Page 35 of Mr. Eastwood’s Match

The clear note carried across the field, bright and ceremonial. Lady Emily turned her head toward the sound, her expression calm, attentive. Beautiful.

“It has a fine clarity to it,” she said. “No wonder the crowd stirs at once.”

Roman smiled, likely admiring her poise. “You will find there is little else that can rouse York so swiftly.”

She smiled in return—polite, perhaps even amused—and within Lyness something unnamable in his chest gave the smallest twist. Roman’s charm came easily with Lady Emily, and watching them together gave Lyness the faintest ache, as though he stood too near a fire he could neither approach nor escape.

His brother had not had much luck in courtship before. But this time might prove different. This time, when Lyness fought to wish his brother well with every breath he took.

He looked out instead over the course. The horses were being led out now, their coats shining along with all their tack, and their heads tossing in restless movement. Their jockeys’ silks flashed like pennants against the green. A stir went through the balcony as men adjusted their wagers and ladies leaned forward to watch.

Roman continued, pointing out the landmarks with confident ease—the turn by the copse of trees, the slight rise near the finish, the white post below the stand. Emily listened with genuine interest, asking perceptive questions about the upkeep of the grounds and ownership that made Lyness’s heart lift in spite of himself.

She was no fool, this woman who thought herself unsuited to the ranks of nobility. She listened and observed as though committing every detail to memory.

When the trumpet called again, louder this time, the murmur of the crowd deepened into a single pulse of anticipation. Roman braced his hands on the railing.

“They are starting next,” he said. “Watch the far side. The moment the flag drops, you will feel it before you see it.”

Lyness fixed his eyes on the distant shimmer of horses, but his thoughts stayed nearer. On Lady Emily and to the way her voice softened when she asked questions, and the quiet steadiness she brought even to excitement.

It was nothing more than admiration. It must be nothing more.

The trumpet called once more. The handkerchief fell. The race began.

He turned his attention to the horses, though he had not placed any bets on the outcome of this particular race. Even with Kettleburn’s enthusiasm for his horses. Lyness had never been much for gambling on things when he had no hand in the outcome.

The first race ended amid cheers and groans from winners and losers, respectively. And Miss Nelson came to ask if Lady Emily would watch the next race with her group of female friends. After a nod from her sister-in-law, Lady Emily took her leave from their party, promising to return after the second race.

Roman escorted her to them. Of course.

Lyness needed to get hold of himself. Quickly.

He took off his hat to run his hand through his hair, then replaced it, wishing he did not feel like such a fool. If Roman had not expressed interest, had not moved into the early stages of courtship with Lady Emily, things would be different. Lyness would not feel the pressure of impending catastrophe pounding against his heart.

Watching as a woman he admired grew closer to his brother left him at odds with himself.

The crowd on the balcony pressed closer to the railing as the horses were led to the post. The air itself vibrated with anticipation.

Lady Juniper leaned nearer to Lyness, her fan half-raised against the glare. “Your brother seems determined to impress my sister-in-law,” she murmured, eyes following Lord Hartwell and Lady Emily where they stood near the edge of the crowd.

Lyness kept his gaze outward, though her direct statement startled him. He had to clear his throat before speaking, or his tone would not sound cordial. “He usually succeeds when he sets his mind to something.”

It was true enough. Roman had a gift for charm, for shining wherever he stood. A few disappointments in earlier courtship attempts had seemingly taught him enough for a better go round this time. Lyness had long since learned to step quietly out of that light and let it fall where it would. He preferred that it fall on Roman, in most instances. Most. This one proved more difficult.

Sterling joined them with a glass of refreshment for his wife, his gaze finding his sister before he relaxed at Lady Juniper’s side. “She is doing well today. I had worried this would be too much for her.” He shared a quick look with his wife before clarifying to Lyness, “Everything about an event like this is still new to her. Though my sister is every inch a lady, there are still facets of the position that flummox us all.”

“She carries herself with grace,” Lady Juniper said with a fondness that made her husband smile.

Lyness inclined his head in agreement, though the words he would use to describe her caught somewhere behind his ribs. Lady Emily carried herself with grace, without question. Kindness and warmth, too, and an openness that unsettled him.

The trumpet called again. A hush swept through the stands. Then, like the sudden break of a wave, the second race began. The crowd erupted into cheers, laughter, the flurry of exchanged bets, all underscored by the pounding rhythm of hooves carrying across the field.

Roman had returned in time to stand next to Lyness and lean over the railing, calling out odds and opinions to the gentlemen nearby. “That gray of Kettleburn’s will never hold the lead—too light for the distance!” he declared, voice carrying above the noise.

Lyness murmured assent, though he had hardly seen the horse that belonged to their friend. His eyes drifted unbidden toward the far end of the terrace, where Lady Emily stood among the other ladies, her gloved hand resting on the rail. The wind tugged at the ribbon of her bonnet, and the crowd’s noise dimmed as he watched her.

For an instant she looked his way. Only an instant—quick, almost startled—but their eyes met across the press of bodies.