Chapter 16
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Owen turned the letter over, the name on the front written in his hand, just as the interior was, though none of it was from him.
Tom Danvers. He had transcribed the missive for one of his dying soldiers in the last moments of the man’s life and promised to deliver the note by hand when he reached England once again.
Tapping the corner of the letter on the breakfast table, he suppressed a sigh.
It was an innocuous note. Hardly worth the travel he would undertake to deliver it.
But he had made a promise—he owed Tom Danvers his life.
And he suspected he knew precisely why Kentworth had asked him to perform this service.
“Good morning, Owen,” Aunt Clara said, sweeping into the room. “I hope I am not disturbing your breakfast.”
He slid the letter into the inner pocket of his coat and stood, gesturing to the chair beside him. “Not at all. Join me.”
“I’ve eaten.”
“This early? That is quite unlike you.”
She fought amusement, lowering herself into the seat beside his chair, then waited for him to sit again.
“Necessity required it of me. We lack a proper number of servants at present. It would not feel urgent to me, but Emma is concerned it will cause the others to feel overworked. She will certainly take on far more responsibility than she ought unless we bring on another maid or two, and perhaps a footman.”
“Of course. That does not surprise me in the least. Miss Darling has a tendency to worry about others far more than herself, does she not?” He reached for another roll and sliced it in half to slather with jam.
Aunt Clara watched him. “She does. It is the humility within her. She has always been this way.”
He remembered it well from when they were younger.
She had done selfless things many times, even when she had still been privileged.
Sacrificing the last of the berry tarts for another.
Choosing a less comfortable seat in order to leave the cushioned chair for an older woman.
Giving up her place of pride in a musicale so her anxious friend could perform earlier.
Emma had been primed to step into the role of companion because of her kind and charitable nature.
Owen could not abide his aunt’s focused stare any longer. “The estate can withstand the expense if that is your concern.”
Aunt Clara’s eyes warmed with affection. “My concern is that if we do not hire the servants quickly, Emma will run herself into the ground. Mrs. Rowley told me at church last Sunday that there is a hiring fair at the market in Danesbrook this morning.”
He had been considering taking off for Leeds to manage the letter burning a hole in his pocket, but he had waited so long already. He could put it off another few days. This was the more pressing matter.
While he was in Danesbrook, perhaps he could inquire about nearby properties available for his school as well.
“I can take you to find your servants, Aunt Clara. Or would you prefer I took…who is your housekeeper? Mrs. Bates?”
“I do not need one. The house is too small.” She fiddled with the edge of the serving dish holding cream. “Emma can join you. She will know precisely how many people we need and whether anyone at the market seems to be of good quality.”
Owen took a bite of his roll, chewing slowly so he would not appear eager. “I am happy to take Miss Darling with me if you think she will not object.”
“Take the wagon, Owen, and no one could object. You’ll be in the open on country roads for the entirety of the ride, and if all goes according to plan, you shall travel home with a few additional people.”
Aunt Clara made a valid point.
“She has gone to visit the Presleys now. You may fetch her on your way.” Aunt Clara stood. “And tell her I will enjoy my solitude today. I need to rest after all the excitement of moving.”
Owen chuckled. “I take it you’d like for me to leave immediately?”
Aunt Clara filled a napkin with rolls and handed it to him. “If you do not, all the good servants will be chosen. We’ll be left with the idle ones.”
He stood. “Very well. I will fetch my coat and be on my way.”
Owen dressed warmly and fetched extra blankets for the wagon as the men in the stables hitched the horses.
He pulled on his driving gloves and great coat, then stacked the blankets on the driver’s bench beside him and took the reins.
Danesbrook was nearly an hour’s ride away, and if he was being honest, the forced time together was not going to be a hardship.
If anything, he was eager for it. Though he knew perfectly well he ought not to be.
The Presleys’ house was down the road a fair distance.
A stone cottage with a small fence around the vegetable garden to keep out animals, and smoke curling from the chimney.
Owen pulled the horses to a stop and brought the reins to the fence where he looped them.
He hadn’t thought of what he would say when he interrupted the visit.
In fact, it was an odd thing to do, wasn’t it? His fist was poised to knock, but he paused, considering how best to approach the situation, when the door swung open.
Emma stood there, backed by Mrs. Presley with a baby on her hip.
“Owen!”
He lowered his fist. “Good morning, Miss Darling. Mrs. Presley.”
Emma’s cheeks stained red, her hand finding her heart. “You gave me a fright.”
“My aunt has sent me to fetch you.” There, that felt honest and vague. “I worried I would be cutting into your visit, but it appears I’ve arrived at the perfect time.”
Emma turned back. “Thank you for the tea. Let me know if the cough worsens, and I will speak to Mrs. Clifton. She had a remedy that helped me immensely as a girl, but I cannot recall what was in it.”
“I’m certain it is nothing.” Mrs. Presley smiled at both of them, her copper hair dull in the shadow of the house. The babe in her arm buried her face in her mother’s shoulder when Owen tried to smile at her, so he stepped back.
“Have a good day, Mrs. Presley,” he said.
She closed the door behind them when they reached the wagon.
Emma stopped. “What is this for?”
“We are being sent on an errand to Danesbrook to fetch servants for Primrose End. If you would like to be excused from the duty, I will take you home first. I was instructed to bring you, but I will not do so against your will.”
“Kidnap me? You could never do such a thing.” Her gaze dipped to his arms, giving him the unaccountable need to flex his muscles, even though she would never be able to notice through the many layers of his coats.
He would not allow himself to imagine throwing her over his shoulder and carrying her away.
That would be dangerous to his well-being.
Instead, he flashed her a smile. “I am capable, but I would never have need to take such measures.” He lifted a hand for her and she took it, climbing up onto the bench seat and settling in.
“That is confident of you.”
Owen climbed up and sat beside her, his leg pressing against hers out of necessity. He focused on holding the reins. “For all you know, Aunt Clara is unaware that I’ve taken this wagon, and I am spiriting you away now.”
Emma laughed as he flicked the reins, urging the horses to walk on. “Are we for Gretna Green then?”
“Of course not.”
“You needn’t sound so appalled.”
“I’m not.” He commanded the horses to go faster. “If I were going to marry you, Emma, it would not be in secrecy, running from everyone we love. It would be a celebration.”
Her attention burned against the side of his face.
“To be clear,” he asked. “You do wish to come to Danesbrook and select the servants, yes?”
“I am happy to help.”
“Good. Just making sure I am not kidnapping you.”
Emma’s laughter rang out again. She bumped her shoulder into his. “You sound just like—”
She fell quiet, nothing but the rumble of the wheels on the road and the horses’ hooves clopping to fill their ears.
“Who do I sound like?”
Emma cleared her throat. “Yourself…you, only…the man I knew nine years ago.”
Owen felt a twinge in his heart. He had felt the carefree man he was able to be then, as well.
She sounded thoughtful. “Since you’ve returned, there has been a heaviness about you that I cannot quite put a name to. As though you carry the weight of burdens around with you.”
He did. War changed a man, but so did time and distance away from his family.
Emma had been aware of the struggle he’d felt being good enough for his father and stepmother.
The men he’d lost in India had only added to his grief.
Those trials remained with a person. They were not burdens one could pick up and put down at will, but instead quietly absorbed into the very nature of his soul, altering the shape of his mind and thoughts and feelings.
He was better for it in some ways and worse in others. But he was different.
“I’ve experienced some great losses,” he finally said.
“Some things I chose to sacrifice, and others I had no part in deciding—they were chosen for me. I did not have a say in the matter of a man sacrificing much of himself to save my life.” Owen cleared his throat, keeping his gaze on the road.
“There are things I can never take back, and I will forever be changed because of them. I imagine you feel much the same way.”
“I do. Though I’d hardly compare my change in station to war.”
“I was thinking of the loss of your parents.”
Emma nodded. “That grief was all-consuming for a time, but yes…I see what you mean.”
“Each day I think of the men who gave so much for me, more than you could possibly comprehend, and I do my best to live worthy of their sacrifices.”
“Oh, Owen…” Emma turned on the bench, her knee digging into his leg. “You speak as though you must justify your survival.”
“Not exactly.” He could hardly breathe with her so close, the smell of her rose water wafting beneath his nose. “Only that I make it worth it.”
She shook her head, reaching for him, her hand pressing into his forearm. “You do not dishonor your men by living happily. Their sacrifices were not debts meant for repayment. None of them signed on for that. You certainly didn’t. They were gifts freely given.”
He jolted, shaken by the steady assurance with which she spoke. She was correct on one count at least—Owen had not expected any of his sacrifices to be repaid. So why did he expect that others felt that way?
“When I visit the Presleys and take Cook’s leftover buns or biscuits, I do not expect anything in return, and they hardly have anything to offer but companionship and a half hour’s conversation.
But neither Mrs. Presley nor myself feel our relationship is unbalanced.
We each give what we are able, and we appreciate the other’s sacrifice of time. ”
“Are you good friends with all of your tenants?”
“They are not my tenants,” she muttered.
“No, but still, it is uncommon.”
Emma straightened, removing her hand from his arm, and he felt a loss. “They are good people. If you have any particular questions in regard to farming or land, Mr. Presley is a good man to consult.”
“I’ll take that under advisement.”
She snorted. “You are incorrigible.”
“I am trying to lighten the mood.”
“It is only me, Owen.”
He looked at her, the gentle slope of her nose and perfect pinkness of her lips. Her green eyes were shaded beneath her bonnet, but they were just as vibrant as her soul.
“Exactly,” he breathed. “Now, we had best come up with a plan before we reach the market. Aunt Clara would like one or two maids and a footman. What do you think?”
Emma watched him drive for so long, he began to wonder if she was not going to answer him. Finally, she sighed, straightening on the bench and looking out over the countryside. “Two maids and a footman. If one of the maids can help in the kitchen, that would be ideal.”
Owen nodded once. “Done.”