Page 22 of Mr. Eastwood’s Match

“I do not doubt you are right. She does a credit to your family, Sterling.” Roman raised his glass slightly. Not a true toast, but a polite enough compliment. His brother’s neutral tone lightened the pressure in Lyness’s chest.

The baron had not made any public movements to court Lady Emily. Roman may well still consider other options. That made breathing easier, and it made Lyness all the more eager for the company in the drawing room.

Whatever his mother had hoped for or planned regarding Lady Emily, it might come to nothing after all. Giving Lyness leave to admire the beautiful, intelligent, kind woman as much as he wished. Without feeling that he encroached upon something that rightfully belonged to his brother, a thing that he could not ever allow himself to do.

For the first time that evening, he felt truly at ease.

Chapter Eight

After the ladies withdrew from dinner, they settled happily in the drawing room beneath Lady Hartwell’s solicitude. The baroness quickly had the six women in places of comfort. A chair for Mrs. Holly near the fire, the Misses Norman settled at a card table, and Mrs. Elgin and Juniper given the pianoforte and sheets of music for the entertainment of all.

“We have an even number,” Mrs. Elgin, the young widow, said with a bright smile. “Perhaps we could have dancing for any who wished to enjoy such exercise.”

“Oh, you young people,” Mrs. Holly, her mother, said from her chair. “Forever looking for reasons to pull up the rugs and move about furniture. Matilda, dear, let us not turn Lady Hartwell’s drawing room into a den of chaos. Listening to music this evening is enough excitement for all of us.”

Mrs. Elgin did not seem put out by her mother, which surprised Emily somewhat. The young widow was better practiced at schooling her features than Emily, given that Emily could not seem to keep herself from giving away all her feelings with a look.

Perhaps that had saved her, though, at the table.

“If exercise is wanted, the garden is open for exploration,” Lady Hartwell said, gesturing to the doors open on one side of the room, letting in a soft evening breeze. “I had lanterns hung along the paths and above my favorite of the roses. I do hope everyone who wishes to take a moment in the garden will do so.”

That tempted Emily. Yet leaving the room so soon after entering might strike some as rude. Instead, she drifted toward a curio cabinet in one corner of the room, the little shelves filled with dainty works of art made with glass, jade, and clay. Many of the pieces were shaped into flowers and painted with delicate patterns.

Lady Hartwell joined her there. “You have found my treasures,” she said quietly, her eyes bright and hands folded elegantly before her. “I have enjoyed collecting these. I have only added one or two for myself. The rest have been gathered by my sons or friends when they see a thing they think I will like.”

There were tiny placards, folded cards, with information about each piece set before it. The writing was minuscule, but legible. Emily bent to read one.

Rose of Jerusalem, Olive Wood, Purchased in Greece. Gift from Her Grace, the Duchess of Montfort, August 1815.

“Oh. How clever. Writing information about each piece in such a lovely way.”

“Yes. The place where it was acquired, when, and who gifted it to me,” Lady Hartwell said, a small flutter of her hand gesturing to the cards. “It was Lyness’s idea and handiwork, of course. He enjoys the intricacy of the miniature signs. And it rather makes me feel like I have a museum in my keeping. Cataloging the information where anyone can see it.”

Mr. Eastwood had created the placards? That made her bend again to examine them closer. The writing was neat and tidy, and still somehow elegant despite the size. His penmanship was absolutely beautiful.

“Which do you like best?” Lady Hartwell asked.

It took Emily a moment to realize the baroness meant the roses and not the script.

“Oh. They are all so beautiful. Let me see.” One piece looked so thinly sculpted that she could only imagine how brittle it would feel, how careful one had to touch it. “This one,” she said, pointing to the delicate rose.

She immediately experienced sympathy for the inanimate object. In that moment, she felt somewhat fragile herself. The conversation at dinner had been difficult to follow, when she understood what was being said. So often, the men on either side of her had spoken of people she did not know and events—such as the upcoming races—wherein she had no experience. The dishes served that evening had all been new to her, and she was certain she had not eaten the main course in the way intended. She likely should have dipped the meat in the sauce that was next to it, instead of mixing them together on the plate. Dipping was certainly the more delicate option.

“Yes, that is a marvelous piece. Lyness chose that one for me. Of course, it says so on the card. He found it in a market, in France, when he visited a handful of years ago.”

“He went to France?”

“Of course. He visited as many countries in Europe as he could in a year. I am glad his interest and age corresponded to a time of relative peace for such things. A decade ago, it would have been too dangerous for him to travel in such a way.” Lady Hartwell smiled fondly at her display of treasures. “I think he enjoyed the adventure of it. I hate to have my sons far from me, though I think it an important thing for men of distinction.”

Looking at the rose again, and Lyness’s careful penmanship, Emily said, “I have hardly stirred outside the county of my birth before we went to London. And now I am here, of course. I have not even wondered what other places might hold.”

“I think travel is good for the young,” Lady Hartwell said, her hands adjusting the shawl around her shoulder as she spoke. “Perhaps I do not encourage it enough. I know Roman has no wish to stir far from York, but with the right persuasion, he might travel the kingdom a touch more.” She gave Emily a significant look to punctuate that statement.

Jack’s guess that Lady Hartwell wanted to play matchmaker for her eldest son seemed more feasible by the moment.

Several feet away at the gaming table, the twin sisters burst into giggles as one attempted to shuffle, only to send the cards scattering to the floor.

“I can help,” Emily said, hurrying to assist. And get away from the expectant smile of the baroness. She bent swiftly, and her head rewarded her for the abrupt movement with a sudden dart of pain.