Page 48 of Mr. Eastwood’s Match

So Lyness remained where he was, weighing the loyalty to his brother against his longing to see the lady. Something in him rebelled against that loyalty when he thought of Emily.

The thoughts were not merely of her sweetness, though she had that in abundance, nor her kindness—but the way she spoke, thoughtfully, of people and plants and the life she had known before her title. The careful honesty with which she spoke of her fears. The canary they had rescued together, cradled gently in his hat as she trusted him to treasure what she had found worthy.

He admired her intelligence, the spark that lit her eyes when she spoke of her sketches or her herbs. He understood her unease with society’s expectations because he had lived beneath those expectations all his life—measured, assessed, found wanting in ways no one ever understood.

Her struggle was achingly familiar.

And somewhere between reproaching himself for holding her hand and longing to do so again, he had realized the truth he most wished to deny:

He wanted to know her heart.

And his own wanted—foolishly, dangerously—to be known by her.

Was there anything more extraordinary than being seen as one was, without judgment? She did not hear his stutter and look away. She did not regard him as Roman’s lesser echo. She saw a man with interests, with purpose, with worth.

He wanted more time with her.

The thought settled heavily in his chest.

They had met months ago in London, danced once, exchanged nothing but pleasantries—and yet she had occupied his thoughts ever since. Had the circumstances been different, had he not been summoned away to York so abruptly, perhaps he might have found the courage to ask for more. In London, surrounded by countless eligible women for Roman to notice, Lyness might have⁠—

A hand landed on his shoulder.

He turned sharply, breath caught, irritation rising—then exhaled as he recognized Christopher Holly.

“Holly,” he said. “You startled me.”

“My apologies.” Holly smiled faintly. “I called your name twice. I have never seen a man glare at a building with such intensity. Though I grant you, the matchmaking matrons inside are enough to inspire dread in even the bravest souls.”

The jest landed poorly. Lyness shook his head. “I am reconsidering my attendance this evening.”

Holly’s brows rose. “That is unexpected. Has a dragon taken residence inside the Assembly Rooms? I cannot imagine you being frightened by anything less.”

“You mistake me for my brother,” Lyness replied, the words dry. “I am not the bold one.”

Holly studied him, his expression thoughtful. “That is an odd assessment. You have always been willing to step forward when it mattered—especially when it would be easier to remain silent.”

Lyness adjusted his coat, avoiding his friend’s gaze. “Why are you still outside?”

“I am waiting for my mother and sister,” Holly said, nodding toward the arriving carriages. “My cousin is with us tonight. And you? Why do you skulk about out here?”

“I am not skulking. My family is already inside.” Lyness hesitated. “I cannot recall the excuse I gave for lingering—only that no one questioned it.”

Holly’s expression sharpened. “Lyness Eastwood, I believe I understand what troubles you. I suspected it at your mother’s dinner. The panorama confirmed it.”

Lyness said nothing.

“You have an interest,” Holly continued calmly. “A romantic interest, in fact. In Lady Emily Sterling.”

Lyness swallowed again an outright denial. “You confuse me with my brother. He is the one in a position to have such interests. Not I.”

“What does your brother’s position have to do with your happiness?”

“He is the baron. He holds the estate. He intends to court her.”

“And?” Holly asked, voice lowered as a party of several ladies walked by them to enter the ball. “What if she prefers you?”

Lyness shook his head. “You cannot know that.”