Owen was little changed, but the slight alterations had done him a world of good. He had been handsome in his youth, but now he was striking. His skin was darkened to a deep gold, his hair the same thick brown it had always been. His arresting gray eyes were pinned to her beneath brows that had knit together, his expression drawing into one of utter astonishment.
He’d lost the softness to his face, going from the boyishness of a young gentleman into the defined lines of a man. His jaw snapped closed as his eyes drank her in. Emma had never felt so naked in her life, standing on the cold road in a filthy, torn gown. Wind chilled her cheek, proving that the mud was not confined to her pelisse alone.
“Emma,” he said quietly, her name dragging over his lips like a plea.
Perhaps they would not be passing as strangers, after all.
She gave a barely perceptible nod, fighting the volley of shivers coating her arms. He knew her. That brought her the smallest sense of relief and a heavy measure of dismay, knowing how she currently presented. Swallowing thickly, she held her back straight. “Welcome back to Briarstead, Captain Buckley.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Owen was still havingtrouble finding his breath.
Emma Darling, the woman he had once loved, who had rejected him in favor of a title, prestige, and money, could not possibly be the beggar woman standing before him in the street right now. He rubbed a hand over his face, but the image did not alter.
Instead, she seemed to grow slightly frustrated with him.
Had shewelcomedhim back to town? As though she had known he was coming? He supposed gossip did travel easily in Briarstead, and his visit to Aunt Clara would be worth sharing with Emma.
ButbyJove, how she had fallen.
Her golden hair had darkened, drawn back and fastened at the nape of her neck in a severe knot. She wore clothing in shades of dark charcoal, torn and muddied. The hem of her gown dragged through a puddle on the road behind her, as though she could not even afford the thread to mend it.
Owen swallowed against a dry throat. Despite the depths towhich she had fallen since he’d seen her last, the spark in her green eyes remained.
“I am sorry about your uncle,” she said.
“Thank you.” His tongue grew thick, words coming and fleeing in equal speed. He hadn’t the slightest notion what he could say to her. His pride made him want to puff his chest and show her precisely how well he had prospered, that her rejection of his suit and mincing of his heart had not ruined his life, but the state she was in quelled his words.
“Your aunt will be glad to have you,” she said, her voice cutting through him like a hot blade. He was unused to hearing her tone aloud, rich for a woman, yet still feminine. It had haunted his dreams these last nine years, but the quality of it in his mind had dimmed. Emma’s true voice was pure, startling him into a fresh wave of memories.
She watched him, unblinking.
He needed to reply. “Indeed, I look forward to seeing her.”
The carriage door swung open, and Simon poked his head out. “Is something wro—oh, good day, Miss Darling.”
Emma bent in a slight curtsy. “The same to you, Mr. Yardley.”
Owen had nothing to say to her. He could not even offer to convey her to her destination, as it was not his carriage. The constraints of his pride and his current circumstances tied this moment to a close. Dipping his head to her, he exhaled. “Miss Darling.”
“Captain Buckley,” she said, tossing his polite dismissal back at him. Before he could leave, she had turned from him, walking to the edge of the road.
She could not retreat from him fast enough. He relaxed the muscles in his body, his shoulders bending forward as he returned to the carriage. Had he believed he would see Emma again, he would have imagined they’d meet in a ballroom—sheon the arm of a husband and draped in silk. The reality of the situation didn’t mesh with that expectation in the least.
What happened to Lord Gifford? Simon had not called her Lady Gifford…Emma had not corrected Owen’s use of honorific.Had shenevermarried? His mind was reeling.
By the time they reached Buckley Place, Owen could do nothing but try to shove it from his mind. The appearance of the stately square house was a boon to his spirits. The familiar yellow stone was flanked by tall trees, half of which were missing their leaves, and rolling green hills behind. Even at the end of winter, England looked alive. Owen’s chest pulsed with the comfort he drew from this view—the feeling that he was returning somewhere he was not only esteemed, but wanted.
“I’ll send round a note soon,” Simon said, puncturing the cloud of emotion and drawing Owen’s attention back to their surroundings. They’d stopped the carriage and the door was open. The conveyance swayed slightly, due in part to the servants removing his trunk from above the boot. “We’d love to have you and your aunt over to dine.”
Owen stepped down to the road. “Thank you again for everything. I would say I ought to be more watchful of where I walk, but it was most fortuitous I bumped into you on the docks.”
“Indeed. I’m only glad I wasn’t carrying my port at the time.” Simon laughed. “You will like it.”
Owen had never been overly fond of the drink, but if it came directly from Portugal and was the possible investment in Simon’s future, he could contrive a way to find himself more interested in the matter, at least for the time being. “I’m sure I will.”
The grooms carried his large trunk forward and set it down on the gravel drive. Owen ran his fingers over his tired eyes, avoiding looking at the path that led to the Italian gardens to the west of the house. The ghost of laughter rang out in his memories, pressing against his discipline until he nearly broke.Allowing himself to think of the happy moments he had shared with Emma wouldn’t do him any good.
