She laughed, but they were still in danger of being caught, so he silenced her with his lips. And he enjoyed keeping her quiet for another quarter hour until it was time to walk her back to Primrose End.
CHAPTER THIRTY
The table was setfor eight in the small dining room of Primrose End. Despite Owen’s careful attention the evening before, when he had walked Emma back to the cottage, he had not come all day, and his absence was veritably grating on her. She was going mad.
He loved her.
He wanted to marry her.
He was staying far away from her?
Emma was not young and naïve, and she would not throw herself into the fires of lost hopes quite yet, but as the hours had stretched on, his continued distance had been concerning. What could possibly have kept him from her for an entire day?
He had been correct on one score, though: Mrs. Buckley’s lavender tincture had been in her room the entire time. Emma was convinced it had been a ruse, but she was less sure of how to broach the matter.
Mrs. Buckley stepped into the room and paused on the threshold. “Is everything ready?”
“Yes. Cook is glad for Lottie’s help. I think the additionalmaid for the kitchen was a good choice, even if Cook didn’t think she wanted her.”
Mrs. Buckley’s smile grew. She fiddled with the edge of her long sleeve. “I had thought she would feel that way. When one is as old as we are, one simply doesn’t wish to do quite as many chores as one ought. Even if we’re capable.”
Emma eyed her. “Why do I have the impression you are trying to tell me that you need me much less than you have purported to?”
“That is simply not the case.” Mrs. Buckley’s eyebrows drew up. “You have been both a balm and a support.”
“I won’t argue the point, then.” But Emma wondered if she had been more of a charitable case for Mrs. Buckley than the woman would permit her to believe. “But…I have been wondering if I am truly so skilled at guessing what you are always in need of, or if you are too kind to say otherwise.”
Mrs. Buckley’s swift look in Emma’s direction was telling. The women shared a long, full look, neither of them speaking, as the longcase clock in the corner ticked and the fire crackled.
If that was even partially the case, Emma would not be abandoning Mrs. Buckley as she had thought. The woman was probably ready to be free of her charitable efforts.
Emma cleared her throat. “I’ve had an offer?—”
“Mr. Lofton has arrived,” Platt announced at the door. “I’ve put him in the parlor.”
“Thank you, Platt,” Mrs. Buckley said, shooing him away. “Yes, Emma? Go on.”
“Well, I cannotnow.”
“You must.”
“With him in the house?” she whispered.
Mrs. Buckley crossed the room and took Emma’s hands in hers. “I have been waiting for this moment for weeks. Did it work? When I sent you over last night, did you find Owen prowling the corridors?”
She gaped, then closed her mouth. So shehadbeen scheming. “Yes, it worked.”
“He has been a nervous wreck since returning from India, you know, consistently walking the corridors at night. I knew you would see him if you were forced to search my old bedchamber.”
Emma inhaled through her nose. “Mrs. Wickerton has nothing on your manipulations.”
Platt opened the door again. “Mr. and Miss Yardley have arrived, ma’am. I’ve shown them into the parlor with Mr. Lofton.”
“Thank you, Platt!” Mrs. Buckley shrieked. “Privacy!”
He scurried from the room.
“What happened?” Mrs. Buckley asked.
