Mr. Eastwood's Match, page 22
“But you did take a choice from me,” Emily said, quiet but steady. Somewhat impatient. “You made a decision about my future that I should have been involved in. My brother informed me that you declared us engaged. In public.”
He swallowed hard. “Yes.”
“Why?”
His breath came out in a humorless laugh, on a strange sort of exhale. “Because the rumors were already forming. And they were…ugly. You were being spoken of as th-though—” He stopped, lips pressing closed for a moment. He took in a slow breath and let it out again, more composed. “As though you were compromised. Or worse, that Roman had behaved dishonorably toward you. I could not let that notion stand.”
“Why you?” Emily whispered. “Why not let Lord Hartwell make the declaration, if he was the one people saw?”
“Because,” he said softly, “I would rather the world believe you were promised to me than watch you be sacrificed to duty alone.”
Something in her chest twisted painfully.
His voice lowered, he stepped closer as though he could not help himself. “I will withdraw if you command it…but I hope you will not.”
Emily’s lips parted.
He continued, halting slightly as the words tripped over the edge of his stutter. “I have admired you since the first moment we danced in London. Long before last night. Before any of this, and I cannot deny that truth now. Not when your future happiness and my own hangs in the balance.”
A warmth rose beneath her skin, a flush that did not come from fever or laudanum. It sounded like the beginning of a marvelous declaration. The sort she had not dared to hope for. Still, she had to point out, somewhat practically, “But we barely know one another.”
“That is true.” His tone held no defense. Only sincerity. “But what I do know of you has stayed with me. You are thoughtful. And compassionate. And far kinder than most of Society deserves. You do not hide who you are when someone needs your care. And I…” His voice faltered. “I am your friend, am I not?”
Emily pressed her fingertips to her lips, her eyes stinging. “But you never seemed to want anything more than friendship. And your brother—.”
“I know,” he interrupted gently. “And I do not take this situation lightly. If you refuse me, if you wish to break the engagement after the gossip has passed, your family will stand behind you.”
Something in her rebelled at that. “Is it truly so simple to you?” she asked. “To offer to save my reputation at the expense of your own?”
“Your reputation ought not be destroyed when mine is better suited to bear the weight,” he said. “I would rather endure Society’s disapproval than watch you suffer again what you endured in London.”
She sucked in a sharp breath, startled that he knew of it.
“I was told only enough that I understood what was at stake,” he said. “Nothing more.”
Emily’s throat tightened uncomfortably. “If I were to accept this…engagement…what then? What is expected of me today?”
He straightened, gathering himself. “We must be seen together. At ease and united. At the races this evening, in an hour’s time. And afterward at the theater.” A tiny wince changed his expression to something almost amusing. “We must leave no room for doubt as to the sincerity of our understanding.”
A reluctant, trembling laugh escaped her. “I cannot believe this.”
“I can,” he said softly. He stepped closer slowly, giving her every chance to withdraw, and offered his hand. “Lady Emily…may I escort you today?”
She stared at his open palm. His fingers were steady, though she suspected his nerves must be a tempest beneath his composed exterior. Hers certainly were.
That made her pulse flutter, to think of being attached to him throughout the day. And yet… “I do not know what I ought to do,” she whispered. “I am not prepared for any of this.” She looked up into his eyes, uncertain and afraid to make the wrong choice. In her heart, she wanted to put her hand in his. Every moment spent with him had brought her comfort and joy. Every time she thought of him, she could not help but smile and wish to see him again.
He had not denied that their attachment was one of friendship.
His gaze held steady, his smile was slight. “Then let today be simple. Walk beside me. Speak with me. Allow York to see that you are not concerned by what they do or say. Or what they think.” He hesitated. “If you are overwhelmed at any moment, I will take you home at once.”
She drew a slow breath. “You sound very certain of yourself.”
“Not in the least,” he said, the words painful in their honesty. “The only thing I am certain of is that I wish to stand with you. No matter what comes.”
A long silence stretched between them, threaded with her surprise and tenderness toward him. And the faint dread of the unknown. Then a soft, uncertain note escaped the canary near the window, and Emily glanced at the brave little bird still trying to find its full song.
Perhaps it was time for her to try bravery, too. At last, Emily placed her hand in his. The warmth of his palm beneath her fingers was reassuring, and when he folded in hand around hers she found it dangerously comforting.
“What comes next, we face together,” she said as steadily as she could, as though making a pact or a vow.
“First the races,” Lyness said. “Then the theater for a play. I already have tickets for this evening’s performance.”
“You already possess tickets?” Emily blinked. “You seem much more prepared than I am, Mr. Eastwood. What is showing?”
“A new drama from London,” he said lightly, lips curling upward. “At the races, we can remain with your family. At the edges of the crowd, if you prefer. Then you need do nothing but enjoy a play. No conversation or performance except what is on stage. For the moment, you only need to look presentable and remain upright.”
How she did not laugh at that, she could not say. “Even so little a requirement seems ambitious.”
Lyness chuckled and squeezed her fingers, as though it were the most natural thing in the world. “Then lean on me. That is what engaged couples do.”
That made her cheeks warm rather unexpectedly. She gazed at Lyness, her hand still in his. “What if I make a fool of myself today?”
“Impossible,” he said gently. “I have never once thought you foolish.”
Her heart stuttered. “But, Mr. Eastwood—”
With a quick shake of his head, he said, “Lyness. Please. Call me Lyness.” A gentle squeeze of her hand gave her leave to relax somewhat.
“Lyness,” she repeated quietly, his name leaving her lips with ease. She had thought of him by that name for some time now, so it was almost a relief to finally speak it out loud without needing to correct herself. For the moment, she put her concerns aside. “I suppose I had better dress properly for the races.”
At that, his smile slowly widened. “I will return within the hour to escort you, my lady.” He bowed over her hand. “And count myself fortunate to do so.”
She curtsied, and then she watched him leave, his steps light and his shoulders squared. As though he had all the confidence in the world that this was the right way forward. She crossed to the canary’s cage and looked inside at her little bird. “I truly hope he does not come to regret his choice. But oh, Feathers. How will I tell my parents?”
And why did everything hurt?
Chapter Nineteen
Roman was waiting.
Lyness had barely stepped through the front door when a clipped, unmistakable voice called to him from the study. “Lyness. In here.”
He removed his hat, handed it to Thomas the footman, and braced himself. The house was too quiet. His mother must have retired after he returned her home from the garden party. Roman had been at the club earlier, with his list of suspects and the hope of enlisting his friends to investigate. Given the tone of his voice, either it had not gone well or he had learned of Lyness’s actions already. Which left Lyness with no chance of delaying what must come.
He entered the study, shoulders squared and head held high.
Standing near the mantel, Roman braced one hand against the carved stone, the other clenched at his side. His jaw tight enough to crack.
“Would you like to explain yourself?” Roman’s voice was dangerously calm. “Because I am curious to hear you attempt it.”
Keeping his composure, Lyness closed the door behind him. “I take it you have heard the news.”
“Heard,” Roman snapped, “is far too gentle a word. I was informed. At my club. By men who found themselves delighted to congratulate me on my brother’s sudden betrothal.” He turned, eyes sharp. It was a rare thing, to see Roman shaken enough to let emotion show plainly on his face. He was, in fact, furious. “My brother who, until this morning, had given no indication he intended to propose to Lady Emily Sterling.”
It took effort to keep his voice steady and his stutter to a minimum. “I acted to protect her.”
“No,” Roman shot back. “You acted without speaking to me. Did you consult with anyone before you made your announcement?”
“No.” His hands balled at his sides, but he told himself to keep calm. He had expected this, but he thought he would be the one informing Roman of the change in plans, not defending himself.
“What were you thinking, Lyness? How could you make such a decision without speaking to Sterling? Without speaking to her. Do you have any idea the position you have placed her in? The position you have placed this family in?”
Lyness flinched—not at the words, but at the way Roman spoke them, as though Lyness were a reckless boy rather than the man who had helped carry Emily from danger the night before. “I did what I needed to do.”
That made Roman glower. “What you needed to do?” He stalked toward Lyness. “I have spent the entire day trying to determine who attempted to drug me, and in the midst of it, I am told my own brother has decided to shoulder a burden meant for me. The responsibility was mine. I am the head of this family, I am the one that must see to it that things are done correctly. You do not understand, Lyness. The engagement ought to have been mine to offer, because I am the one who—”
“No,” Lyness interrupted quietly. “The responsibility is mine.”
That pulled Roman up short, and his steps halted.
Torn between needing to speak quickly and clearly, Lyness had to fight his tongue for every other word he said. “You speak of responsibility as though I do not understand it. As though running to rescue a lady from scandal is more than I can manage. But Roman, for years now, I have been the one handling the estate accounts. I have ridden through rain and snow to settle disputes between tenants. I have met with the solicitor at every turn while you were here in York, fighting political battles.” His voice firmed. “Do not tell me I do not understand responsibility.”
Roman’s anger faltered by a fraction. A small fraction, but it was enough for Lyness to notice it.
With some relief that his brother was listening, truly listening, Lyness continued, the words finally untangling themselves after years of trapping his tongue. “I have done all of it willingly. Gladly. And I will continue, as it is my duty to our family. But do not lecture me as if I have spent my life idle while you alone carried burdens.”
For a long and uncomfortable moment, Roman stared at him. His throat tightened on a swallow. “That is not what I meant.”
“Yet it is what you said,” Lyness replied, quiet and resolute.
The silence that followed was thick enough to choke on.
Finally, Roman scraped a hand over his face, staring at the floor between them. “Lyness…you should not have claimed a betrothal on impulse. Not for a woman still recovering. Not without speaking to me. Not without knowing—”
“I know what matters,” Lyness said softly.
At that his brother looked up, brows drawn together and eyes troubled.
Lyness swallowed. His throat felt tight, but the words would not be denied. They had waited too long already. “I know that I am falling in love with her.”
Shock widened Roman’s eyes, and his fury melted away.
After Lyness steadied his words with a breath, he spoke with nary a stammer. “I know that when she is unwell, my heart feels as though someone has reached inside and twisted it. I know that every time she looks at me, I feel as though I have stepped into sunlight after standing in the shadows my entire life.” His voice softened. “I know that if the circumstances were better, she might never have chosen me at all. But this morning, when gossip was already turning cruel…Roman, I could not bear the thought of her being sacrificed to duty. Or to your sense of honor.”
Roman opened his mouth but immediately closed it again, no word leaving his lips.
Carefully, Lyness pressed on. “You would have married her because you believed you must. I declared myself because I wanted to. Because I have wanted to from the first day I met her.”
Turning from Lyness, Roman stepped away as though he needed distance to comprehend the words. The fire hissed in the hearth, and the long-case clock in the entryway chimed the hour.
Opening his hands at his side, trying to relax his posture, Lyness thought carefully through the last of what he needed to say to his brother. “If Lady Emily rejects me, then that is her right. I would never force her into anything. But I will not apologize for caring about her. Nor for protecting her when she needed a shield.”
Steps away from him, Roman’s hands open and closed. His voice, when it emerged, was hoarse. “You should have told me what you planned. Instead you sent me on another path. You encouraged me to focus my attention elsewhere.”
“I feared you would stop me.”
The lack of denial that followed was as good as an agreement on that statement. Another long moment passed before Roman exhaled, the anger finally bleeding from his posture. “Lyness,” he said quietly, turning to face him again. “I have always thought you the gentler of us. The softer brother. But I see now that you are…resolute in a manner I did not expect.”
Lyness managed a faint, sad smile. “That makes two of us.”
Reluctant acceptance flickered through Roman’s expression. Then came something more like the affection Lyness was used to, but felt more brittle than usual.
Circling around his desk, Roman sank slowly into his chair, elbows on the surface, head bowed. For a moment he did not look like Baron Hartwell or the unflappable man who stormed through York’s political circles. He looked… tired.
No—wounded.
“This is the third time,” he said quietly. Not accusing. Not even resentful. Just stating a truth he could no longer avoid. “Three times I have waited too long. Three times someone else has acted more decisively, winning the hand of a woman who would have made an excellent baroness.”
Lyness’s heart pinched. He had not thought about that, exactly.
Roman stared into the fire. “I admired her, you know. She is gentle. Intelligent. Steady. I could have been content with her.” His voice tightened, almost imperceptibly. “I was not indifferent.”
Guilt and relief collided almost painfully in Lyness’s chest. “I…I did not realize.”
“How could you?” Roman asked, lifting his head at last. His expression softened in a way Lyness rarely saw, stripped of authority, of pride, of all the armor he habitually carried. “I move slowly. Cautiously. It has never served me well where a lady is concerned.”He gave a small, humorless huff of breath. “And now it seems that fate would rather hand my chances to you.”
Lyness came to stand beside the desk to protest his brother’s words. “Roman—”
“No.” Roman raised a hand, the gesture brief but firm. “Do not apologize. You acted decisively when I did not. And you did it for the heart’s sake, hers and your own. A man cannot resent that.” He leaned back, shoulders stiffening as he pulled the mantle of baron back over himself. “I will not.”
Lyness nodded, throat tight.
With a steady gaze, Roman asked, “Do you truly care for her, Lyness? You believe yourself capable of loving her?”
“Yes,” Lyness whispered. “I have fought against it, especially knowing you wished to court her. But I cannot ignore my heart. Not anymore.”
Roman closed his eyes briefly—perhaps bidding farewell to a possibility he’d never claim—then opened them with quiet resolve. “Then you have my blessing.”
At that simple statement, Lyness sank into the chair on the other side of the desk. His whole posture finally loosening. “I had not realized how much I needed to hear that.” He passed his hand over his face and tried to smile. It was shaky, at best. “Thank you.”
Roman rose from the chair. For the first time since Lyness entered the study, he stepped close and rested a hand on his brother’s shoulder. The gesture held both weight and acceptance. And perhaps a trace of grief. “Make her happy,” Roman said softly. “Where I might have been content, be joyful. Where I would have been dutiful, be devoted. Let this be the end of disappointment for at least one Eastwood.”
“I will,” Lyness vowed, looking upward.
With that said, Roman nodded once, the mask of duty settling back over him. “I imagine you have things to do, now that you are an engaged man. I will tell you what happened at the club later.”
Rising, Lyness made it halfway to the door before he turned. “I am escorting Lady Emily and our mother to the races this afternoon. Will you come?” Lyness waited, the olive branch extended, and hope in his heart.
Roman turned toward the window, hands braced on its sill, shoulders rigid. But he said, without a trace of bitterness, “Of course. That will show a united front. I will ready myself in a moment.”
Lyness bowed his head, then left the room with purpose, the weight of the discussion settling into something almost solemn. An understanding between brothers, and renewed respect on Lyness’s part. Roman had ever and always been his closest friend and confident. That he had his brother’s blessing, that Roman was not angry with him, was a balm to Lyness’s heart.
