Page 71 of Mr. Eastwood’s Match

“Yes.” The word was crisp and given without hesitation.

“And I believed, once, that you might have considered courting me.” Her cheeks warmed, but she pushed on. “So why did Lyness offer for me? Why not you?”

The baron stiffened. Only slightly, but enough to betray his surprise.

“My lady,” he said, speaking each word slowly and with evident care, “ I thought you knew. I would have offered. That was the plan I devised with your brother. You have, and will always have, my admiration. But Lyness acted before I could.” He sighed. “I likely should have seen it coming. He tends to shoulder burdens the moment they appear, if he think it will spare me a measure of difficulty.”

Her breath faltered. “Burdens?”

“Indeed. In this case, though, he believed himself far better suited to take on the responsibility of your care than I was.”

She felt suddenly as though she had been mistaken for a parcel—a delicate one, perhaps, but still something to be handed off to whichever man was willing to bear it.

Without realizing that her heart was crumbling, Lord Hartwell heaved a sigh. “And once Lyness believes something is his responsibility, nothing will dissuade him. He has always been stubborn on that account, I fear.” Lord Hartwell looked away, distracted. “He is determined to see this through. You need not fear on that account.”

The words fell like icicles from a limb, piercing her heart.

Lord Hartwell had given her more words that weighed heavily rather than gently. Responsibility. Determined. See this through.

It was exactly what she had overheard. Exactly what she had feared.

“If you will excuse me, my lady? I think I see your brothers.” He bowed politely and continued past her, already lost in whatever thoughts crowded in his mind.

Her throat burned. She hadn’t been foolish enough to hope for love—not yet—but she had believed in the possibility. In quiet affection. In the beginnings of something tender. How naïve she had been to think herself someone a man might choose without being forced to it.

Emily stood very still, gripping her sketchbook so tightly her fingers hurt. She turned toward the main green, searching for Juniper—but her vision blurred. Colors blended together. The ruins seemed too bright, despite the gray skies above.

Then a familiar voice called to her, warm and hopeful. “Emily?”

She caught her breath and turned.

Lyness.

He was hurrying toward her across the grass, a welcoming smile on his face. The sight of him—earnest, relieved to see her—did nothing to put her at ease. Not this time.

He stopped short when he saw her expression. “Are you unwell?” he asked softly. “Has something happened?”

“Yes,” she whispered. “I mean, no. That is to say…I am not well.” But she could not tell him exactly what she was, either.

He stepped closer, concern pulling tight across his features. “Please, tell me what I have⁠—”

“No,” she interrupted, the word trembling. “You have done nothing wrong. I simply need some time. To think.”

“Time?” His brow creased. “What do you mean?” He reached for her hand.

She tucked it behind her back. It was not a rejection. It was desperation. If he touched her, if he spoke gently, she would shatter, and she refused to humiliate herself in front of half of York. Again.

His hand pulled back sharply, as if she’d struck it rather than removed her own from his reach.

“I only need a moment to myself,” she managed, voice shaking. “I think I would prefer to return home. The day does not agree with me.”

“Then let me see you to your family. Or to your carriage. It is my duty.”

“No,” she said, the word firm and stronger yet than anything else she had uttered. Her heart twisted. Oh, she wanted to believe she mattered to him. But she could not bear to hear him speak of duty, not with her heart already bruised by that horrible word.

He swallowed, and it looked painful the way his throat flexed above his cravat. “If I have offended you⁠—”

“You have not.”