Page 27 of Mischief and Manors (Change of Heart #1)

CHAPTER 27

W hen evening arrived, and everyone gathered in the drawing room, Mrs. Everard dropped her piece of embroidery in her lap and proclaimed, “I miss my dear grandson. He must return soon or I shall topple over in this chair and die. Right here on the floor.”

“Mother!” Mrs. Kellaway exclaimed.

“And what about poor Annette? She must be out of her wits without him here.” Murmured agreements and light laughter followed.

I wanted to steal her needle and use it to embroider her mouth closed. But instead I just blinked and stared, numb to the mortification.

Owen had been gone for two days, but it hadn’t been enough to drive Miss Lyons away. At dinner, it had become clear that she had turned her attention to Edmund. He, however, seemed far from interested. I gave credit to his intellect for not falling for her obvious efforts to flirt with him.

To everyone but Alice, Miss Lyons seemed about as welcome as the mouse Charles had brought inside our first day here.

I needed a moment alone with Mrs. Everard—to beg her to see sense. There was no longer any purpose for continuing the fake engagement. Surely she must have seen that. I could pack up my things and leave the next morning with my brothers, and then she could tell everyone the truth. I certainly didn’t want to be here when she did.

Somewhere near the end of Mr. Everard’s usual performance, the sound of locks clicking and boots scuffing came from the entry hall. The butler’s voice boomed through the corridor and Owen’s voice followed. My heart dropped.

My mind raced in search of an escape. My brothers still sat beside me, but it was almost time to take them to bed. If I slipped out the door now, I could greet Owen quickly in the corridor and disappear for the rest of the night. My heart pounded so hard it hurt. I already felt warmth rising to my face.

Owen’s voice grew closer, and I realized with a pang of dread that I had run out of time. I was frozen in my chair. Trapped.

Miss Lyons shifted her position on the settee. She smoothed her curls with one hand and pinched her cheeks discreetly with the other, leaving them rosy and perfect.

My stomach tied itself into a heavy knot. Owen’s quick footsteps turned and gained volume, matching the rate of my racing heart. I wiped my palms on my skirts, desperately wishing I could disappear and not have to face him.

I saw a glimpse of his black coat and boots in the doorway, and then his browned butter hair and easy smile. His eyes slid over the room and fell on me, lingering with a weight that snuffed out my breath like a candle wick between wet fingers. He usually smiled when he saw me, but today, he looked cautious—like I might hurt him at any moment.

It had been two day since I had seen him, but so much had happened in his absence that it felt like a lifetime.

Peter and Charles ran to him first, speaking over each other in an attempt to be the first to narrate the past two days. Voices of greeting filled the air around me, but I didn’t look up. I couldn’t look up.

Owen’s voice came from across the room. “How have I endured an entire month without seeing you, my dearest?”

Was he addressing Miss Lyons? My heart pounded as I slowly lifted my gaze.

“I see you haven’t lost your poor attempts at humor, brother.” Edmund rolled his eyes.

Owen laughed deeply, slapping him on the shoulder. “I see you haven’t learned to appreciate them.”

Edmund grinned. “But I have learned to ignore them.”

I quickly dropped my gaze again, tugging at each fingertip of my gloves.

“Miss Lyons?” A pause. It was Owen’s voice again. He sounded surprised. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

I held my breath.

“Alice invited me,” she said in a demure voice. “It is a pleasure to see you again.”

“Likewise.” He sounded polite, but I couldn’t read anything else from his tone.

A few words passed between Owen and his father, and although I wasn’t looking, I could feel the pressure of many gazes resting on me. I picked up the nearest book I could find and flipped through the pages, pretending that I was deeply interested in Greek mythology, and wishing the floor would swallow me whole.

Miss Lyons’s smooth voice cut through the air in a shard of exaggerated surprise. “Are you not planning to greet Dr. Kellaway?”

So the floor had not swallowed me. Heart galloping, I put the book down and slowly raised my head, desperately hoping that I was not the you Miss Lyons spoke of.

I was.

As if anticipating my reaction, Miss Lyons was standing very close to Owen, grinning at me with a catlike resemblance to her mother. She must have taken my quip that afternoon personally, and it seemed she was out for revenge of some sort. My gaze shifted to Owen, who looked at me with a question in his eyes. The memory of our last conversation flooded me with discomfort.

And that was only the beginning.

Soon he would know that I had been pretending to be engaged to him, and I would die from the mortification.

I stood from my chair, not even attempting a false smile. The effort wouldn’t do any good. The truth was coming out tonight whether I liked it or not, and that was certainly not something to smile about. I stopped a few feet too far in front of Owen and tipped my head down in a polite bow. His hesitant eyes made my heart fall to my stomach. The room was painfully quiet.

“Well, I should expect a bit more affection from you two!” Alice said with a laugh. “You are engaged, after all.”

There. She said it. My face burned with humiliation.

I couldn’t look at Owen, so instead I looked at Mrs. Everard. She stood far to the left near the fireplace, and I was surprised to see a twinge of guilt in her expression. I wanted to run away. I could feel the heat from my face tingling on the tips of my ears. How could I have let this happen? I should have contradicted Mrs. Everard the moment she told this lie. Instead, I had spent two days living it.

I dared myself to glance at Owen. He was looking at Alice, his brow knit in confusion. Only a second later, he met my gaze.

His expression was impossible to read. Why isn’t he denying it? And why is Mrs. Everard not explaining? I shot a desperate glance at her, but she remained silent, as if waiting to see how Owen would react . The silence in the room was too thick; I was suffocating in it. So without permission, my feet carried me forward, around Owen, and out the door where the air was fresh and I could drown in my humiliation alone.

I didn’t stop walking. Not when I heard the creak of a door opening, not when I heard footsteps falling behind me, and not even when I heard Owen call my name. I didn’t stop walking until I was outside and Owen’s hand closed around my elbow.

He didn’t speak, he only breathed and waited for me to turn around.

The silence outside seemed greater somehow, filling a larger space than just a small room. Sweeping up every last bit of courage I could muster, I turned to face Owen, grateful that the dim moon was our only light.

“It was your grandmother,” I said, my voice too quick. “The moment everyone arrived, she-she told them that we were engaged. Every opportunity I had to contradict it was interrupted in some way, so it carried on for far too long.” I paused to breathe. “I told her to confess, but she refused. I think she took pleasure in torturing me.” The parts about Miss Lyons were absent from my explanation, but I was too afraid to say her name—to see his reaction.

I stared at the buttons on his jacket for a long moment before I was brave enough to look up.

A flash of hurt crossed his expression. “Was it truly such torture to be engaged to me?”

His question caught me off guard, burning my face and making me increasingly flustered. “No, I mean—it was the fact that Mrs. Everard continued to lie about it. Everyone was put under false pretense, and that was what tortured me. You did not, in fact, offer a proposal, and everyone assumed that you had.”

I hated the way my heart raced talking to Owen about this, standing so close to him in the dark, with only the tiny stars as companions. I hated the way he was standing, with his arms folded tightly, looking down at his boots with a scowl on his face.

When he finally looked up, he stepped toward me at the same time, making my breath stop in my throat.

“Well, suppose I had?” His voice was careful, quiet enough to match the silence around us.

My heart flipped in my chest and I stepped backward almost frantically. “What do you mean?” I asked with a fake laugh. My voice shook.

Owen’s eyes didn’t abandon their softness and determination as they searched my face. He repeated himself, slowly, and in a low voice that made chills travel down my arms. “Suppose I had proposed to you. What would it have been?”

I fought against the pain spreading through my chest. I had wounded him with my words in the library, and now he was testing me again. It was clear that he was probing for an answer that might heal the injuries I had inflicted on his pride. I was not trained in the matter, but I understood enough to know that this was the moment a lady might offer encouragement to a gentleman. She might give him reason to hope that a real proposal would be well-received. My heart raced, and a strong sense of longing overtook me.

I had read Aunt Ruth’s letter over and over that day, and the words were still etched in my mind. If you do not come back and marry Mr. Frampton, I will be sure to keep Peter and Charles apart from you in the future by any means necessary.

My gaze dropped to Owen’s jacket again. It was impossible to look at his eyes, not with his closeness and that question lingering in the small space between us.

When I didn’t answer, he slipped a bent finger under my chin and nudged it up, forcing me to look at him. It was the very thing I knew would unarm me entirely. The moonlight cast his face dark in shadow. His jaw was clenched tight in anticipation, his eyes searching every inch of my face. Silence thrummed between us, heavy and insistent. It was devastating to consider that Owen might have chosen me, yet I could not have him.

I could not have him.

I felt the foreign threat of tears as a knot in my throat. I pushed it away, replacing my longing with a sense of duty.

“Please do not continue like this.” My voice cracked as I spoke. “You are my friend, and I—I need you.” I swallowed. “I need you to remain as such.”

He swallowed, and a muscle jumped in his jaw. My heart broke open inside me, but I crossed my arms to keep it together. Owen’s eyes lacked their usual playfulness, but harbored an anguish that I didn’t know how to fix. There was nothing I was at liberty to say that could make it go away.

His hand fell to his side, and he took a step back. “Forgive me,” he said in a hoarse voice. “I should not have assumed…” he exhaled sharply. “I shouldn’t have put you in such an uncomfortable position. You already made yourself clear after the garden party.”

I held perfectly still, but inside I was crumbling like a building on fire.

His throat shifted with a swallow as he seemed to struggle to collect his thoughts. “I’m sorry my grandmother put you in an uncomfortable position as well. I will speak with her, and the rest of my family, to ensure the matter is set straight.”

I could hardly find the strength to open my mouth. “Thank you, Owen.” There was so much more I wanted to thank him for, but I couldn’t reveal that I was leaving the next day. It would be better if he didn’t expect it. He might try to stop me.

He took a step back, and he still seemed to be scraping bits of his composure back together. The void between us was becoming too large to bridge. His friendship meant the world to me, but how could I tell him? How could I tell him how he had given me a gift that I would never forget?

Upon my invitation to Kellaway Manor I had sensed, deep in my heart, that the adventure was a gift from my parents. Now I knew that my time with Owen had been the real gift. He meant far more to me than a house. Kellaway Manor was just a pile of stone and glass. Owen was the keeper of my heart. He would be forever.

That solemn truth settled in my bones, and tears sprung to my eyes. I looked down at my boots, blinking hard. Was there anything more to be said? I wanted our last conversation to be happier than this.

“I’m glad you went to Willowbourne,” I said in a soft voice. “I was surprised you kept your promise so quickly.”

His expression lightened a little. “I’ll always keep my promises to you.”

I kept my arms folded tight. He still wasn’t aware that I knew about his inheritance. He would soon discover that everyone—including Miss Lyons—had learned the truth. I wanted to ask why he had kept it a secret from me.

“Your challenge came at an opportune time, actually.” Owen looked up at the stars. “My uncle has been asking me to come for many months now. He is a bit of a recluse, and doesn’t venture out often.” He met my gaze. “After Theodore’s death, he planned to make me his heir. It wasn’t made official until recently.” He watched my face for a reaction.

I smiled down at the grass. “Your grandmother told me two days ago.”

When I looked at him again, his mouth curved upward. He shook his head. “She’s been a menace lately, hasn’t she?”

I laughed, and it soothed the ache in my heart. “You may want to consider giving her lessons on her behavior as well.”

“At her age, I fear it’s irreversible.”

We both laughed, and I couldn’t help but stare at the dimple in his cheek, and the way his eyes were both sad and happy at the same time. The undercurrent of my rejection was still there, lingering inside both of us.

His laughter faded more quickly than usual, and he cleared his throat. “My uncle wants me to begin living at Willowbourne in the west wing. He’s still in good health, but I have much to learn about the workings of the estate before I inherit.” He looked down and rubbed the sole of his boot across the grass. “I want to thank you for encouraging me to go. I feel equal parts fortunate and overwhelmed to be my uncle’s heir. But above all, seeing the estate again made me feel honored to be entrusted with the responsibility that would have been Theodore’s.”

It eased my heart to see that I had done some good while I was here. “I’m certain you’ll make him proud.”

Owen met my gaze, and I saw that cautious look again. “I want you to see Willowbourne.”

“I saw it on my way to the village.”

His features were serious. “No, I want you to go inside. I think you would love it. Besides, I owe you a tour since you were the one to help me see the beauty in it again.”

My heart pounded. How could I explain to him that I was leaving the next day? I couldn’t ever come back. Once I was Mr. Frampton’s wife, it would be far too painful to see Owen ever again.

“I asked my uncle if we could host a ball next week,” Owen continued. “He agreed, and I offered to send the invitations. I remembered what you said about having never attended one.” He gave me a soft smile. “The assembly room at Willowbourne is twice the size of the parlor here. You could dance all night.”

My heart ached all over again. He always was too thoughtful and kind. I searched my mind for an excuse. “I don’t have a ball gown. And I’m sure I’ve forgotten most of the dances I was taught.”

“There’s time to remedy that. I could even move the date of the ball.”

I shook my head, fighting a fresh wave of tears. No, there wasn’t time. It was unfair to pretend that I would attend the ball, or that I would ever see Willowbourne. The best thing I could do would be to leave.

I took a deep breath. “At the moment, all I can think of is how I don’t want to go back to the drawing room tonight.” My face burned at the thought. “Will you ensure my brothers are sent upstairs so I can help them to bed?”

Owen nodded. “Of course. And I will ensure my grandmother takes the blame for the…misunderstanding.”

Awkwardness hung between us again, and I saw that flash of hurt in his eyes.

We walked inside in silence, stopping at the base of the staircase. The entry hall was quiet, and I didn’t want to say a word. I knew how well sound traveled from there to the drawing room. My emotions hung by a thread as Owen turned to face me.

His gaze was heavy, pinning my feet to the floor. “Goodnight,” he said.

Would I see him again tomorrow? Perhaps in the morning, but I hoped to leave while he was with patients in the afternoon. Dread sank like a heavy stone in my stomach, and grief was already weaving a blanket over my heart.

“Goodnight.” The word rushed out, and then I turned around, hurrying up the stairs and into my room. My door slammed behind me.

I rushed to my writing desk, where I had discarded Aunt Ruth’s letter. It was crumpled, but still in one piece. That wasn’t good enough. I picked it up and tore it into shreds, until a pile of fragmented words rested on the desk. My skin burned hot with anger and grief as I brushed the pieces up and threw them into the fireplace.

I had glimpsed Owen’s heart in his eyes tonight, but it was like peering through the window of an expensive shop. Within there was so much that I wanted, that I could convince myself I truly needed, but none of it I could possibly afford.