“Are you pleased with it? I was worried I should have kept the original plans?—”
“What would I have done with a bedchamber? I do not live here anymore.”
“I wondered if you would like to move back now that Emma will come to live here.”
Aunt Clara gave each of them an affectionate hug. “You will both value your time alone, I think, and I will like being on my own. I’ll own I was worried at first that you would marry someone I did not like, who would come in and change everything, or that you would turn the house into a school and I would be forced to watch its demise. But I’ve grown quite a bit in the last month, and I think I can abide whatever happens now. This is your home, Owen. It is no longer mine. I am eager to see what you choose to do with it.”
“But this room will always be yours.” He reached for Emma’s hand, and she slid it around his, squeezing softly to show her support.
Aunt Clara’s eyes grew misty. “I would like that.” She narrowed her attention on Emma. “If you will play for me.”
“Of course, I will.”
Owen breathed deeply, glad to have made the correct decision regarding the room.
Aunt Clara blinked expectantly.
“Oh,” Emma said. “You mean now?”
She yawned widely. “I suppose it’s too late now. We can return tomorrow.” Aunt Clara looked around the room a moment longer. “I think I will sit in here a moment if you don’t mind.”
“I’ll wait for you downstairs,” Emma promised. “We can walk home together.”
Owen tugged her softly by the hand, leading her down the stairs toward the front door. They moved slowly, each of them tired but neither of them wanting the evening to end. When they reached the quiet entryway, not a sound could be heard in the entire house.
“Shall we sit?” he asked, gesturing to the stairs. He didn’t think his aunt would make Emma wait too long to walk back to their cottage together, but she had been on her feet all night, putting on a brave face following an ordeal.
Emma laughed. “Why not?”
They sat close together, and he wrapped an arm around her back.
She leaned her head against his shoulder and released a sigh. “The portrait above the mantel is an especially nice touch.”
“You think so? I’m glad Aunt Clara agrees.”
“The room will always make her think of her husband anyway, but to have his image present in such a way was brilliant.”
He warmed from the praise. “Do you recall when you painted my portrait?”
She tilted her chin up, leaning back just enough to look him in the eyes. “I do.”
“It’s a pity we cannot hang that above our mantel, though I suppose it is not the same without you in it as well.”
“Goodness, your memory is faulty. I might have attempted your likeness, but it was no great painting.”
“I thought it was.” He cupped her jaw, tracing her cheekbone with the pad of his thumb.
“I still have it,” she whispered.
His hand went still. “You kept it?”
“Of course I did.” When she spoke, it was hardly above a whisper. “I could never let it go.”
Owen swallowed. “May I see it?”
“Eventually. But if you threaten to hang it anywhere, I shall burn it.”
He smiled indulgently, his fingers cradling the back of her head. “As though I would let you.”
