Page 6 of Mr. Eastwood’s Match

A change of subject was necessary. She looked up at the mature elm trees. “Why is it called the New Walk? It seems the trees have at least been here a long time.”

“Oh, the New Walk has been here nearly a century.” Juniper gestured with her free hand to the River Ouse. “But why rename it if there is not a newer place to walk? The name will likely remain until some other path claims it.”

“And it leads nowhere,” Jack muttered. “There is no bridge, no connecting lane, merely an end that requires us to turn around and come back along the exact path we have already traversed.”

Juniper gave a small shake to his arm, a laugh escaping her at his implied complaint. “Because it is a place of leisure, dear husband. And you will learn to enjoy such things in time. My campaign to help you conquer this constant need to be useful will continue as long as it takes.”

At that moment, Emily caught the slightest change to her brother’s expression. A softening in his gaze, the smallest upward tilt of his lips. He was enjoying his wife’s gentle assault on his practical nature.

If she could find a husband who looked at her the way her brother looked at his wife, perhaps she would not be so daunted by the world of nobility. Certainly, a man who loved her would make all the rest worthwhile, would he not? Or perhaps she should not have picked up the book on Keats her brother had recommended. Romantic nonsense would hardly help her situation.

It was not even the grandness of such affection that tempted her, but the idea of no longer needing to practice constant vigilance in her manner, to simply exist as she was, made her stare at them. How was it done? That sort of ease of belonging?

Then Juniper laid her head against his shoulder for the briefest of moments. Feeling like she had stumbled upon a private moment between the married couple, Emily hastily averted her gaze forward and looked at the benches between trees facing the River Ouse.

A gentleman sat on one of them, his dark coat a striking contrast to the gray-blue background of the river and sky. A large hound lay at his feet, head up and ears pricked as a trio of ducks flew up from water to the grass. The man watched the dog, but as he turned to look toward the path, as though he searched for someone, she came to a stop.

Emily’s breath caught.

Lyness Eastwood.

It had been months since they had danced in London, yet the memory of his steady hands and charming smile returned at once.

Juniper, still addressing a lively lecture to Jack, hadn’t noticed him yet. But Jack’s head had turned in that direction with a steady focus. He looked at Emily, eyebrows raised.

She swallowed and pretended she had not seen anything unusual. No, of course not. She had not noticed the handsome younger brother of Baron Hartwell, nor had she immediately hoped to change course to speak to him.

Jack glanced from his wife to the man on the bench, gesturing with a movement of his chin. “Mr. Eastwood. We ought to greet him. I paid a visit to his brother when we arrived, but I have not yet seen Eastwood about town.”

And their family had not invited Jack’s to visit. Nor did Emily know his mother’s at-home day, and Juniper had not said anything about arranging to meet the matriarch of their family.

“Yes. Of course we should,” Emily said, arranging a sensible smile even as her feet—traitors to prudence—carried her a measured pace nearer.

Juniper turned to see the gentleman, her eyebrows raised with interest. Before her sister-in-law gave her nod of approval, Emily’s steps carried her forward. Toward him.

Caution caught up with her as she neared the bench. What if he did not remember her? Let alone with the fondness she had for his memory?

Lyness Eastwood rose the moment his eyes found hers, the great hound beside him lifting her head to watch Emily with mild curiosity.

“Lady Emily,” he said, inclining his head. His voice was quiet, but not hesitant, and the faintest smile touched his mouth. “It has been some time.”

She curtsied, aware of the heat in her cheeks. “Mr. Eastwood. Indeed. We have not seen each other since the ball in London. I hope you are well?”

“I-I-I—Yes. Quite well.” His gaze flickered toward the path behind her, taking in Juniper and Jack as they approached, before returning to Emily. “And you?”

The presence of his stutter did nothing to deter her from smiling wider in greeting. Then remembering herself, and her lessons, she forced the smile back to an appropriate size.

“I am well, thank you.” She hesitated. “I have been in York for some weeks, but I have yet to come across a member of your family.”

One corner of his mouth lifted. “I-I could say the same of you, though York is not large enough to k-keep from r-running into people for long.”

He took in a deep breath, his chest visibly expanding, and released it with deliberate slowness. A thing that made her think of all the moments in the past several months when she had to fortify herself to face yet another challenge. Did he have to steady himself to speak to her?

No. What a silly thing to suppose. The more likely explanation was that all women made him nervous, or shy, or…whatever it was that made him hesitate to speak. Or even visit.

When he spoke again, it was with a steady, deliberate tone. “It is good to see you again, Lady Emily.”

The remark was harmless enough, but it made her pulse quicken. “I am glad to see you again,” she said, and the admission made her breathing steady and her shoulders relax. Especially when his response was the upward turn of his lips.