Chapter 26
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Owen stepped through the stable doors of the Amherst estate and breathed in the fresh air, letting the warm sunbeams wash over him.
Green land stretched out to the east, but the house was surrounded by trees to the north and west, which bled into a forest and bubbling stream.
There was space for a vegetable garden and plenty of land to farm in order to make the property self-sufficient.
The house was a large square building with rooms aplenty and a gamekeeper’s cottage tucked into the woods that needed a good deal of updating before the Danvers family would find it hospitable.
But none of the setbacks were insurmountable.
Each thing Owen came up against with this property soon presented a solution.
The best feature thus far had been its proximity to Buckley Place—forty-five minutes by horseback, just under an hour in a carriage.
Had Owen not stopped in Danesbrook last night to rest Philosopher and take his dinner, he would not have fallen into conversation with a local man about his school, and that man never would have been able to connect Owen with Mr. Penworth, an aging man who was selling his estate and going to live with his daughter in Shropshire.
Owen had been forced to sleep in Danesbrook that evening in order to meet with Mr. Penworth the following day, but it had been worth the wait.
The house was everything he’d been looking for.
The price was a little steep, but since the estate was larger, he could fill it with more students and offset the cost for those who couldn’t pay.
After dinner with Tom and his family, the Danvers agreed to run the school.
Tom’s sons accepted positions as groundskeeper and stable master, and Annie agreed to consider the position of housekeeper—though she wanted time to consider whether she would prefer to cook instead. Everything was falling into place.
It could work. His plan—it could work.
“What would the neighbors think about the house being used for a school?” Owen asked, walking side by side with Mr. Penworth back toward the front door.
He’d been surprised when the man himself opted to show Owen around the estate instead of fobbing him off on a steward, but it proved how deeply he had cared for his property.
He wanted to be sure it ended up in the right hands.
Owen wanted to be certain he would not have townspeople lobbying against him.
“I am sure the notion will not sit well in everyone’s minds. ”
“It isn’t their house,” he said grimly, running his fingers over his white side whiskers. “None of their business, is it? You don’t seem the type to let the lads come into Danesbrook and make a muck of our town.”
“I am hoping to raise upstanding gentlemen.”
“Good luck, sir.” Mr. Penworth laughed heartily, his breath beginning to wheeze. “If you are successful with half of your endeavors, you will have done the job well.”
Owen couldn’t help but smile. “Your daughter must be eager for your company. When do you plan to move?”
“June. I won’t travel until it’s warm, mind you. But if you want the house, it’s yours. Saves me the trouble of parading my home in front of countless buyers.”
Warmth filled his chest. “I’ll need to speak to my aunt first, but I do not see why she would not approve. This is…it is a beautiful property, sir. You should be proud of what you’ve built here.”
Mr. Penworth’s blue eyes grew misty. “I raised my family in this house. Five girls, all married with families of their own, now. My wife passed on ten years ago, and I find it doesn’t hold the same magic for me it once did. It’s time I let it go.”
“None of your children want the house?”
“They certainly want it,” he scoffed. “But it’s mine. I’d rather sell and use the money how I wish. When I die, they can split the rest of the money five ways.”
Owen nodded, rubbing his chin. “When do you need an answer?”
“End of the week.”
Owen reached out to shake his hand. “Very well, sir. You shall hear from me soon.”
Owen rode the rest of the way home with a smile.
Things were falling into place for the school, yes, but more than that, speaking to Tom had released a measure of guilt he hadn’t realized he’d been harboring.
He felt lighter, as though he’d removed the weighty bag of stones he’d slung over his shoulder for the last few years.
Not only guilt for being alive and whole when Tom had given so much for him, but also for the gnawing sense that he hadn’t deserved to be preserved.
Since returning to Briarstead, nothing had occupied his mind so much as Emma.
She had settled into his thoughts, refusing to vacate, and he allowed her to remain.
But while he had been so capable of reading her thoughts easily at one time, he had lost that ability. She was made of sterner stuff now.
No, that was not correct. She had likely only hardened her outer shell as a protective measure, creating a stone visage to show the world and hide her true feelings.
Owen hoped she was hiding her true feelings. He deeply yearned for her to be longing for him the way he longed for her.
Have you asked her? As though it could be so easy. As though Owen had not wanted to do so each time he looked at her. As though he had not asked her to be his wife nine years ago and was thoroughly rejected, adding validity to the possibility of rejection again.
Tom was right. Difficult as it would be, Owen needed to speak plainly with her.
No more dancing around their feelings. Owen’s opinion of her had only grown, blooming with each new day and interaction at her side.
He had made a promise that no harm would come to her reputation, and he had meant it.
If rumors abounded, he would squash them.
He would marry her if she let him. Owen would burn any obstacle in their path to protect her.
He would not abandon her again.
His distance the last week and how deeply he had missed her had proved one unequivocal truth: he did not want to pass another day without telling her how he felt.
Regardless of the outcome, he would be stronger for learning her answer, because he would finally understand. Either his love would be returned, or he would be able to close that chapter of his life with finality.
The gates to Buckley Place came into view, and peace fell over him.
The sense of returning home filled every inch of his body, permeating him with a belonging he’d long been searching for.
Something innate within him recognized that the feeling was tied less to the land and house than to the people who resided there.
He was not eager to step into the grand hall of Buckley Place, but to see Emma and Aunt Clara again.
A rider was leaving the property as he approached, so he slowed his horse. “Simon,” he called, suppressing his surprise.
“You’ve returned.” Simon’s eyes searched Owen before settling on his face again. He seemed antsy, almost unhappy to find Owen. But that didn’t make sense. “You look exhausted. How was your journey?”
“Productive. I visited with an old friend from the army, and it lifted my spirits considerably. Did you…were you unaware of my absence?”
“Oh…yes, I knew. That is, I did not come to see you.” Simon flashed a smile. “I brought Mrs. Buckley some of my port. Welcomed her to the new house, you know. The proper thing to do.”
Owen ought to feel relief from the explanation, but something about it tugged at him. He observed his friend. “I’m sure she was very grateful. How kind of you.”
“Yes. Well, it was nothing,” Simon’s gaze dipped.
“Sophia has been going on about inviting Miss Darling to dine again, and I needed an excuse to make the call. She is a fine-looking woman, is she not? It is a wonder no one has snatched her up yet. Though, from my understanding, there was some to-do with Gifford some years ago.”
Again, he felt unsettled. If Simon had heard whisperings about Emma’s engagement to the baron, had he also heard about her connection to Owen? “Lord Gifford appears happily married now.”
“Indeed, with a half-dozen brats running about his estate. Given any thought to children yourself? I can’t abide them, but Sophia is eager to be a mother. Can’t understand it myself.” Simon looked away again, distracted. “I’d best be on my way. But I shall be seeing you soon.”
“Oh?” Had Owen committed to a dinner as well? The conversation bounced about, not landing anywhere in particular. What had been the objective?
“The ball,” Simon prompted.
“Of course.” It was only days away. He nodded to the man and commanded Philosopher to walk on.
After leaving his horse in the stables and sending his things to his room, he set out for Primrose End.
It was not to see Emma, but to ascertain that all was well before retiring for the afternoon.
Simon’s conversation had felt fidgety, and if the man had been attempting to hide something, Owen needed to understand what it was.
His time serving in the army had taught him many things. One of them was to listen to the feeling deep within his heart that whispered when something did not feel quite right. Something with Simon was definitely off.
The walk felt good, stretching Owen’s cramped limbs after so long in the saddle.
His long legs ate up the distance quickly, and he was soon knocking on the front door of Primrose End, his heart beating in his throat.
He’d not come to profess his feelings for Emma, but he was afraid one look at her would reveal them all the same.
Platt opened the door.
Disappointment nudged at him, but it was ridiculous. It was not as though he’d expected Emma to answer the door. “Is my aunt in?”
“She is in the parlor, Captain Buckley.”
“Thank you. I’ll see myself in.”
“Very good, sir.” Platt stepped back, allowing him to pass.