He pulled her against his side, not caring a whit who saw. “I’ve certainly waited long enough.”
“I do not wish to wait any longer, either.”
He held her gaze. “You look stunning, Emma. You are alwaysthe most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, but I especially like this color on you.”
“Always?” Her eyebrow ticked up. “Even in a torn and muddied gown.”
He chuckled. “Yes. Irrefutably. Even when I believed you to be a beggar woman at that first meeting, I was struck by how my heart still reacted to you.”
She started to pull away. “Did you say abeggar?—”
“It’s not important.” Owen cleared his throat, keeping her flush against his side. “We shall announce our engagement this evening, I think. But first, we need to show everyone in this room just how real our love still is.”
Emma tipped her head back to look into his eyes, her lips forming a smile. “What did you have in mind?”
“Dance with me?” he asked.
“I would love to.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
The ball had—byall accounts except Simon’s—been a roaring success. Everyone stayed long into the night, dancing, eating, and drinking. Owen proudly made the announcement of his engagement to Emma and received more congratulations than either of them had expected. He watched the last of the carriages roll away down Buckley Place’s long drive, exhausted in every way imaginable.
But he still had one task to see to.
Emma and Aunt Clara were seated together on a sofa at the edge of the ballroom, picking at a plate of scones. His parents had retired at least an hour ago, and most of the servants had done so as well, opting to finish cleaning tomorrow.
He stood before the women, his heart swelling with love. “If neither of you are too busy at present, I have something I’d like to show you upstairs.”
Emma’s face brightened, catching on immediately to his plan.
A crease formed between Aunt Clara’s eyebrows. “May I bring my scone?”
“Certainly.”
She rose, placing her free hand on his arm as she nibbled at her scone.
He led them up the stairs and through the new wing, his heart galloping with each step as they approached the door with the harp carved into the wood above it. Aunt Clara had not seemed to notice that detail, her gaze snagging on the beautiful spindles of the staircase to their left.
“It looks beautiful,” she whispered. “Edward’s staircase is a masterpiece.”
“Everything has come together nicely. He had a lovely vision.”
“Indeed.”
Owen ran a hand through his hair. “When Wick explained Uncle Edward’s plans, he told me what this room was meant to be.”
She waited expectantly, and Owen found himself growing nervous. Had he made the right decision? Emma had agreed with him at the time, but they could have been wrong. Emma gave him an encouraging smile, and he pressed forward.
“It was meant to be a surprise for you. Uncle Edward had been working with Wick to turn this into an updated bedchamber for you to share with him.”
Aunt Clara drew in a sharp breath. She looked at Owen, her eyes growing wide. “He did?”
“Yes. But I did not think you would want it anymore…I did not know. So instead of the bedchamber, Emma and I came up with a separate plan, and Wick saw it through.” He nodded toward the door.
Aunt Clara stepped forward, twisting the knob. Owen had directed the fire to be lit so there would be light for them, and he was glad he’d had the foresight, because when they stepped into the room, it was a cozy scene: the light low and warm, the pianoforte gleaming, the harp in the corner, and stuffed chairscomfortably set to listen to the music. A portrait of Uncle Edward and Aunt Clara from the early years of their marriage hung above the mantel, which Owen had moved from the gallery.
“Owen,” she breathed. “It is stunning.”
