Chapter 25
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Mr. Lofton sat directly beside Emma in church, his son Lewis taking the final seat on his other side and boxing her in. She tried to scoot closer to Mrs. Buckley, but there was little room on that end due to Owen’s parents taking up the space on her other side. Emma was well and truly sandwiched.
Ever since Mr. Lofton had left the dressing table at Primrose End, despite Emma’s clear refusal to accept it, she had noticed a subtle but marked attention from him.
It begged the question: was Mr. Lofton making his attention known now, or had it always been there, and Emma had only been blind to it before?
Mrs. Pennington had mentioned something long ago in her millinery shop, but Emma had actively closed her eyes to the signs that had been directly in front of her.
She had always been careful not to give any gentleman reason to believe she considered them in a romantic way. Where had she gone wrong with this one?
Was it the kindness she had shown Lewis?
The boy had lost his mother. It was a pain Emma knew well, and she had only meant to be a friendly face.
Surely that had not encouraged his father to believe she would be amenable to marriage.
To leaving Mrs. Buckley stranded and choosing her own selfish desires over the comfort and support of a dear friend.
Yes, Emma had always longed to become a mother, but not to the extent of leaping into another family merely because they had lost their wife and mother. She had also dreamed of love.
Mr. Graveley’s sermon drew to a close, and chatter in the church rose as the congregants filed out of their rows and joined in conversation. Emma pinned a smile on her face and directed it to Lewis. “I had heard you suffered a fall, young man. How is your leg faring?”
“Much better now.” He sent his father a scowl. “I’ve been able to walk on it for days, but my papa won’t allow me to leave the house except for church.”
She imagined it was to keep him from the uneven terrain near the river. “How very wise to heed his counsel. If you were to injure it worse, could you imagine how much longer you would be forced to remain abed? At least now you’re beginning to move about.”
“I suppose that is true.” The scowl vanished. Lewis gave Mr. Lofton an appraising look. “I’m going to find Harry.”
“Very well.”
Emma rose, watching Lewis limp along the walkway and slip outside. Mrs. Buckley had followed her group of friends, moving together like the school of fish Lewis would like to catch.
Mr. Lofton held his hat in his hands. His eyes were sharp, intelligent.
Why hadn’t she noticed how they followed her movements before now?
Perhaps because she had been so grateful to have a friend.
Mr. Lofton had certainly filled that role as well.
There must have been a point when his objective shifted, but it had been such a subtle change that Emma had missed it entirely.
“How are the ladies of Buckley Place settling into Primrose End?”
Emma let out a brief sigh. “Far better than I anticipated. It has begun to feel quite homey. Mrs. Buckley’s routines have not altered significantly, and we are finding our rhythm with the new servants.”
“That is wonderful news.”
It was time she spoke to him plainly about the dressing table.
They had filtered out of the pew and stood at the end, making their way slowly toward the door.
No one was near enough to overhear them.
“While your kindness and generosity are greatly appreciated, Mr. Lofton, I’m afraid I will not be able to keep Sarah’s table. ”
He stopped at the end of the final pew, his hand resting on the back of the bench. “It was given to Mrs. Buckley.”
Emma paused, raising her eyebrows. “We are in a church, sir.”
Mr. Lofton’s face wrinkled into a smile. “Oh, very well. I will not press the matter further. You and I both know I wanted you to have it. But the truth remains that I gifted it to your employer.”
“Which was a clever way of putting it in my hands.” She shook her head slightly. “I cannot accept such a grand gesture when I know I have nothing with which to repay you.”
Something flashed in his eyes so bold and clear, Emma was taken aback. He lowered his voice, the deep timbre of it climbing over her skin. “Do you not see that you provide plenty? You are my friend, and you are kind to my son. This is the only way I could think to repay you.”
All rational thought fled Emma’s mind. She searched for something to say, but her tongue refused to cooperate.
“There you are, Emma,” Mrs. Buckley said, returning to the church. Her shoes clicked along the stone floor. “The carriage is waiting, dear. Oh, good day, Mr. Lofton.”
He dipped his head, fighting amusement. “Good day, Mrs. Buckley.”
She observed them together for a moment before speaking. “How lovely to find you here. You would not be interested in coming to dine this week, would you? We could use some additional conversation at the dinner table, I think.”
“I would enjoy that very much.”
“Wonderful.” Mrs. Buckley smiled primly. “I will speak to Cook and send round a note when we know the best evening for it.”
He dipped his head. “I look forward to it. I hope we shall continue our conversation another time, Miss Darling.”
Emma slid her arm through Mrs. Buckley’s, leading the woman from the church before she could contrive an offer of marriage from the poor man as well.
Warm sunlight bathed her skin, beaming from high overhead amid the blue sky and fluffy white clouds.
Spring would soon arrive, chasing away the frigid cold that had lingered in recent weeks.
When they reached the carriage, John handed Mrs. Buckley in before helping Emma.
“What was that for?” Emma asked once they were safely ensconced inside and alone.
“What do you mean?”
Emma stared at Mrs. Buckley. “You were not very subtle.”
“Is it wrong to give the man a little encouragement? He is certainly not receiving any from you.”
Emma fought exasperation. “Perhaps there is a reason for it.”
Mrs. Buckley tucked her chin. “Surely you do not mean I’ve miscalculated.”
“I fear that is precisely what has happened. Mr. Lofton is my friend and nothing more.”
“But he wanted you to have his wife’s dressing table!”
“Which I refused.”
Mrs. Buckley gasped. “No.”
“Indeed. I did not feel it would be seemly. He delivered it to you anyway.”
She closed her eyes. “And I instructed the men to put it in your chamber. Oh, what a dolt I’ve been, Emma. I did not think he was the right one for you, but if he was who you wanted, I was not going to stand in your way.”
It was touching that Mrs. Buckley had cared so deeply about what she believed Emma had wanted, and at her own expense as well. “None of this matters, anyway. You trust I shall never leave you, do you not?”
“Nonsense. You deserve love, Emma.”
“I do not love Mr. Lofton.”
“Well, I know that now.” Mrs. Buckley giggled. “But I thought I was aiding you before. Oh, how wonderfully selfless I’ve been!”
Emma joined in her ridiculous laughter. “It would have been selfless, had I desired the connection.”
“We’ll be forced to keep the dinner engagement regardless. We cannot fob the man off now. But perhaps we can invite a few others. The Yardleys? You seem to like them.”
“The Graveleys would make an even-tempered addition,” Emma countered. Simon Yardley still gave her an uncomfortable feeling more often than not. She had never quite trusted the man—not since the leering way he used to watch her made her skin crawl.
A shame, for she had come to enjoy his sister’s company a good deal.
“We’ll invite them all,” Mrs. Buckley said with finality. “Fill the table, and Mr. Lofton won’t have an opportunity to steal you away for a romantic moment.”
“That is an odd number. Should we invite Mrs. Rowley or another of your friends to even the table?”
“We would need a man if we truly cared about even numbers, Emma. Perhaps Owen will return in time. He could interfere any time Mr. Lofton appeared as though he desired a private word.”
Emma’s chest tightened. Since disappearing nearly a week before, she hadn’t heard much about Owen or where his mysterious errand had led him to.
The longer he remained absent, the more certain she became that he was preparing to leave Briarstead for his school.
“That isn’t necessary. If we are forced into a dinner with odd numbers, I do not think any members of this particular party will mind. ”
“You are quite right. None of them are the particular sort. Let us plan for Thursday. It is close enough to Owen’s ball that he’ll certainly be home, and then he can join the fun.”
Owen’s ball. Emma had nearly finished Mrs. Buckley’s gown, but she had been postponing the final touches to delay the inevitable—
“When will you begin working on your gown?” Mrs. Buckley asked.
Emma bit her cheek. “I was not planning on attending. It is unseemly, is it not? A companion giving herself airs.”
“You do no such thing, and no person of your acquaintance would believe it of you.”
The vivid image of Catherine Buckley sitting in her open barouche flashed in Emma’s mind.
She had certainly believed her to be reaching above her station.
But a small feeling deep within her rang like a warning bell that it would not do to inform Mrs. Buckley of her sister-in-law’s feelings.
Their relationship was brittle enough without adding strain.
“Particularly if Mr. Lofton is in attendance. I’m not sure how I could refuse him a dance. It would be uncomfortable.”
“He will need to be told eventually,” Mrs. Buckley said carefully.
“Yes, I agree.”
“This ball will be the first held at Buckley Place since Edward’s death.
I understand your hesitancy, I do.” She paused as the carriage rolled to a stop, likely in front of Primrose End.
“So I do not make this request lightly, but it would mean a great deal to me to have you at my side. We have not spoken as plainly as we ought, but Edward told me on more than one occasion that he considered you the daughter he never was able to have, and I very much agree with him. You and Owen are my family. You mean the world to me, and it would be a great boon to my spirits to have both of you at my side that evening.”
Mr. Buckley had always been kind to her, his warmth and generosity reaching beyond the bounds of a typical employer.
This revelation, while somewhat surprising, did not greatly shock Emma.
It was more akin to pleasant news. She swallowed her reservations and pushed aside each of the reasons she did not wish to put herself out there.
How could she deny Mrs. Buckley now? “Very well, I will go with you.”
The carriage door swung open and the groom let down the step, waiting to help the women out.
Mrs. Buckley took Emma’s hand, squeezing her fingers.
Her eyes were warm. “In that case, you may cease dawdling and finish the trim on my gown so we may select a dress of yours to remake. Surely there is something in your trunk that will suit our purposes. Do not try to fool me into believing you are incapable of making yourself something beautiful. I know you can.”
“In so little time?”
Mrs. Buckley stared at her hard. Her hand did not soften its hold. The groom waiting in the doorway retreated a step, likely because of the stiffness of his employer’s glare.
“Very well,” Emma muttered. “I can probably pull something together. But it will be simple.”
“Hmm.”
“I do not want it to be anything else.”
Mrs. Buckley’s face transformed into a grin. “Oh, we shall start there.”