If he had already known about Emma’s history with Owen, and he had not been living in Briarstead when Owen was last here and courting her, then what did everyone else know? How much had they been talking of her? Was Catherine Buckley’s concern valid? How deeply would the townspeople believe Emma to be a fortune seeker?
She found Owen’s gaze across the room and swallowed her apprehension.
Owen watchedEmma speak quietly with Sophia Yardley at length, his mind in a muddle. Something was clearly bothering her, and he wanted to know what it was. But he needed to keep some distance between them for now, at least while he was trying to get to the bottom of the Yardley lies.
Simon stood near the window, looking out over the lawn toward Buckley Place, so Owen made his way around the room until he came to his friend’s side. “Beautiful view.”
“Indeed. How does she stand to live here after having that house for so long?”
“My aunt has been enjoying a smaller life. It has been less to manage overall.”
“Hmm.” Simon hummed, his hands clasped lightly behind his back. “Are you prepared for your ball tomorrow? I believe everyone in the county will be attending.”
“I hope that is not the case. We haven’t enough to drink.”
Simon laughed. “I can bring something if you’d like.”
“You need not. Besides, did you not bring my aunt some port already?”
“Oh, yes.” Simon’s brown eyes held Owen’s, reading him. “Well, I did not see your aunt, you know. I left it at the kitchen door. I did not want to be a bother.”
“That was considerate.” And it was a bald lie, of course, but Owen would not call him out on it quite yet. The odd thing about this little cottage was that it lacked a kitchen door. Cook had complained about it a few times while they were moving in, as she had to use the door down the corridor instead of a direct one from her kitchen. The story was so odd, anyway, Owen had no trouble discounting it immediately.
But Emma was right, and until he knew more, it might only harm him to reveal that he didn’t trust Simon quite yet. He could not, for the life of him, determine what Simon might be after.
“Do you think Emma would ever consider marriage?” Simon asked, looking at her across the room.
Owen startled. “Why?”
“She is beautiful.”
Firelight glowed over Emma’s skin, brightening her smile. Her hair was simply styled and her gown was plain, but even those things did not dull her charm. “There are more important traits when considering a wife.”
“Yes, and I think Emma possesses them all.”
It was grating, the way Simon continued to use her given name. Owen tilted his head to the side as though he were considering the matter. “I might agree with you.”
What he meant, though, was that hedidagree wholeheartedly. She would make the perfect wife. And soon she would be his.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
“You must go now,or Owen will be greeting the guests on his own,” Emma said, securing her pearl earbobs as she eyed Mrs. Buckley. “I am fully capable of walking across the lawn when I am ready.”
“I can wait for you, Emma.”
“It is kind of you to offer, but really, it is better this way. My hair is not yet finished, and the ball has already begun. I’ve forgotten how long it takes to ready oneself for an event such as this.”
Mrs. Buckley’s brow furrowed. “If you’re certain.”
Emma crossed the room, taking her employer’s arm and gently steering her into the corridor. “I am sorry not to be prepared in time to walk over with you, but I am certain Mrs. Bates would be happy to do so.”
“That is no matter.”
“I will see you shortly.”
“Very well.” Mrs. Buckley shot her one last look before slipping away and leaving Emma to finish preparing for the ball. The reality of the situation was that Emma’s nerves were frayed. If the entirety of Briarstead was discussing whether she ought tobe considered a fortune seeker, she wasn’t certain she wanted to mingle with them while drinking lemonade and laughing at their jokes. She would much rather remain where she was comfortable: on the fringes, in the sweet little cottage, alone.
A quick glance in the dressing room mirror showed the rose gown with ruching at the bust and hem that she had made over for this ball. It was simple, but it fit her figure elegantly and showed off her graceful neck, matching her pink lips. She appeared as though she belonged. At one point in her life, shehadfit in. Her circumstances had greatly altered, but why did that determine whether she was worthy of the company in Buckley Place? She was still Emma Darling. She had not changed in the fundamental ways that mattered.
