Page 9 of Mr. Eastwood’s Match

He felt the smallest tug in his chest at her words—a flicker of hope, quickly smothered. “If you wish to invite her, I will deliver the note myself.” Only because his mother had expressed an interest to know her, of course. He and Roman both worried over the lack of variation in her activities. It was all gardens and gossip. That she showed interest in someone new was the reason for Lyness’s enthusiasm, and nothing more.

“I said I would extend an invitation, did I not? But you need hardly play messenger, Lyness.” Lady Harwell’s smile was mild, but Lyness knew her too well. Plans were already forming behind that expression. Plans with direction, purpose, and none declared aloud. But to what end? “You must be there, of course. And Roman. Because she knows you both.”

At the sound of his brother’s name a second time, the flicker of hope extinguished. If his mother’s plans were more for Roman than himself, he had best not concern himself with them.

He cleared his throat, stroking Athena’s head when she nosed at his hand. “Did you enjoy your walk with Mrs. Gainsworth? You were looking forward to it for some time, I believe.”

Lady Hartwell laughed softly, twirling her parasol so the light flickered through the eyelets along its edge. “Oh, very much, yes. I am always pleased to spend time with an old school friend. She returned from Scarborough with the most outrageous opinions about sea-bathing. She tried to talk me into coming with her next time, if you can imagine such a thing. Me! In the freezing sea water! I thank you, no.” She shook her head, eyes shining with good humor for the first time in weeks. “I do wonder what sort of constitution she imagines herself to have, plunging into cold water every morning. But she is excellent company. We passed a full hour together and scarcely touched on the same topic twice.”

Lyness allowed himself a faint smile at that, relieved to have turned her thought. “Then I am glad of it,” he said with sincerity. His mother’s eccentricities had become more pronounced of late, likely due to her seclusion. “You have missed her.”

“Mm. I have,” Lady Hartwell admitted, though her gaze slide back toward him with a spark. “It is so important to have good friends, is it not? I am truly looking forward to making more.” The tone she used told him, though her words did not, that she had no intention of forgetting Lady Emily Sterling at all.

How could he blame her? He had not forgotten her either. Indeed, he had found himself wishing to see her again since their first—and only—meeting in London. Lady Emily’s voice had lingered in his memory, precise and lovely, returning to haunt him at inconvenient hours of the night. He had wished—foolishly, yet persistently—to see her again.

But life had a way of keeping him from the things he wanted, and it was likely for the best. The younger brother to a baron had little to recommend him, aside from obligations enough to weigh down brighter dreams. Acting as his brother’s steward kept him up to his elbows in ledgers, most days.

Seeing her today, on the Walk… It was a miracle he had managed to speak at all, so overcome was he when the reality of her presence proved far better than his memory. She was lovelier than he remembered, her voice still as warm, eyes still bright with her enjoyment of the moment. Her smile was a touch smaller, but the curve of it still tempted his gaze to her lips.

Now his mother wished to invite Lady Emily to call upon her. With Roman present. Truly, he was overtired if he had not guessed that his mother wanted to observe the two of them together.

Lyness handed his mother into their carriage, smothering a sigh of dissatisfaction. Athena jumped in next, and he wondered what Roman would make of his mother’s sudden interest in a newly arrived earl’s daughter. He suspected his own thoughts on the subject would not matter.

At least he could look forward to seeing Lady Emily again. Soon.

Chapter Four

The Black Swan, a handsome three-story building of two-and-one-half centuries, held a most excellent position at the junction of three well-traveled streets. St. Saviour’s Place, Peasholme Green, and Stonebow.

Presently, Lyness stood at a window above the ground floor, looking out at the busy world passing by. The diamond-paned casement windows reminded him more of a cage than usual, as he found himself thinking on all the estate work that waited for him on his desk.

Behind him, Roman sat with several of their friends at a table, eating an afternoon meal and discussing the state of things in York. As usual.

“I think we ought to form a club of some sort that does more than sit about discussing politics,” Phineas Nelson, as good a man as Lyness had ever met, said with great feeling. He and his older brother frequented all their meetings, and Lyness felt a kinship for a fellow second-born son. “I have been speaking with William Harcourt⁠—”

“The cleric who has an obsession with bones?” Archibald Kettleburn asked with a raised eyebrow.

Roman gave Kettleburn a withering glance, then turned to Phineas with interest. “Go on. What does Reverend Harcourt say about clubs?”

“He wants to form a philosophical society. A group of like-minded individuals who are interested in educating the public in regards to the sciences.” Phineas looked around at their group of friends. “I think we ought to invite him to one of our dinners. Have a chat. Let him tell us his plans. He already has some support. But given what you have said of preserving the history of York, Hartwell, I thought it would be of interest to you.”

Roman’s smile was slight. If it was there at all. Lyness recognized it due to familiarity with his brother, but he wondered if the others knew him well enough to see the amusement there.

“I have no objection to speaking with the reverend on matters of history, especially in regards to our city.” Roman lowered his fork to his plate and steepled his hands together in front of him. “I think, with the repairs we have managed on the city walls, it is obvious that our citizens want to know more about York’s past. Preserving what we have for future generations is of utmost importance to all of us.”

“Best not let the Tories hear you say that,” Kettleburn remarked, sipping at his tea. “They may think it an opportunity to turn you to their side.”

Known for his insistence on progress, Roman actually chuckled at the remark. “Let them try. I have been arguing for the cause of my party since I was a schoolboy. I have no intention of being turned from my course without evidence that it is the wrong one for the future of England.”

That brought Lyness forward to the table. “W-we agreed no politics today.” He retook his seat, his plate already empty. “Save it for Etridge’s.”

“Of course, our quietest member would finally speak up to save us all from his brother’s politicking,” Phineas said with a grin as the others chuckled.

Etridge’s Royal Hotel had become the official meeting place for the city’s progressive politicians and their supporters. And Roman, when not in London, tried to remain entrenched in politics at home.

“I cannot look forward to it.” Roman groaned and raked one hand through his hair. “Not with the newspapers equating us to radicals who want to see St. James’s burn, and all of London with it.”

For a long moment, everyone fell silent. Even a whiff of treasonous activity or support would set the government into grim action. The same way it set all of them on edge.