Page 34 of Mr. Eastwood’s Match

From the balcony where they stood, the crowd below moved like a river, though full of color and sound, sweeping across the green of Knavesmire. Carriages lined the nearest roadway, and the officials were having a difficult time keeping them moving so more passengers could step out into the excitement.

“Did they not put a notice in the paper about this?” Roman asked, pointing to the line of carriages. “I saw it. You saw it. Did the rest of York miss the directions for staging their carriages?”

Lyness looked down at the line of carriages as a door opened, and out came Sterling. He was impossible to miss, with his height and bearing so distinct from other men’s. Seeing him made Lyness grow still, because that meant after he handed down his wife, he helped his sister next.

Lady Emily. She looked up at the Grandstand balcony, and immediately his eyes found hers. His heart stopped for a long, painful moment. Then she waved, and it started up again at a faster tempo than before. His stomach dropped. He could not help but smile and lift his hand in return.

“There they are. At last.” Roman clapped Lyness on the shoulder and moved away from the rail, going inside to the stairs.

Lyness followed, tugging at the sleeves of his coat. Adjusting his hat. And he had nearly caught Roman up when a hand touched his sleeve.

“Mr. Eastwood. A moment of your time?”

He turned to the voice, unfamiliar as it was, and stiffened when he recognized the speaker. One Victor Patchett, son of a magistrate, stood there with a self-satisfied smirk.

“Mr. Patchett.” Lyness stepped away, double the distance needed for a stiff bow. Patchett was not someone Lyness knew well. The man was older than Roman, a Tory, and an arrogant lout who fancied himself far more important than he had any cause to be.

He was of similar height to Lyness, broad of shoulder, and some would likely call him handsome. But he was not a gentleman in most of his conduct, from what Lyness knew of gossip.

“You detain me from meeting my party, Mr. Patchett,” Lyness said, slowly and carefully choosing words that would keep him from stuttering. The frustration of knowing his brother would welcome Lady Emily first, as well as having her to himself for her first impressions of the Grandstand and racing spectacle, threatened to trip him more than anything. He looked away for a moment, trying to find her in the crowd, but a chuckle from Patchett brought his focus back.

Amusement brightened the other man’s expression, and his teeth flashed, like a hostile creature showing off its fangs. “Yes, I saw your brother pass by. I am certain he needs your support at this critical juncture in his party’s history. I understand the Duke of Sussex snubbed every Whig in York, and some say the Kingdom, with his decline of the supper invitation. How bleak.”

Lyness’s eyes narrowed. “I am here for the r-races. Not politics.”

“Of course not.” The arrogant man placed both hands on his walking stick and leaned his weight upon it on the ground before him. “We are all here to enjoy ourselves. I merely thought I would share a touch of caution with your brother. Everyone knows he is the driving force behind your club. He’s made a nuisance of himself lately, with the pamphlets and papers he has sponsored.”

The man’s rudeness and overreaching arrogance put Lyness out of composure. Which he hated. His irritation rising would mean a more difficult time getting the words out. Best to get things over with.

“Th-there is nothing w-w-wrong with his s-s-sponsorship of opinion pieces.”

Patchett smirked. “Not everyone agrees. Some say he is supporting those who hover near treason, when it comes to speaking against our monarch and government. One cannot help but think of recent conspiracies. I do believe there is hope he will be less...hm…prominently displayed by the Whigs in future.”

Roman was charming, spoke well, and possessed intelligence. Lyness had witnessed his brother winning any number of debates and humiliating Tories when they could not contradict the points he made.

But the hint about conspiracy made Lyness’s ire rise. Two years had passed since the Cato Street affair—when radicals were caught plotting to murder the Prime Minister and the Cabinet. The whole business had left many in politics keenly aware of how swiftly ordinary days could plunge into chaos. When Lyness made no move to answer that ridiculous hint with more than a narrowing of his eyes, Patchett took a small step back.

“It seems you understand me. Your brother’s reputation is tied closely with the radicals of York. He would do well to separate the two, before one harms the other. A mere piece of advice, from one man of York to another.” He did not bow so much as nod.

Lyness turned away and went to find Roman, already escorting Lady Emily to the balcony while her brother and sister-in-law followed.

He had missed the exchange of greetings and was out of sorts besides. So when he also arrived at the rail, he made his bows quick, though his gaze lingered on Lady Emily. She looked elegant in a soft pink gown, her bonnet trimmed in yellow and pink ribbons. The smile she bestowed on him as she said, “I am happy you are here, Mr. Eastwood,” made his heart soar.

Then she turned back to Roman. “All right. I am ready to learn all about racing.”

Roman chuckled and gestured to the race course.

The balcony of the grandstand overlooked the Knavesmire like a stage set for spectacle. Parasols dotted the terrace, gentlemen leaned forward with their quizzing glasses, and far below, the green sweep of turf.

Lyness stood a pace behind his brother and Lady Emily. Close enough to hear their conversation, far enough to pretend he didn’t listen. Roman was in his element, confident as ever, his voice carrying easily above the hum of the crowd.

“You see the white flag at the far post?” Roman gestured. “That’s where they’ll start. Two miles round, perhaps more. The best of them will keep something in reserve for the second heat.”

Lady Emily followed the line of his hand. “I can just make it out,” she said. “It seems a tremendous distance for one race.”

Why had Lyness not thought to tell her more of racing before? Of course, she would not know how everything worked. She had never had an opportunity to attend a race like this one. Watching the play of emotions on her face, curiosity, interest, understanding, soothed some of the ache of not being the one to help her learn.

“It tests breeding and stamina both,” Roman replied, pleased to instruct. “The trumpet will sound when the horses are called to the post. There—listen.”