Page 79 of Mr. Eastwood’s Match

Lyness’s face rose in her mind—his quiet, earnest gaze at the races, the way his voice had turned rough when he said I will withdraw if you command it…but I hope you will not. And then Roman’s words, Jack’s, her father’s all echoed in her ears, too.

She pressed her hand to her sternum, trying to steady the ache there. What was she supposed to believe? What was she supposed to do? Every book she possessed advised ladies to conceal more passionate feelings, to modulate everything from their voices to the beating of their hearts.

And what if Lyness only saw their friendship and nothing more? Her father might be wrong. It had certainly happened before.

A knock sounded at the front door, startling Emily enough that she jumped in her seat. Miss Feathersby fluffed her feathers indignantly and gave a scolding chirp. The sound of voices in the entryway followed, indistinct at first. A servant’s and then Juniper’s, low and surprised, and another voice, quiet but unmistakable.

Lyness.

Emily’s heart tripped over itself. She stared at the sitting room door, suddenly torn between the urge to flee and the knowledge that running away from him was the worst sort of cowardice.

A moment later, Juniper appeared in the doorway, her expression carefully composed. She must have read something of Emily’s distress in her face, because her eyes softened at once.

“You have a visitor, Emily,” Juniper said, voice gentle.

Emily rose and put her arms around herself. “I am not receiving callers today.”

“Emily.” Juniper stepped inside the room and lowered her voice. “You know exactly who is here. Lyness Eastwood. Your intended.” Her gaze steadied. “You are at liberty to refuse seeing him. If you like, I can tell him you are resting. But I think you ought to speak to him. He looks rather miserable.”

“Miserable?” she repeated, then glanced at the window. “Very well. I will see him. He did come through this dismal weather.”

“I think that is a wise decision.” Juniper came forward, taking Emily’s hand to offer a gentle squeeze of encouragement. She looked directly into her sister-in-law’s eyes. “I know you are troubled. You have been for days. You needn’t see him alone, if that gives you pause. Shall I stay?”

The question immediately steadied Emily. She did not need anyone to protect her from Lyness, or the feelings he stirred in her. This was something she had to work through with him, on her own. She shook her head, throat tight. “No. But thank you for asking.”

“I will not be far,” Juniper promised. “If you call for me, I will come at once.” She withdrew, leaving the door partly open.

A heartbeat later, Lyness appeared on the threshold, hat and gloves in one hand, the other arm bent close against his side as though holding himself together. He wore his usual dark coat, but his cravat had been tied with even more care than usual, and his hair was shorter. It also looked as though he had raked his fingers through it a dozen times before deciding there was nothing to be done about it.

“Lady Emily.” He bowed deeply, eyes on the ground. “Th-thank you for—” His throat worked. “For seeing me.”

Her breath caught as watched him, her fingers curled into her skirts. “Good afternoon, Mr. Eastwood.”

The faintest wince crossed his features at the formality.

“I will not keep you long,” he said. “I only—” He held up what he carried in his left hand. Folded, thick cream paper, sealed with dark blue wax. Her name, written in his elegant script, scrolled along the center of it.

Even at this distance, she could see the beauty of his penmanship.

“I have never been particularly adept at speaking without…” His jaw clenched. “Without difficulty. So I hoped you would allow me to offer you this first.” His gaze lowered briefly, then rose again. “If, after you read it, you wish me to leave, I will. Without another word.”

The room seemed to narrow to the few steps between them.

Emily’s palms prickled, and she rubbed them along the fabric of her gown to ease the sensation. “You could have sent it by messenger,” she said, mostly to fill the air.

“I could have.” His fingers tightened on the letter. “But I did not want you to think I had written it to escape your answer. Or that I was a coward, unable to bear seeing your reaction.”

She looked at him for one long moment. Then, slowly, she extended her hand.

He crossed the room and placed the letter in her hand with reverence, as though entrusting her with something of great importance. The paper was smooth and heavy—far finer than anything she had ever purchased for herself.

She sank back onto the settee because her knees did not feel entirely reliable. Lyness remained standing a little way off, near Miss Feathersby’s table, hands clasped behind his back.

The canary hopped once, tilting her head toward him, as though she, too, was curious about his visit.

Emily broke the seal.

Inside, the sheet unfolded to reveal careful lines of script, each letter shaped with exquisite precision. Flourishes swept just enough to be graceful without rendering anything difficult to read. It was the sort of hand one might see in illuminated copies of treasured works, orderly and beautiful both. Gentle sweeps along the edges of the letter suggested flowers and vines, and there was not a single word crossed over or smudged.