Chapter 10 #2
Because he surely must have loved the place to remain so long, or so she must assume.
He would not reveal the truth—the driving force in his continued absence or how easy it had been to stay away once he had gone.
Owen leaned back in his chair, his appetite entirely fled, his attention on Emma.
He could describe the adventurous country that had stolen a bit of his heart. She would enjoy his anecdotes.
“First, let me tell you of the monkeys.”
A quick look in Primrose End proved the cottage was ages away from being ready for habitation.
Owen had begun a list of needed repairs but found his memory shortly insufficient to remember everything.
He would need to return again with a workman who could provide a reasonable estimate of time and cost.
But his first order of business would be to discuss the place with his aunt.
Buckley Place was lit by the noonday sun, highlighting its grandeur. The windows shone. The stone stood out against the rolling hills beyond and the bare trees in the distance. Gravel shifted beneath his boots as he walked, and the sound of distant birdsong heralded the near arrival of spring.
He was cold, but soon enough the earth would warm as they edged closer to summer. Where would Owen be then? Still at Buckley Place or back in Yorkshire?
His stomach turned at the very notion. There might be a house near his parents for sale, but if Owen could find a better situated one, he would.
Something near Briarstead, for instance.
There was no reason he should not choose a place close to his aunt.
He made his way inside and up toward Aunt Clara’s parlor, but she was not within. A brief search led him to her bedchamber, where he heard clattering as he knocked on the door.
Emma opened it, her eyes wide. “Thank heavens you’ve arrived. You are needed swiftly.”
“Is Aunt Clara unwell?” he asked, alarmed.
“No. She is packing.”
“Packing?”
“Her trunk. To leave,” Emma whispered, leaning closer to him and bringing a wave of rose water. “You’d best come in and smooth things over, for she will not listen to me.”
If she refused to heed her most constant voice of reason, that did not bode well for him. Owen moved past Emma and found his aunt near the wardrobe, pointing at the things she wanted placed in the trunks as two maids busied themselves with gathering and folding the garments.
“What is the meaning of this?” Owen asked, commanding the attention of each woman in the room.
Aunt Clara smiled kindly at him. “You must know I cannot remain. It is your home now, Owen.”
“You are being nonsensical. I do not want you to leave. I only returned to Briarstead days ago. Besides, this house cannot very well run without you.”
Aunt Clara grew still, her attention caught on a distant thought that no one else could see. “When you marry, which you certainly shall, your wife will not appreciate finding the old mistress still in residence.”
“You have nothing to fear on that score.”
She crossed the room and stopped just before him, her smile sliding to Emma as though in corroboration.
“You’ve returned to England even more handsome than when you left, Owen.
You are a good man and a captain, which shows dependability.
You will certainly have a trail of proper young ladies once you’ve launched yourself into Society. ”
Launch? The very word caused him to shudder. “I am not a fresh young debutante.”
“Which is all the more reason you are a desirable match.” Aunt Clara gentled her voice. “You are now the owner of one of the finest estates in Derbyshire and a significant sum of money. You are in great denial if you believe you shall remain unmatched for more than a twelvemonth.”
“Perhaps I do not wish to find a bride.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Who will inherit if you do not? Cousin Lawrence?” Aunt Clara crossed to the chairs before the fireplace and lowered herself. “Good heavens, my home deserves better than that.”
What had gotten into Aunt Clara? She was being ridiculous. Her ideas bordered on silly, which was not a word he would have previously credited to her.
She almost seemed…manic.
Owen exchanged a look with Emma, but she shrugged ever so slightly.
Crossing the room in long, slow steps, Owen hovered beside the chair across from Aunt Clara’s. “For the sake of argument, let us pretend I do not get married. Then I shall need you. Without you here, Buckley Place doesn’t have a mistress.”
“You shall soon.”
“But if I do not?”
Aunt Clara did not seem to think this possible. “Such an absurd notion is hardly worth speaking of.”
It felt as though Owen was reasoning with a child. Scrubbing a hand over his face, he searched for a better way.
Emma stepped forward, clasping her hands lightly together in front of her. “What shall Captain Buckley do in the meantime? Surely you can see the wisdom in remaining while he searches for a bride.”
Owen suppressed his irritation at that notion as well, for she was fighting on his side, at least.
Aunt Clara looked through the window for a length of time before turning her attention back on Emma with a heavy sigh. “I cannot, Emma.”
The look that passed between the women was long and pregnant. Owen noticed the moment Emma relented, her shoulders dropping as she gave a slight nod. “I understand.”
What the devil did that mean? She understood what, exactly? Owen looked between them, noting the resignation and sensing his grasp on the situation slipping away.
“Come, Mrs. Buckley,” Emma said. “I can help you finish packing.”
Aunt Clara stood, a weary set to her eyes Owen hadn’t noticed before.
“No,” he said firmly, startling both women. “This conversation has not yet ended.”
Aunt Clara tilted her head, reaching for his hand and giving it a loving squeeze. “You have a kind heart, Owen, but it is decided. I cannot remain here. You must step aside and let me go.”