Page 11 of Mr. Eastwood’s Match

“Not truly. But come, Lyness. It is past time for me to wed. Had I no title, I could put it off and be a bachelor for another decade.”

They both knew why he had yet to wed. Roman had learned the lesson twice over that most women wanted him for his title and little else. If a man with a greater fortune or higher status came along during courtship, suddenly the unwed ladies were not so eager to set aside time to walk with him in the park. The last time he had tried a courtship, before Lady Josephine, the woman had been perfectly lovely…until she realized how much Apollo and Athena meant to Roman. She had demanded he get rid of the dogs if he wanted to continue as her suitor. Roman had laughed in her face and returned home.

Obviously, the dogs were still around and that young lady had married a gentleman from Cambridge.

Lady Emily had liked Athena immediately.

Lyness did not pursue that thought.

They turned onto Castlegate, where the faces were more familiar. The houses settled snuggly against each other. Number 12 waited to welcome them home.

“Does Mother know?” Lyness asked as they walked toward their own front door.

“Not yet. I would rather wait to tell her. Perhaps until I have a few candidates in mind. Otherwise, she might try to take over the whole scheme and play matchmaker.”

All Lyness could do was nod. He had the uneasy sense that his mother had already begun to arrange things in her mind, gathering possibilities and setting them in order. Lady Emily Sterling would, he suspected, fit neatly among them.

Roman deserved happiness. He had always put everyone else—the city, their family, every cause that demanded his attention—before himself. If seeking a wife was the means by which Roman finally allowed himself that grace, then Lyness would not begrudge him the attempt. He would do what he had always done: shoulder what he could, take up what was set aside, and make room. It was a familiar position. A comfortable one.

A picture rose in his mind without warning: Lady Emily’s eyes lifting to meet his, curious and kind, as though she expected something of him. Lyness did not linger on it. He let the thought pass, as he had let so many others pass, and turned his attention back to his brother. There were, after all, better uses for his steadiness than wanting.

Chapter Five

Emily trailed her fingers along the cool stone of a fallen arch, the grass thick and uneven beneath her steps. The ruins of Saint Mary’s Abbey held a strange sort of peace in the late summer afternoon. Bees drifted lazily among the wildflowers pushing through the broken masonry, and the distant sound of the Minster bells carried faintly across the gardens.

She had stepped away from Jack and Juniper to sketch, or at least that was what she told them before slipping away with her canvas bag over her shoulder. But she had not yet taken out her book. Something about the abbey drew her to wander first, to trace its broken lines and imagine the church it had once been, hundreds of year ago.

There was talk of clearing it all, she had heard. As it was in a part of York proper that would be excellent if turned into more shops or a warehouse. But what a shame it would be to lose such a poignant piece of the past.

She carefully picked her way through the broken stone path, eyes turned upward to the tallest wall still standing.

A flicker of gold caught her eye near the shadow of an arched window. At first she thought it a scrap of ribbon, blown in from the green where children played. But then it moved—a quick flutter, uneven, as though the creature were unsure how wings ought to work.

It was a bird in apparent distress. She bit her lip and looked around to see if anyone watched, then hurried around the stone to find the poor feathered thing. Perhaps nothing was wrong with it. Perhaps it had experienced a clumsy moment, which immediately made her sympathize with the creature.

Another flash of yellow feathers showed her where the little bird had landed.

Emily approached slowly, crouching to peer through a cluster of thistles. The bird was no wild sparrow, no thrush, or finch that she might expect. Its feathers shone too bright, its shape too delicate.

“A canary,” she whispered in sudden wonder. “But what are you doing in the ruins of an abbey?”

She inched closer. The poor thing hopped frantically but could not lift itself more than a foot from the ground. Its wings had been clipped.

“Oh,” Emily whispered, her heart giving a small, painful twist. “You are a lost pet.” She reached into her bag, searching for the roll she had brought from the picnic. “And you cannot manage on your own out here, I should think.”

The bird tilted its head, sharp black eyes catching the light. Emily scattered a few crumbs, holding still until the fragile creature hopped closer, hunger overcoming its fear.

She watched it with sympathy and considered her options. “If I leave you here, a cat could find you. York is teeming with them.” She sat carefully and spread her skirts, putting a few breadcrumbs closer to herself. “You look healthy. I doubt you have been away from home long.” But there were no houses near enough the abbey ruins to account for a bird falling out of a window. It certainly could not have done so and traveled the distance to the ruins unnoticed. “If only you could speak and tell me how you came to be here.”

“Lady Emily?”

She blinked at the bird, then up and over her shoulder, where a familiar gentleman left one of the well-worn paths to walk toward her through the longer grass. Mr. Eastwood had found her.

She didn’t stand, though she knew she ought to. She raised a hand to halt his quick progress. She spoke softly, hoping he would not take offense. “Mr. Eastwood, do be careful. There is a little bird here I am trying not to startle.”

He immediately stilled at her gesture, brow furrowed, but he nodded and slowed his approach. Coming to stand behind her, carefully looking at the animal that did not seem to notice his arrival at all.

The creature had no instinct for survival.