“You may go in search of her if you wish.”
“Enough of that,” he muttered.
Aunt Clara smiled indulgently.
Another quarter of an hour later, most of the guests seemed to have arrived.
“Did you not invite Lord and Lady Gifford?” Aunt Clara asked quietly.
Owen’s attention was fixed in the distance. “I did not extend them a formal invitation, no. Our past is such that I felt it would be uncomfortable. My mother invited Lady Gifford when theyshared tea, but she did not commit to attending.” He shrugged lightly. “We do not have to share an acquaintance with everyone in the county.”
“I agree,” she said lightly.
A throat cleared behind them, and they turned to find Slater waiting. “Forgive the interruption, but Mr. Yardley is asking for you, sir. He would like to see you in the garden if you have a moment. I am told he has a particular question about the new installations.”
Owen rubbed his eyes, eager to join the company in the ballroom. He was almost certain Emma had come through the garden doors instead of rounding the house to enter through the front. “Yes. I will be there directly.”
Aunt Clara seemed to read his mind. “I’m sure the guests have all arrived by now. I will go inside, and if I see Emma, I will tell her you’ll be in soon.” She paused, tilting her chin. “Or shall I send her to the garden for atête-à-tête?”
Owen chuckled, moving for the stairs. “I’ll be in shortly.”
They needed to announce their engagement before taking any such liberties, and she knew that well.
When he had agreed to host this event, he had not realized how much would be required of him. He had thought he could arrive, smile as people entered, and dance with Emma a handful of times. But no, it had been far more involved than that.
Cool night air pressed against his skin as he pushed through the front door and hurried down the steps. Torches lined the walkway and led him toward the Italian garden, which couples could also reach from the ballroom through the French doors, left open to the cool air. But no one had sought the fresh air yet, it seemed, because the garden appeared abandoned.
His steps slowed as he reached the path, and he walked toward the fountain, scanning the grounds for movement. A feeling in his gut told him at once that something was not right, and when he turned the corner at the hedge, he saw why.
Sophia Yardley sat alone on the stone bench, shivering as she looked up at the fountain. Her eyes met Owen’s, and confusion flashed across her face.
“Good evening,” he said, approaching carefully. “Is your brother here?”
“He should be.” Her teeth chattered. “He asked me to meet him so we could discuss something important he just learned.”
Owen closed his eyes briefly. They had been set up. “I think we ought to return to the ballroom. You would not wish to be found alone with a man.”
“Like you?” she asked, raising her eyebrow. “Is my reputation in danger?”
“I hope you know I am trustworthy.”
She stood, dusting off her gown. “Of course. But if my brother needs to speak to me?—”
“Can he not do so later? What could be so pressing that it must be discussed now?”
She shrugged. “That was what I wondered.”
Owen clenched his jaw and moved toward the pathway. “Come, Miss Yardley, before—” He caught movement at the edge of the garden through the naked branches. Alarm bells rang in his head. The person—whoever they were—was running.
“Miss Yardley, when did your brother ask you to come out here?” Owen asked.
“I received a note perhaps a quarter hour ago.”
He nodded and moved around her, climbing up on the bench to look out over the grass behind the house. Emma rounded the edge of the garden, running toward the house. Owen’s heart leapt to his throat. The terror in her eyes was enough to freeze his blood.
“Emma!” he called.
She turned at the sound of his voice, her feet sliding on thegravel path. When her gaze connected with his, he knew at once that something was wrong.
