Chapter 32
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Buckley Place had buzzed with ball preparations all day, with servants placing flowers and chalking the floor, all of whom were being directed by Catherine.
She was in her element, looking regal, her hair shiny and coiffed with pomade and scent.
She was not the hostess of the evening, but she had certainly acted as though she were all day.
Carriages rolled up the drive in a steady procession, their wheels crunching over gravel that had been freshly raked. Polished lamps lit the front steps, welcoming guests from all over the surrounding countryside.
Owen stood at the top of the stairs, waiting for the woman who was meant to approach now on the arm of his aunt. But Aunt Clara walked alone in a stunning gown that showcased Emma’s skill, though no one else in the room would know it.
“Where is Emma?”
Aunt Clara approached sedately. “Finishing her toilette. She’ll be here shortly.”
He craned his neck to look down the stairs, but the entryway was empty.
“Not that soon, Owen.”
The first wave of guests had already been received and was in the seldom-used ballroom. “You are meant to stand at my side,” he said. “You are my hostess this evening, are you not?”
“And if I’ve changed my mind?” Aunt Clara asked.
“You would like to give that place to Catherine?”
She peered over his shoulder into the ballroom, frowning. “I suppose not.”
He would have preferred to stand beside his aunt as well.
Each time he had tried to broach the topic of marrying Emma with his parents today, they had put him off.
The very notion of tying himself to a woman with scandal attached to her name, who had spent the last several years working, repulsed them.
The rumors circling Briarstead that Emma was after him for his fortune were abhorrent, but he didn’t care enough to pay them any heed.
He was tired of his mother caring enough for both of them.
If his parents believed they could avoid him so long that he would drop the matter, they were sorely mistaken. He would marry Emma, and if they were unhappy with the union, they could remain in Yorkshire.
He searched the room again for her, wondering if she had taken the short way inside and entered the ballroom through the garden steps.
“You may go in search of her if you wish.”
“Enough of that,” he muttered.
Aunt Clara smiled indulgently.
Another quarter of an hour later, most of the guests seemed to have arrived.
“Did you not invite Lord and Lady Gifford?” Aunt Clara asked quietly.
Owen’s attention was fixed in the distance.
“I did not extend them a formal invitation, no. Our past is such that I felt it would be uncomfortable. My mother invited Lady Gifford when they shared tea, but she did not commit to attending.” He shrugged lightly.
“We do not have to share an acquaintance with everyone in the county.”
“I agree,” she said lightly.
A throat cleared behind them, and they turned to find Slater waiting. “Forgive the interruption, but Mr. Yardley is asking for you, sir. He would like to see you in the garden if you have a moment. I am told he has a particular question about the new installations.”
Owen rubbed his eyes, eager to join the company in the ballroom. He was almost certain Emma had come through the garden doors instead of rounding the house to enter through the front. “Yes. I will be there directly.”
Aunt Clara seemed to read his mind. “I’m sure the guests have all arrived by now. I will go inside, and if I see Emma, I will tell her you’ll be in soon.” She paused, tilting her chin. “Or shall I send her to the garden for a tête-à-tête?”
Owen chuckled, moving for the stairs. “I’ll be in shortly.”
They needed to announce their engagement before taking any such liberties, and she knew that well.
When he had agreed to host this event, he had not realized how much would be required of him. He had thought he could arrive, smile as people entered, and dance with Emma a handful of times. But no, it had been far more involved than that.
Cool night air pressed against his skin as he pushed through the front door and hurried down the steps.
Torches lined the walkway and led him toward the Italian garden, which couples could also reach from the ballroom through the French doors, left open to the cool air.
But no one had sought the fresh air yet, it seemed, because the garden appeared abandoned.
His steps slowed as he reached the path, and he walked toward the fountain, scanning the grounds for movement. A feeling in his gut told him at once that something was not right, and when he turned the corner at the hedge, he saw why.
Sophia Yardley sat alone on the stone bench, shivering as she looked up at the fountain. Her eyes met Owen’s, and confusion flashed across her face.
“Good evening,” he said, approaching carefully. “Is your brother here?”
“He should be.” Her teeth chattered. “He asked me to meet him so we could discuss something important he just learned.”
Owen closed his eyes briefly. They had been set up. “I think we ought to return to the ballroom. You would not wish to be found alone with a man.”
“Like you?” she asked, raising her eyebrow. “Is my reputation in danger?”
“I hope you know I am trustworthy.”
She stood, dusting off her gown. “Of course. But if my brother needs to speak to me—”
“Can he not do so later? What could be so pressing that it must be discussed now?”
She shrugged. “That was what I wondered.”
Owen clenched his jaw and moved toward the pathway. “Come, Miss Yardley, before—” He caught movement at the edge of the garden through the naked branches. Alarm bells rang in his head. The person—whoever they were—was running.
“Miss Yardley, when did your brother ask you to come out here?” Owen asked.
“I received a note perhaps a quarter hour ago.”
He nodded and moved around her, climbing up on the bench to look out over the grass behind the house. Emma rounded the edge of the garden, running toward the house. Owen’s heart leapt to his throat. The terror in her eyes was enough to freeze his blood.
“Emma!” he called.
She turned at the sound of his voice, her feet sliding on the gravel path. When her gaze connected with his, he knew at once that something was wrong.
Owen jumped down from the bench and ran for her.
“Where are you going?” Miss Yardley called.
He did not answer. The Italian garden had a new layout with which he was unfamiliar, and it slowed his run, forcing him to dodge unexpected plants and urns.
By the time he reached the outer edge of the garden, Emma met him at the gate.
Her breaths came hard, cheeks mottled red from exertion, and angry hand-shaped marks marred her arms.
Owen froze, his body going rigid. “Who did this to you?”
Emma gasped for breath, taking his forearm in both hands. She looked up sharply, seeming to notice the sudden shift in his demeanor.
Before she could answer, however, Miss Yardley joined them and drew in a gasp. “What happened?”
The panic that entered Emma’s eyes at once betrayed the scoundrel who mishandled her. “I should not—oh, but it was terrible, Owen.” She closed her eyes, swaying on her feet.
He drew her into his arms as she inhaled a steadying breath. She leaned against him, allowing him to support her, which proved how stunned she was.
“Take your time,” Owen said, though he wished the opposite. If Simon was getting away, he needed to hurry.
Emma was all consideration, as usual. “Sophia, you will not wish to hear this.”
Miss Yardley’s expression flattened. “My brother had a part in it?”
“He was the whole of it.”
She shook her head. “Where is he now?”
Emma looked up into Owen’s eyes. He cradled her cheek, wanting to crush Simon between his fists. There was a reason for the deep green grass stain on the front of her gown, and he would pay.
She swallowed. “In the stables.” In a few concise minutes, Emma relayed exactly what had occurred at Primrose End. “Platt noticed the strange carriage waiting in front of the door, so he returned to the house. He arrived in time to help me.”
Owen inhaled, his hand gently rubbing Emma’s back as he held her upright, all the while his body in turmoil, desperate to find Simon and string the man up by his feet.
Emma was not finished. “Evidently, Simon recently learned that he will inherit a sum from his mother upon his marriage.”
Miss Yardley nodded, though her golden brows drew together in confusion. “My father only told us a few weeks ago. He had kept it from us because he was trying to find a way to claim the money for himself, but the directive is unbreakable.”
Emma looked at her, pulling away from Owen’s chest. “Why would he need the money?”
She colored, her cheeks splotching red. “He lost our mines. We have been doing our best to retrench, but the funds are drying up.” She lifted one delicate shoulder in a shrug. “My father wanted access to that money in an effort to restore our fortune, but it is tied up in our marriages.”
“Which is why you are remaking your gowns and bonnets,” Emma said.
Miss Yardley nodded. “But that does not explain why my brother…why he did this.” She gestured to the bruises forming on Emma’s arms, concern lacing her tone.
Owen cleared his throat. “Perhaps he wants Emma out of the way so I am free to marry you.”
Miss Yardley gasped. “How ridiculous. Everyone in Briarstead knows you love each other.”
Emma’s gaze snapped to Owen. “He told me that himself, so I know it to be true. He also mentioned that taking me away would help secure more funds. I thought he meant the money from his mother, but perhaps he implied that the two of you marrying would bring in the Buckley fortune as well.”
“It would certainly explain why he dispatched servants and notes to orchestrate a private meeting between Sophia and me in the garden tonight. He was hoping to catch us in the middle of a tryst, but I imagine containing you was more work than he bargained for, Emma.”
“He certainly did not plan on being detained,” Miss Yardley said weakly.
Emma leaned against him, breathing out. “I feared I would not succeed, but Platt arrived in time. Simon’s hands and feet should be tied by now, and they are waiting in the stables.
” She shot an apologetic look at Miss Yardley before continuing.
“Platt wants to know whether you would like to send a groom for the magistrate.”
“No need,” Owen said, tightening his arms around her. “He is inside now.”
Miss Yardley chewed on her lip. “May I come?”
Owen’s heart went out to her. It seemed she had been caught up in her brother’s schemes, and the poor woman deserved better. A wave of compassion rocked him. “Of course.”
“I will wait outside,” Emma said.
Owen nodded. “I can take you inside first. Shall I find Aunt Clara?”
“I would rather stay with you,” she said.
He understood. He didn’t want to move from that spot or release Emma from his hold. She had suffered an ordeal, and it was remarkable that she was managing as well as she was. But he could not stand by and do nothing while that blackguard sat on his land.
He saw red again, his blood simmering. He would make Simon pay.