Page 19 of Mr. Eastwood’s Match

Then at last the Sterling family arrived. In a gown the color of soft pink Valerians, Lady Emily was a sight to be seen. She wore flowers in her hair, too. Chamomile, he realized, the same as what she had sent him in the hat.

He had to push down the thought that there may be meaning behind such a thing.

After all the introductions were made, Lyness carefully made his way to stand behind Lady Emily. She turned as though she anticipated him, her eyes alight with good humor.

“Mr. Eastwood, I trust your hat made its way safely back into your possession?”

“Indeed, it has. Along with your news of Miss Feathersby.” That he did not stutter was remarkable. He counted it a victory, in fact. “How is she?”

The lady’s grin, unaffected and honest, drew him closer. “She is well. Though she has yet to sing, I have every confidence in her having a fine voice. Even if she seems shy about using it. You will have to come visit once she overcomes her reticence, to hear one of her performances for yourself.”

“Who is performing?” Roman’s voice broke into their conversation as he joined them, necessitating Lyness step back to form a triangle for their conversation.

With a faint blush in her cheeks, Lady Emily explained, “No one, really. We were discussing the canary we rescued. I have great hope that she will sing for us soon.”

Lyness wasn’t certain what he liked best, that she included him as one of the bird’s rescuers, or how charming she looked when she blushed.

“I see.” Roman’s tone was all genteel charm. “I am glad to hear your new feathered friend is bringing you happiness.” He wore a pleasant expression, too. One Lyness rarely saw outside of their circle of friends. “Have you ever kept a canary before? Or other birds?”

“No, this is my first pet since I was a child.” Lady Emily spoke without any affectation, and she did not bat her eyelashes or attempt to hide her pleasure in the topic. “Though I named the chickens and ducks on our farm often enough, they can hardly count as pets when we eventually ate them. Or their eggs.”

That made Lyness chuckle and brought up all sorts of questions he wished to ask. What sort of names had she dreamed up for the flocks of poultry? Did it ever bother her to eat a creature she’d named? Did she miss the farm her family had left behind with their elevation into the ranks of nobility?

But Roman merely raised his eyebrows. “I suppose one does not generally make pets of chickens. Though I did have a cousin who raised a gosling to follow her about for a number of years.” Then he changed the subject, to Lyness’s disappointment. “Are you enjoying your time in York? Not many think it compares favorably to London.”

It took a measure of self-control for Lyness not to groan aloud. Anyone who knew Roman well understood that this was a test of sorts. Roman detested London, and he had a strong preference for all things pertaining to York. If the lady expressed a contrary opinion, it would be a mark against her. From Roman’s perspective, anyway.

Without pause, Lady Emily answered warmly. “One cannot help being dazzled by London, of course, but I find the air here easier to breathe. The people are kinder, and there is time to think. I cannot imagine ever tiring of green things and open skies.”

“I feel the same,” Lyness said, thinking of the quiet of the countryside, the beauty surrounding their family estate. For a heartbeat, it felt as though she had reached straight into his own chest and borrowed the words from there. Green things and open skies.

Did she speak merely of York? Of walks on the walls and ruined abbeys and the curve of the river beneath its bridges? Or did her thoughts stray, as his did, to fields and hedgerows and the particular stillness that belonged only to true country air?

Perhaps she missed the home where she had grown up. Perhaps, if given the choice, she would rather return to it than belong to any baron’s household—Hartwell’s or otherwise. The notion checked him, cooling a warmth that had no business rising in the first place.

“I quite agree. York is superior in that way. One can hear oneself think,” Roman said, and Lyness almost winced at the near-smug tone. His brother would never admit to loving any place as much as he did their medieval city.

His mother swept toward them, eyes on Lady Emily. “What is this I hear? Lady Emily, how refreshing to find a young woman who can appreciate York’s virtues. As fashionable as London may be, I have always preferred my beautiful York. We ought to ride through it together, my dear. I should love to tell you more of its history. But for now, I must inform you of the arrangements for dinner.”

Lyness, already aware he was not the one escorting Lady Emily to the table, stepped aside with a quiet sigh. He preferred York to London, too, but hardly saw a reason to turn that preference into a virtue or a competition.

In short order, everyone found their companions for dinner, and it did not take long to go through to the dining room. Roman sat at the head of the table, with Lady Juniper on his right and Lady Emily on his left. Lyness sat beside Lady Juniper.

The arrangement meant it would not be easy for him to converse with Lady Emily, but he contented himself with enjoying the sight of her. She had an expressive face. More so than he usually saw in women raised within the ranks of nobility and upper gentry.

His mother had taken care with the table’s arrangement. Silver candelabra positioned in the middle of the table set the crystal wine goblets to shimmering. Small floral arrangements along the walls lightly perfumed the room in scents of rose and Sweet William, a flower his mother enjoyed despite its commonality in cottage gardens. She had always said the flower, like cloves and honey in its scent, encouraged genteel appetites.

Then there were the dishes, carefully prepared, as bright in taste as in color. The best dishware upon the table setting it all off in grand style. His mother was making a good show of her hostessing abilities. From the flicker of the candles to the table linen, Lady Hartwell honored her guests and family alike.

The soft candlelight on Lady Emily’s profile made her lovelier than all of it. And he wondered if she realized the splendor was, at least in part, due to her attendance. What would she make of such attention? Of course, the Misses Nelson were also present. Was there a chance, perhaps, that Roman might redirect his attention to one of them? Or at least divide his attention enough for Lyness to also enjoy Lady Emily’s company?

He wished he sat nearer. As it was, once the meal began, he could only watch her navigate conversation with his brother and, on her other side, Mr. Phineas Nelson. Mr. Thaddeus Nelson, his elder brother, at farther down the table.

The bright smile from the day at the ruins was nowhere to be seen. Lady Emily pressed her lips together when she was not eating or speaking, and ventured comment only when one of the gentlemen asked her a question. Her gaze darted to him more than once, and each time their eyes met he tried to reassure her with a nod or raise of his eyebrows.

“You are watching Lady Emily rather closely, Mr. Eastwood,” Lady Juniper said at his side, her voice low enough that it would not carry beyond his hearing.

His posture stiffened, as did his hold upon his fork. “Oh. Well.” He turned his full attention to her. “I beg your p-pardon, Lady Juniper. I have been an inattentive neighbor.” He winced. Cleared his throat softly. “What were you saying?”