Page 75 of Mr. Eastwood’s Match

“And,” Roman added softly, “you will tell him this—if any harm comes to myself or someone I care about again, I will hold him personally accountable.”

This time, fear flickered visibly on the servant’s face.

“I will relay your message,” the man said.

“Good.” Roman turned sharply and strode away. Lyness followed, tension vibrating through him. Protecting Emily mattered more to him than any political rivalry, and he would rather keep his brother out of harm’s way, too.

At the corner of the street, Roman exhaled. “That was him.”

“Yes. I gathered that.”

“And Patchett hired him. Likely paid him to put that cup in my hand.” They walked in grim silence until Roman spoke again, his voice rough. “He meant to humiliate me,” he said. “He harmed Lady Emily instead.”

A quick study of his brother and Lyness knew the whole event had done something to change Roman. His brother would not tolerate harm coming to those he cared for. Lyness’s hands curled into fists. “Then we do not give him another opportunity.”

Roman cast him a long, assessing look. “No. We will not. Or rather, I will not. This is my responsibility, Lyness. You have taken enough on your shoulders over the years. But I swear to you, if I need your help, I will not hesitate to ask.”

That gave Lyness pause. “What do you mean?”

Roman gestured to the street. “Let us make our way back to the others, and I will tell you.” They crossed the street, dodging one slow moving carriage before Roman continued his thought. “I have done a great deal of thinking since you announced your betrothal to Lady Emily. And you are right. You have taken on every responsibility I have handed you, and more besides, to the point that you are acting more as the baron than I have been. You manage all the estate affairs, all the tenant affairs, and have acted as steward since we turned out the embezzling fool.”

“Someone had to do it,” Lyness said with a shrug. “Someone you trusted. You cannot be everywhere and do everything all at once.”

“No. But I can certainly spend more time taking care of my family’s needs,” Roman said with a shake of his head. “I would like to take your future in-laws to the estate at the end of the week. Along with Mother, and you, and your intended. We can stay a few days. Give everyone the tour. And when they leave, you and I need to discuss which matters belong to me and which ought to stay with you. We should probably also discuss your allotment, allowance, and moving into one of the homes we own nearer the estate. Once you marry, I imagine your wife would like a place where she is lady of the house, rather than living with Mother and me always underfoot.”

It was an impressive speech, given at such a speed that Lyness could not hope to interrupt it with a single stammered word. But he finally caught hold of Roman’s arm, tugging him to stand closer to a building and out of the walking path.

“Roman. It is not nec-necessary. All of it. It is too much.”

“No, Lyness.” Roman put his hand on Lyness’s shoulder and held his gaze. “It is precisely what I should have done ages ago, instead of handing more and more things to you to manage while I played at politics and pretended myself the champion of this city. I piled responsibility upon you, thinking myself indispensable everywhere but home.” He shook his head. “You do too much. And soon you will have a wife and a household of your own to manage. Of course,” he said with an amused tilt to his head, “I still want you to act as steward. But we both know you have always preferred the country to the city. This will give you more time to build a life of your own, a family of your own.” He clapped Lyness on the shoulder. “You know I am right. I am always right.”

Slowly, Lyness shook his head, unable to keep in his chuckle. “Almost always,” he corrected.

“Indeed. Now. We have work to do before we go home and tell Mother she is hosting a brief house party.”

Though they went back to finish the club meeting, they did not stay long. The sun was still shining, casting long slant of light through the streets of York, when they returned to Hartwell House.

Lyness and Roman had returned with tired minds, both silent as they shed their hats and gloves in the entryway. Roman retreated to his study with a mutter about answering correspondence. Lyness meant to follow, mind still churning with political danger and—far worse—the memory of Emily’s stricken expression at the abbey.

But his mother appeared at the base of the stairs, her eyes sharp despite softness of her smile.

“Lyness,” she said gently. “Will you walk with me a moment?”

He had never denied her anything. He nodded and followed her out the door into the small rose garden.

Autumn would soon creep along the edges of the petals; some blooms already sagged under the weight of their final days. The garden was small—nothing like the sprawling grounds at the country estate—but Lady Hartwell tended the blooms with the devotion of a queen guarding her jewels.

His mother brushed one with her fingertips, then turned to him. “Lady Juniper sent a note this morning,” she said. “Emily left the abbey rather early yesterday. Before anyone expected her to.”

Lyness exhaled slowly. “Yes.”

“Why?” Lady Hartwell asked without a note of accusation in her voice. Simply concern.

He looked down at his shoes on the paved walk, uncertain how to speak to his mother about this matter. It had been years since he had come to her with the troubles of his heart. “I do not know,” he said at last, words slow to minimize the stuttering. “Sh-she was distressed. Something troubled her. She asked for time, and I did not wish to press her. I still do not.” His throat tightened. “But I fear…I fear I have somehow harmed her.”

His mother studied him with the kind of steadiness he had not seen since his father’s death, when she had leaned more heavily on Roman in her own grief. It was a look that carried so much: a mix of love, worry, and a knowledge of all his quiet hurts.

“Did you quarrel?” she asked softly.