s in Briarstead visiting at the rectory.”
Owen remained standing. “I’m covered in dirt, so I don’t want to spoil your sofa. I’ll stand if you don’t mind.”
“Was your visit with your friend pleasant?”
“Yes, I…” He bit his tongue. “When did Miss Darling leave for the rectory?”
“An hour past. She should be along shortly if you’d like to wait.”
“I have no particular business with her.” He removed his gloves, focusing on the end of each finger as he tugged at them. Simon had mentioned visiting Emma here, had he not? But if she wasn’t home, that meant the man had been lying. Or…had he only implied seeing her? Owen’s mind was in a muddle. “I only wanted to see whether you were prepared for the ball.”
“You should see the gown Emma made for me. It is just delightful.”
“I look forward to it.” Owen walked toward the window, looking out over the grass. “Mr. Yardley is considering investing in a port vineyard, so I thought to purchase some for the ball. What do you think?”
Aunt Clara’s forehead wrinkled. She moved aside a gray curl. “Port? If you think so.”
“Have you tried his variety yet?”
She shook her head. “But I support your decision if that’s what you would like to do.”
Something was most definitely wrong with this situation. Owen needed to question her without raising any alarm, especially before he knew whether there was any alarm to raise.Would she not mention Simon’s visit now that he had mentioned the man? “How has your afternoon been?”
“Pleasant.”
“I’m glad my absence hasn’t caused you any loneliness.”
