Chapter 27
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Buckley Place was in an uproar, made clear the moment Slater opened the door, his eyes widening and one corner twitching just slightly. “Glad to have you home, sir.”
Owen stepped into the house. “I am relieved to be home, Slater. Is there anything I should be made aware of?”
Slater closed the front door, moving to take Owen’s coat.
It had been a loaded question, evidently, for Slater did not appear to know where to begin.
“The instruments have all been delivered and placed in the new music room. Miss Darling has not come to visit, so I was not required to avoid showing her the space.”
He ought to have felt relief, but her avoidance of the house only made his stomach turn, recalling how his mother had spoken to her—as though she were not fit for a connection.
“And the Italian garden?”
“Nearly finished. Mr. Wick and his men are installing the last of the pieces today, and the planting was completed yesterday. If you would like to take a quick walk outside—”
“Not quite yet.” Owen rubbed the back of his neck. The memories he carried from that place were ripe and raw. Seeing it made over would be difficult. “I’ve just come from Primrose End. My aunt mentioned that there had been a few changes to the household in my absence.”
Slater cleared his throat.
When it was clear he was not going to speak, Owen pressed on. “What happened?”
“Perhaps you would like to speak to Mr. Buckley—”
“I am asking you, Slater.”
The butler set Owen’s coat over his arm and placed his hat on the nearby table beside a vase of fresh flowers.
“Only a few small things, at first. Breakfast was moved to the formal dining room, despite the best light being in the parlor. Some of the furniture from the drawing room was placed in your mother’s chamber, and likewise, the sofa from the parlor was moved to the drawing room. ”
He hesitated. Owen frowned, but he could sense the butler gearing up to the worst of it. “Out with it, Slater.”
“Your parents moved their things into Mr. and Mrs. Buckley’s old chambers as soon as you left, sir.”
Owen’s entire body tightened uncomfortably. “Uncle Edward’s room?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And Aunt Clara’s?”
Slater nodded.
Owen scrubbed a hand over his face. “Was my aunt made aware of that particular detail?”
“I cannot be entirely certain, but I do not believe so. It is my understanding that Mrs. Rooney informed Mrs. Bates of some of the alterations, but I do not think Mrs. Bates would share something that is bound to hurt her mistress.”
“We are of the same mind.” A dark mood fell over him. “Is Knotts in the house?”
“I believe he is in his study.”
“Very good. I need to change. Will you have some fresh water sent to my chamber? I’m covered in dirt. And see that Knotts is sent for? I will meet him in my study in a half hour.”
Slater nodded.
“As far as the other issues…thank you for bringing them to my attention. I will see the matters dealt with.”
“Very good, sir.” Slater left for the servants’ stairs while Owen took himself up to change.
The matter needed to be handled with delicacy if he did not wish to ostracize his parents, but how could they imagine moving into the master and mistress chambers would be in any way acceptable, especially when Owen had avoided those rooms out of respect for his aunt and uncle?
By the time he’d bathed and donned fresh clothing, he had turned the dilemma over in his mind, trying to determine the best way to approach his parents and learn what their motivations were.
Surely there was a perfectly reasonable explanation.
From the outside, it looked horrible—that they had selfishly pounced as soon as Owen vacated the house and were free to move at will without censure.
But that couldn’t be the case. They deserved an opportunity to explain.
He would give them one.
Owen found his parents seated together in the drawing room on the sofa, immediately recognizing it as the one that had previously occupied his aunt’s private parlor.
Why had she not taken it with her to Primrose End?
Not enough room, or for another reason? It was certainly much nicer than the sofa that had been in this room previously, but Owen didn’t think it matched the room as well.
“We had heard you were home,” Father said, looking up from the paper he’d been reading. He set it on the cushion beside him.
“How was your trip?” Catherine asked.
Owen took the chair across from them, resting his ankle on his other knee and doing his best to appear relaxed. “Good. Thank you for asking. How has the house been while I was away?”
“We received another visit from the Cooper women, so all is well in that quarter. After our last visit, I had feared they would not be willing to overlook your friendship with your aunt’s companion, but it would appear they’ve thought better of it.
For the chance at becoming mistress of this grand estate, though, I imagine such things can easily be overlooked.
” Catherine laughed. “Miss Cooper will be at the ball, and she laid a hint that she is hoping for a dance.”
“She will be sorely disappointed, then.”
“Owen,” Catherine hissed. “You cannot dislike the girl. She is very pretty.”
“With nothing else to recommend her.”
“She is the type of malleable girl you want as a wife.”
“Not the type I want,” he quickly corrected.
The wife he wanted was strong, kind, witty, and knew her own mind—but also when to exercise caution.
She would never have put another woman down for the sake of her own pride as Catherine had or moved into the mistress’s room without permission the day Owen stepped away.
“I’ve heard there were a few changes while I was away. ”
Father glanced up from his paper. “Have the servants been gossiping?”
“You do realize I would have noticed eventually on my own, do you not?”
“The light is abysmal in the rooms you gave us, Owen.” Catherine frowned. “We needed better light.”
“Perfectly understandable. I find no fault with you taking whichever of the open bedchambers you’d like while you visit.
I trust you will always find my home to be welcoming.
” He paused, waiting for his words to sink in, hoping they did not skip the important ones.
“But when I marry, which will likely be soon, my wife and I will be using those particular chambers, so they will not be available the next time you come to Buckley Place.”
The room fell silent. Catherine’s cheeks mottled, her lips parting in surprise.
Father leaned back against the sofa. “Married? To whom, son?”
“I will not divulge the lady’s name before she has agreed, but rest assured I hope to have a favorable answer before the week is through.”
Catherine sat forward. “Not the Darling woman, I hope.”
Owen stood. “My bailiff is waiting for me. If you’ll both excuse me.”
“You cannot marry her, Owen,” Catherine called after him. “She is not who you think she is.”
He hated to admit it, but his steps slowed.
“Did you know there have been men visiting the cottage every day in your absence? What does Clara need all those visitors for? Mr. Yardley, Mr. Lofton, Mr. Graveley. Every day, at least one of them has come.”
Owen’s chest tightened. Lofton. He was the only man who posed any threat. “You mean to imply the rector should not be visiting his parishioners?”
“You know very well I do not mean anything untoward about a man of the cloth,” she snapped. “But all the men. It is unseemly.”
He could not argue the point, so he did not bother. “I appreciate your concern. Mr. Knotts is waiting.”
“Owen,” his father said stiffly, forcing him to stop at the threshold. “You owe us respect, son. We would like to know who you are bringing into this family.”
He glanced at them over his shoulder. In the nine years he had been away, they had not been overly concerned with his decisions.
When he returned to England and came straight to Briarstead, it had not hurt them to be second-choice.
They had never minded the strain in their relationship until now that he was the owner of the large estate his father had grown up in.
How could Owen reach any other conclusion than that his parents selfishly wanted a piece of it?
What he was confident in, though, was what little he owed them.
“You will know,” he promised, before quitting the room.
Knotts was in the study waiting in a chair in front of the desk when Owen reached it. “I hope you haven’t been waiting long.”
“Not long at all, sir.”
“Wonderful. Have you heard from any other investors about the school?”
Knotts shook his head. “At this point, it looks as though it might just be you and your army friend.”
“Hamm? That will be enough.”
“Did your friend accept the position?”
Owen’s smile was real for the first time since leaving Primrose End. “He did. Once we have the estate and a home for him and his family, he will make the move. I think it will be good for him.”
“That’s wonderful news, sir.”
Owen’s smile grew. “And to that end, I think I have found us a house, Knotts.”
Emma pulled the bust of the gown onto her lap and angled it toward the fire in the hearth to better see.
It was an older gown, one she’d not worn in ages.
The style was certainly outdated, but she’d promised Mrs. Buckley she would improve an old gown for the ball, and this one had been one of her favorites.
The color had always made her skin look warm and her hair particularly gleaming—though perhaps those effects were due to her youth.
She poked her needle through the fabric and pulled to create a ruching effect.
“You will be glad you took my advice,” Mrs. Buckley said from her seat opposite.
“If you mention Mr. Lofton again, I’m afraid I shall have to toss this gown into the fire.”
“Do not be so absurd. I listened when you shared your feelings about the man. I will not try to push the two of you together.”