A Most Faithful Companion (Supposed Scandal #4)

Prologue

Emma Darling peeked through the upper window of Thornbrook Hall and noted the plume of dust trailing the lone rider down the lane.

He rode toward her house at a rapid clip, as though hounds chased him, as though he could not arrive quickly enough.

She gave a delighted squeal and lifted the hem of her skirt as she ran for the door.

Owen was coming.

“Miss?” her maid called. “Your hair!”

“Not now! I’m to have a visitor.” Emma’s heart thundered, her anticipation welling with each step that brought them closer together.

Mother’s voice echoed through the corridor, blending with the regal tones of the baron’s mother.

She would know that self-important, booming voice anywhere.

And if she was gracing their drawing room for tea, that meant her son was at her side.

A sliver of distaste rolled through Emma’s stomach as the voices grew louder. There was nothing inherently wrong with Lord Gifford, but the extent to which Papa wanted her to choose him gave her an immense aversion to the gentleman. That, and he was not Owen.

She swept down the servants’ stairs, avoiding detection before she could be waylaid. But upon reaching the ground floor and opening the door, she nearly collided with Mrs. Clifton.

“Slow down, child,” the housekeeper admonished, taking Emma softly by the shoulder. Her gray gown was fitted nicely, and a silver chatelaine dangled from her waist. “What is wrong?”

“Nothing.” Emma could not dampen her grin for all her might.

Mrs. Clifton had been a fixture in her home for the whole of her life and knew her as well as her own mother did. She narrowed her eyes. “I have it on good authority that there is a gentleman waiting to see you in the drawing room.”

“Oh? How interesting.”

“Yet you are walking in the opposite direction.” Mrs. Clifton leaned back, assessing her. She was not fooled.

Emma needed to make her escape before Owen reached the door, or he would undoubtedly be turned away. Sometimes it seemed that the entire household was in league with Papa in keeping them apart.

“The baron’s mother is here visiting my mother,” Emma clarified. She had not heard any male voices, so she was not being dishonest, despite her assumptions. “I have something I need to see to.”

Someone I need to see, she did not add.

“Emma,” Mrs. Clifton began, worry edging into her expression, “should you—”

“I must see Penelope!” Emma called, skirting the housekeeper and darting away. It was a brilliant excuse, if she did think so herself. She could run directly for the stables. “You know how antsy she becomes when I have gone too long between visits.”

“But you aren’t even wearing your habit!” Mrs. Clifton called to her retreating form, a note of frustration in her tone.

Guilt pressed on Emma, but she shook it off, breaking into the warm sunlight just as Owen’s horse came to a stop in front of the stables.

A smile broke over her face. She tore into a run, conscious of the bank of windows facing the front drive and how many of them lined the drawing room.

They needed to slip away before Mother noticed.

She circled the side of the stables just in time to watch Owen dismount his horse with practiced ease.

His long, lean body was strong, and he planted his feet with surety before running a hand through dark brown locks that were in need of a trim and settling his hat on his head.

When he looked over his shoulder and caught her gaze, his gray eyes lit, a smile washing over his handsome face.

Emma’s body surged with affection. She crossed the space between them and took his hand, heedless of the groom leading his horse away. “Come with me. I found a new patch of berries, and Cook needs an entire barrel of them if she’s going to make us a pie.”

Owen’s deep chuckle rumbled through the air, sending a thrill through her. His hand tightened around hers as he followed her out of sight and toward the woods. “Berries, you say?”

“Pie is the objective here.”

“Is it?”

She glanced at him over her shoulder. “Why the skepticism?”

They broke through the first of the trees, and Emma relaxed, safe from any watchful eyes.

She slowed her gait, falling in beside him.

Owen tugged gently, slowing her to a walk, their hands remaining clasped between them.

“Forgive me,” he said at length. “I assumed that to pick berries, one needed a basket.”

Emma’s laugh rang out through the trees. “I’ve been caught.”

“What are we running from? Or is it who?”

She paused. He would not like to hear the answer, of course. He was fully aware of how strong-handed her father had been in trying to push Emma and Lord Gifford together. “The baron and his mother are visiting,” she muttered.

Owen’s hand tightened reflexively. “Did he not come last Saturday?”

“His visits are increasing. Papa believes he will make an offer shortly.” She shivered, refusing to allow the unease in her gut to take over. “But it is no matter. I would rather speak to you about anything else.”

“It is of some import, Emma. I can see how taxing this is for you.”

He was the kindest, most compassionate man.

Of course it was taxing. Her father did not approve of Owen in any way.

Papa wanted to see her as Lady Gifford, with a title and the prestige that would come along with it.

He had not married for love—it had come later in his marriage to Mother.

He believed it would work out the same way in Emma’s life if she would only be obedient and follow her parents’ guidance.

It was a constant battle in her home.

She did not wish to discuss it now. Instead, she gave him an overly bright smile. “How are the Buckleys? I do adore your aunt.”

Their steps slowed. Owen considered her question before answering.

It was something she had always appreciated about him, though she wondered if he was deciding whether to allow the change in conversation.

He had not grown up in Briarstead near her.

His life at home was difficult, and he often visited his aunt and uncle, who lived near Emma, so they had been blessed to fall into one another’s lives.

“Uncle Edward learned about my stepmother’s recent trip to Brighton and the obscene amount of funds she spent there.

He fears there won’t be a penny left for me by the end of the next decade.

” Owen ceased walking and faced her, taking both of her hands in his.

“He offered to purchase a commission for me.”

Emma’s heart quickened. “The navy?”

“Army.”

She swallowed against a dry throat. “What do you think?”

His gray eyes, beautiful and gleaming, raked over her face. “I could not make such an important decision without asking your opinion.”

It was as near a declaration as he had yet made.

Emma’s heart swelled so large she was certain it would burst. Her hands slid up his arms, resting on his elbows as he gently squeezed her waist. A captain in the army.

She, a captain’s wife? It was not the life she’d envisioned for herself, but she did not care, so long as she was at Owen’s side.

She looked up now into his face with unabashed adoration.

“I will follow you anywhere, Owen.”

The smile that split his face dove straight to her heart. “I’ve never had aspirations for the army. Being away would be difficult. The travel would be exceptionally challenging. To be truthful, if we can avoid it, that would be my preference.”

“Perhaps Mr. Buckley has another idea? Horse breeding, perhaps? You have always been exceptional with them.”

“It is a thought.” His hands went behind her waist, linking together and pulling her even closer.

“Why, Mr. Owen Buckley, whatever do you think you’re doing?” she asked coyly.

“If I am bothering you, Miss Darling, I can certainly leave,” he said, affecting innocence.

He began to pull away, but she tightened her grip. “Do not dare.”

Owen’s laugh was deep. “Enough of these heavy topics. The only future we need concern ourselves with is whether your family will accept my aunt’s invitation to dine in a fortnight.

I’ve been dispatched here with the direct purpose of delivering an invitation, so I must leave it with you before I go. ”

She hesitated. Papa had refused to set foot on Buckley land again so long as Emma had a preference for Owen. But surely Mother would bring him around. She affected an air of bravado. “You know we will. My mother loves your aunt dearly.”

“Fortunately for us,” he murmured, his eyes darkening as they fell to her lips.

Anticipation climbed Emma’s spine. She loved this man, and she was eager to move to the next step in their future. Anything that brought them closer to marriage, a life together, children. She looked forward to the life they could share and the roles she would take on.

“But your father does not love me,” he said quietly, pulling her from her thoughts.

“He will. Be patient.”

“How patient?”

Emma hated this. She was not yet of age. If Papa continued to refuse to give his approval, would they be waiting nearly three years to wed? Emma suppressed the thought. She could not dwell on it.

Owen pulled her tightly against him. “I can be patient,” he whispered.

He lowered his lips to hers and kissed her deeply, leaving no doubt as to how he felt.

Emma pushed aside her reservations and surrendered to the moment.