Page 70 of Mr. Eastwood’s Match

As they walked away from the ladies and their father—who had fallen asleep a few moments after stretching out on one of the blankets—Emily’s thoughts prodded at that ache with curiosity. What was wrong with her? Why was she not happy?

All her married siblings, even the sisters who were not present, had close, affectionate relationships with their spouses. She had not thought they were all so demonstrative as Jack and Juniper, but watching her other brothers tease and laugh with their wives reminded her that such care was expressed in many ways.

And she wanted something like it for herself.

In the nearly two weeks since their betrothal, Lyness had visited her for at least a quarter of an hour every day. He had sat with her in Juniper’s company, and he had walked with her out of doors, always behaving properly. Listening to her. Acting much as he had before the trouble at the ball. Like a friend.

“I think I will take a walk with my sketchbook.” She must have spoken too abruptly, because the other women around her went silent and stared at her. She cleared her throat. “If…if no one minds.”

“Of course not, my dear,” her mother said, forehead creased with concern. “I think your brothers have the right idea of it. A little exercise in fresh air is good for us.”

Juniper touched Emily’s wrist, eyes gentle. “Mr. Eastwood and his family will arrive soon. Do not stray too far, or I will have to send him looking for you again.”

The reminder that Juniper had done so before, on the day they rescued the canary, almost made the smile Emily replied with real rather than polite.

But with Lyness running late to their family outing, and the fondness she saw her siblings show their wives, she felt oddly adrift.

Movement would help. She stepped away from the cluster of her family and moved across the grasses toward a low stone wall overgrown with tufts of clover. Opening her sketchbook, she sat down and leaned against the ruined wall. Then she focused on the arch before her—cracked, elegant, and still standing despite centuries of neglect.

Sketching always soothed her.

A cluster of voices drifted behind her, familiar ones. It seemed her brothers’ walk had brought them to the other side of the wall where she sat. She meant to ignore them—but Jack’s tone was taut, unusual enough to catch her attention by accident.

“…I should never have left her side,” Jack muttered. “I knew something would go wrong.”

“You could not have known,” George said as their boots crunched against gravel and dirt. “I have had the story from you, Hartwell, and Eastwood. It was an unfortunate accident.”

“It isn’t your fault,” Richard added. “The real disaster would have been the gossip. At least Eastwood did the honorable thing.”

Emily’s hand paused over her sketchbook. Honorable thing? The graphite in her fingers felt suddenly fragile. She put it down.

George exhaled. “Yes, well…he is saving her reputation. That is more than many men would do.”

Jack’s reply was not as loud this time, but still sharp with self-reproach. “Emily deserves more than a marriage arranged out of necessity. I fear they are both trapped by duty and the Eastwood sense of honor.”

The words struck with the precision of a blade finding an old scar. She had spent her whole life being the daughter who stayed behind—useful, steady, overlooked. Of course this engagement was no different. Of course she had mistaken kindness for affection.

Her heart squeezed painfully. Necessity. Duty. Honor. Of course, she understood the marriage offer came to protect her and her family. But Lyness, the day he stood in her brother’s house and told her his reasons for declaring their engagement, had made it sound as though there was more to it. He had said kind things about her, had said he wished to be a man worthy of her notice.

“I would rather the world believe you were promised to me than watch you be sacrificed to duty alone.”

Yes, she recalled those words perfectly. But what had any of it truly meant? He had not expressed affection for her. Not really. Nor desire, nor that he would have chosen her if there had not been a scandal to contain.

She stood slowly, her breath tight, and slipped farther down the path before her brothers could see her. The ruined walls seemed to tilt around her as though they—or she—had forgotten how to stand upright. She tried to swallow past the ache, but it clung stubbornly to her throat, refusing to be reasoned away. She needed to regain her composure.

She reached a shaded cloister walk—only to nearly collide with Roman Eastwood, who rounded the corner with his brow furrowed in thought, hands clasped tightly behind his back.

“Lady Emily,” he said, startled. “My apologies—I was being inattentive to the path in front of me.”

“It is quite all right.” Her voice came out too thin. She swallowed. “Has your family all arrived, my lord?”

He blinked at her and nodded. “Lyness is making certain our mother is well settled with the other ladies. I am searching out the gentlemen. Have you seen them?”

“Yes, they are over there.” She waved in the general direction she had heard her brothers’ voices. “But before you find them, my lord, may I ask you something? It is rather important.”

Lord Hartwell gave her a hard stare, likely taken aback by her solemn expression. “Of course.”

She hesitated and had to look away. It was easier to stare at the moss underfoot. “At the ball… When everything happened…you were the one people saw with me.”