Page 4 of Mr. Eastwood’s Match

“I haven’t,” Lyness said, though he had. But for a reason even he knew to be ridiculous. Who grew distracted over thoughts of a woman he had seen only once? “I am always like this.”

“Hm.”

There was a silence thick enough to imply all the words neither of them had spoken about their mother’s mid-season summons. Lady Hartwell’s sudden insistence that they return to York immediately, despite the peak of the Season and the vague assurances in her letter that everything was fine.

It had not felt fine. It had felt planned.

Roman was the one she confided in, when she chose to confide in anyone. Lyness had not asked questions. He rarely did.

“Was it really Mother who sent you?” Lyness asked, voice low.

His brother’s mouth curled at one corner. “She asked if you were awake. I told her I would find out.”

“And instead of knocking like a person with manners⁠—”

“Apollo volunteered.” Roman gave a brief scratch behind the dog’s ear, and the massive hound wagged his long, thin tail. “I sent word to Cook we would eat an afternoon meal together. The two of us. Mother has gone out.”

That made Lyness raise his eyebrows with hope. “Oh. That is a good thing, is it not? Do you know where?”

“Not precisely,” Roman said, rubbing at his temple. “She said something about the two of us needing to mingle in society more. As though we are the members of the family refusing to leave the house most days. But she seemed to have a purpose of some sort in mind. Given the gleam in her eyes as she left, I am not certain either of us will like what she is planning.”

Lyness tried for a smile. “I suppose we should be grateful she’s planning something. When she has a project, she has less time to notice I’m not being particularly useful.”

Roman shot his brother a dark look. “Less time to worry over you, you mean.”

“I wish I understood anything that goes on in our mother’s thoughts.”

They were both silent for a long moment.

Lyness missed the sensible, reasonable woman their mother had been in the years before they lost their father. She had possessed a vibrancy and openness that kept him from despair over his own failings, because she always saw beauty and brightness in even the most profound mistakes. Eight years ago, they had lost their father, and not much initially changed in her character. Or they hadn’t noticed it, until small eccentricities grew more frequent.

The last two years, she had withdrawn into herself. Devoting more time to her garden, quietly ignoring friendships, hardly speaking to her own sons. But of late, she had shown interest in a variety of seemingly unconnected things. She had recalled them from London on an urgent matter concerning the complete reconstruction of their country estate. A thoroughly unnecessary idea, but one she had already engaged an architect to look over.

Roman had put a swift end to that idea.

“For now, I take her excitement to leave on mysterious errands as a good sign. Even if it will only result in a dozen new rose clippings,” Roman said, his smile limp at best. “Are you joining me for something to eat then?”

“I will be ready in half an hour,” Lyness promised.

Roman rose to leave, crossing the room without hurry, and then hesitated at the door after Apollo trotted out. “Lyness?”

“Yes?”

“Try not to let Mother see you looking like a poet in mourning. She is already dramatic enough without you feeding her fire.”

He shut the door behind him.

Lyness scrubbed his hand across his face and went to his desk, ensuring he had left everything tidy after his late night artistry. Roman might not understand, but Lyness found a measure of peace in making simple words take on greater meaning and beauty with no more than the flourish of his pen. He’d give anything to write an entire book as they had done in the years preceding the printing press, illuminating manuscripts with careful handwriting and evocative imagery.

He sank into the chair and picked up his pen, turning it over in his hands. In this modern era, creating such a thing would be a colossal waste of time and resources. He was helping Roman run the estate so his brother could focus on political and civic matters. There were better uses of Lyness’s time.

A few minutes after Roman’s exit, the door opened again—this time with a polite knock and a pause long enough to be civilized.

“Good afternoon, sir,” said Hobson, entering with a waistcoat draped over one arm. Athena trotted in at his heels, as silent and composed as a duchess at tea, despite matching Apollo in size. “I have brought a guest.”

“Well, good afternoon, Athena,” Lyness murmured. “I was wondering where you might be.”

Athena approached with dignified purpose, nudging his hand before settling beside him. Her tail gave one slow sweep across the rug, then stilled.