Emma thought of the music room—of Owen pressing her against the door and kissing her soundly, his large hand getting lost in her hair, him burying his face in her neck. Her mouth went dry. “He loves me.”
“Of course he loves you, child. And I know you love him, because I found your letter in Edward’s trunk when we moved.”
“Mywhat?”
“The letter telling Owen of your broken engagement, begging him to return to you. I do not know why Edward had it among his things. I recall the day you added a note to my letter all those years ago, and I recognized it at once, though I had never read it before. My only guess is that Edward removed it to save Owen pain, knowing Owen had already left for India and could not return for some time. A man could not sell out so soon after joining, you understand, and as Owen was heading off to war, I assume Edward did not want him to be distracted by thoughts of you waiting for him.”
“That…I cannot…”
“Those might not be his reasons,” Mrs. Buckley said gently. “I am only guessing. But I knew my husband well. He lovedOwen deeply, but he loved you too. He loved me most of all, yet he left me with nothing when he died. His logic defies reason, but I am convinced that somewhere in his mind, the logic exists, even if it made sense only to him.”
Emma certainly had not understood the logic which drove his decisions. She noted the pain in Mrs. Buckley’s eyes. “Did you discover anything that might explain why he gave everything to Owen?”
She shook her head. “My guess is nothing more than that. I searched Edward’s things for something he might have left behind—any explanation at all—but the only thing I found of interest was the letter he’d taken of yours.” She glanced up at the ceiling. “Honestly, I’ve given it a good deal of thought, and I imagine this was his solution to the things he could not mend while he was alive. His brother never allowed him to adopt Owen, and I am certain he worried I would be lonely. If Edward gave everything to Owen, then surely the boy would come home and care for me. He knew I’d want for nothing with Owen in charge of the funds. But what Edward failed to take into account was my stubborn pride. I would dislike living on the charity of another.”
Emma refrained from mentioning that, by remaining in Primrose End, that was precisely what Mrs. Buckley was doing. “If you knew these things, why did you support a union between myself and Mr. Lofton?”
She considered this. “At first, because I thought that was what you wanted. But then you corrected me, and I saw the truth. After that, I supported it only to force my nephew to see what he might lose if he did not act.”
The door opened again.
“Not now, Platt!” Mrs. Buckley said.
But Owen stepped inside. His black dinner jacket was crisp and smooth against his white cravat and bronze waistcoat. Hisgray eyes pinned Emma immediately, smoldering even from across the room.
She lost the ability to breathe.
“Platt warned me away,” Owen said. “But I could not wait another moment.”
“What has kept you all day?” Mrs. Buckley asked. “I expected you much earlier.”
“Some estate business. A few visits my mother orchestrated. Final touches in the Italian garden. But everything is ready for the ball tomorrow.”
“Will you make the announcement then or tonight?” Mrs. Buckley asked.
Owen’s gaze shot to his aunt.
“We have nothing to announce yet,” Emma said, her neck heating.
“Do we not?” Owen asked. “I was under the impression you had already agreed to marry me.”
“Only if—” She faced Mrs. Buckley. “Only if you can bear to lose me, which it appears you can.”
Mrs. Buckley took Emma’s hand. “Oh, my dear. But I cannot.”
Owen crossed the room then, coming to stop just beside Emma. “What do you mean?”
“I could never lose my dear Emma. Nor could I lose you. But with the wedding, you will forever become part of my family and home.”
Emma laughed. “That was cruel.”
Mrs. Buckley grinned. “It is true. Now, we have guests, and we oughtn’t keep them waiting. But you need to tell me, am I to keep this a secret or may I share?”
Emma looked into Owen’s eyes. “I need to speak with Mr. Lofton first.”
His answering smile was affectionate, the dimple popping in his right cheek that she loved so dearly. He reached for herhand, squeezing her fingers lightly. “I understand. According to my mother, you had many gentlemen callers during my absence last week, all of whom are in the parlor now.”
“The Graveleys have arrived?” Mrs. Buckley asked.
