Chapter 34
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
The ball had—by all accounts except Simon’s—been a roaring success.
Everyone stayed long into the night, dancing, eating, and drinking.
Owen proudly made the announcement of his engagement to Emma and received more congratulations than either of them had expected.
He watched the last of the carriages roll away down Buckley Place’s long drive, exhausted in every way imaginable.
But he still had one task to see to.
Emma and Aunt Clara were seated together on a sofa at the edge of the ballroom, picking at a plate of scones. His parents had retired at least an hour ago, and most of the servants had done so as well, opting to finish cleaning tomorrow.
He stood before the women, his heart swelling with love. “If neither of you are too busy at present, I have something I’d like to show you upstairs.”
Emma’s face brightened, catching on immediately to his plan.
A crease formed between Aunt Clara’s eyebrows. “May I bring my scone?”
“Certainly.”
She rose, placing her free hand on his arm as she nibbled at her scone.
He led them up the stairs and through the new wing, his heart galloping with each step as they approached the door with the harp carved into the wood above it. Aunt Clara had not seemed to notice that detail, her gaze snagging on the beautiful spindles of the staircase to their left.
“It looks beautiful,” she whispered. “Edward’s staircase is a masterpiece.”
“Everything has come together nicely. He had a lovely vision.”
“Indeed.”
Owen ran a hand through his hair. “When Wick explained Uncle Edward’s plans, he told me what this room was meant to be.”
She waited expectantly, and Owen found himself growing nervous. Had he made the right decision? Emma had agreed with him at the time, but they could have been wrong. Emma gave him an encouraging smile, and he pressed forward.
“It was meant to be a surprise for you. Uncle Edward had been working with Wick to turn this into an updated bedchamber for you to share with him.”
Aunt Clara drew in a sharp breath. She looked at Owen, her eyes growing wide. “He did?”
“Yes. But I did not think you would want it anymore…I did not know. So instead of the bedchamber, Emma and I came up with a separate plan, and Wick saw it through.” He nodded toward the door.
Aunt Clara stepped forward, twisting the knob.
Owen had directed the fire to be lit so there would be light for them, and he was glad he’d had the foresight, because when they stepped into the room, it was a cozy scene: the light low and warm, the pianoforte gleaming, the harp in the corner, and stuffed chairs comfortably set to listen to the music.
A portrait of Uncle Edward and Aunt Clara from the early years of their marriage hung above the mantel, which Owen had moved from the gallery.
“Owen,” she breathed. “It is stunning.”
“Are you pleased with it? I was worried I should have kept the original plans—”
“What would I have done with a bedchamber? I do not live here anymore.”
“I wondered if you would like to move back now that Emma will come to live here.”
Aunt Clara gave each of them an affectionate hug.
“You will both value your time alone, I think, and I will like being on my own. I’ll own I was worried at first that you would marry someone I did not like, who would come in and change everything, or that you would turn the house into a school and I would be forced to watch its demise.
But I’ve grown quite a bit in the last month, and I think I can abide whatever happens now.
This is your home, Owen. It is no longer mine.
I am eager to see what you choose to do with it. ”
“But this room will always be yours.” He reached for Emma’s hand, and she slid it around his, squeezing softly to show her support.
Aunt Clara’s eyes grew misty. “I would like that.” She narrowed her attention on Emma. “If you will play for me.”
“Of course, I will.”
Owen breathed deeply, glad to have made the correct decision regarding the room.
Aunt Clara blinked expectantly.
“Oh,” Emma said. “You mean now?”
She yawned widely. “I suppose it’s too late now. We can return tomorrow.” Aunt Clara looked around the room a moment longer. “I think I will sit in here a moment if you don’t mind.”
“I’ll wait for you downstairs,” Emma promised. “We can walk home together.”
Owen tugged her softly by the hand, leading her down the stairs toward the front door. They moved slowly, each of them tired but neither of them wanting the evening to end. When they reached the quiet entryway, not a sound could be heard in the entire house.
“Shall we sit?” he asked, gesturing to the stairs. He didn’t think his aunt would make Emma wait too long to walk back to their cottage together, but she had been on her feet all night, putting on a brave face following an ordeal.
Emma laughed. “Why not?”
They sat close together, and he wrapped an arm around her back.
She leaned her head against his shoulder and released a sigh. “The portrait above the mantel is an especially nice touch.”
“You think so? I’m glad Aunt Clara agrees.”
“The room will always make her think of her husband anyway, but to have his image present in such a way was brilliant.”
He warmed from the praise. “Do you recall when you painted my portrait?”
She tilted her chin up, leaning back just enough to look him in the eyes. “I do.”
“It’s a pity we cannot hang that above our mantel, though I suppose it is not the same without you in it as well.”
“Goodness, your memory is faulty. I might have attempted your likeness, but it was no great painting.”
“I thought it was.” He cupped her jaw, tracing her cheekbone with the pad of his thumb.
“I still have it,” she whispered.
His hand went still. “You kept it?”
“Of course I did.” When she spoke, it was hardly above a whisper. “I could never let it go.”
Owen swallowed. “May I see it?”
“Eventually. But if you threaten to hang it anywhere, I shall burn it.”
He smiled indulgently, his fingers cradling the back of her head. “As though I would let you.”
Emma’s smile was tired and warm, just for him.
She looked at his lips, and he melted, his body turning to liquid.
When she tipped her chin toward him, he needed no further encouragement.
He pressed his lips to hers, kissing her tenderly and slowly, showing her how grateful he was to have her here and safe in his arms.
And he would show her every day for the rest of their lives.