Page 8 of Mr. Eastwood’s Match

Lady Hartwell’s eyes brightened as she inclined her head graciously. “How very delightful. York is most improved by the presence of such distinguished company.” She glanced at each in turn, her gaze lingering politely last on Emily. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lady Emily.”

Emily reminded herself to temper her smile as she replied, “The pleasure is mine, Lady Hartwell.”

“Thank you for agreeing to meet us, Lady Hartwell,” Juniper said. “I know you have a great deal to take up your time. I have long hoped I might have a conversation with you about gardening. I did not wish to presume upon my limited acquaintance with your son, however, and descend upon you without meeting first.”

“Nonsense,” Lady Hartwell said with a little flutter of her hand. “I am forever pleased to welcome new friends to York.”

“Mother—” Mr. Eastwood began, but she turned to him with mock severity.

“Do not tell me you have been keeping acquaintances from me, Lyness. It is most unneighborly.”

“I met the St-Sterlings in London,” he said, the faintest stammer catching on their surname. “Last Season. They have not been in York long.”

“Merely a few weeks,” Jack said, tone as polite and even as ever it was, “and I have kept both ladies busy with decorating our cottage. I am as much to blame for keeping you from new friendships as your son is, your ladyship.” Truly, Emily’s brother was a master at wearing a mask of neutrality.

“Then we shall have to make up for lost time,” Lady Hartwell declared. “I will not have friends of my son wandering York without proper introductions. At present, I have an appointment I must honor. But I will send an invitation to dine with my family very soon.” She cast a knowing glance between them before taking Lyness’s arm again. “Now, if you are finished sitting on park benches, Lyness, you may escort me home.”

Mr. Eastwood inclined his head, his expression unreadable. “Of course, Mother.”

After they took their leave, and as they turned away, Emily thought she saw the corner of Lady Hartwell’s mouth curve—a small, oddly satisfied smile, as if she had just seen something that pleased her.

Lyness fell into step beside his mother, Athena’s lead in hand. The dog’s easy gait kept time with his own, a steadiness he appreciated in the face of his mother’s brisk satisfaction. She twirled her parasol over her shoulder, the rapid spinning likely matching whatever pace the thoughts in her head had taken up.

“You might have told me,” she said lightly.

“Told you what, Mother?”

“All about meeting someone as lovely as Lady Emily Sterling.” Lady Hartwell’s voice took on a sing-song tone, her delight as complete as though she had discovered Lady Emily herself. “She is the very picture of unspoilt beauty, and yet there is a maturity there not usually found in debutantes. I have heard her name mentioned only once before, from my friend Mrs. Gainsworth. How old is she? More than twenty, I think. But not too much more?”

“I believe she is five-and-twenty,” he responded, tone deliberately flat. Trying not to give away that he was completely aware of her age. Perfectly aware, in fact, of every detail he had managed to learn about her in the little time he had such an opportunity. Too aware.

“An excellent age. But unmarried?”

“As you say.” The words came tighter than he intended, as though he’d drawn them through too narrow a space. He cleared his throat softly. “Her family was tucked away in the countryside until recently. They only came to the title through a most unexpected inheritance.”

“Oh, that is rather marvelous. That means she has few bad habits, in terms of genteel behavior. Five-and-twenty is excellent, too. You know, girls really do marry too young. Their poor husbands must finish raising them when they are wed at eighteen. What eighteen year old do you know who is wise enough to make life-altering decisions, hm? You certainly were not ready for such things before twenty.”

“Why does Lady Emily’s age concern you s-so much?” He gave his mother a sideways look, his tone sharpening despite himself. Even Athena seemed to catch his tension, glancing up as though curious at his tone. He cleared his throat quickly and lowered his voice. “What does it matter?”

“How well do you know her?” Lady Hartwell asked rather than answer him. Of course. She seemed half in her own thoughts on the matter, barely paying attention to what he had to say.

They were nearly to the end of the path, where their carriage waited to take them home again. They were not precisely in a hurry, but his mother made it clear she had no intention to linger. Meeting with one friend had obviously fatigued her, and still she had a wish to interview a new gardener that afternoon.

“Not well. We danced together in London. Roman danced with her, too. I have met her brother many times. They are all acquainted with the Duke of Montfort.”

“Roman danced with her?” His mother’s eyebrows and her tone rose, but no one was near enough to hear. Thankfully. “How interesting. He does not usually bestir himself so.”

“It was only a polite gesture, Mother. As a favor to the family.”

She made a noncommittal sound that, in his experience, meant she had drawn her own conclusions and would not be dissuaded from them. “She is a very pretty young woman. Elegant without being overdone. I approve.”

Lyness averted his gaze forward, watching the boats along the Ouse catch the fitful wind in their sails. A boy leaned in one of the skiffs leaned far over the side, his laughter carrying faintly across the water. “I doubt she requires your approval.”

“Nonsense. Everyone requires my approval.” She tilted her head to glance at him, her eyes bright beneath the brim of her bonnet. “Do you know if she will visit with her family in York long?”

“I did not have time to ask.”

“Mm. Then we must find out. York can be so very dull without new faces at the tea table.”