Page 36 of Mr. Eastwood’s Match

The moment ended as swiftly as it began. A friend touched her arm. Pointed. She turned to look. And he forced himself to turn back toward the track.

Still, the sound of the crowd seemed distant after that. His chest had gone tight, his pulse uneven. He clapped politely with the others as the winner galloped past.

Roman was already laughing, calling for refreshment to toast the result. Lyness smiled when expected, nodded at the right intervals—but his thoughts had settled irretrievably elsewhere.

He had no right to envy his brother. Nevertheless, the feeling sat in his chest like a stone he could not dislodge.

The mood around Emily, the energy and vibrance of the people and movement, made her head spin. Standing with other ladies, she gripped the railing and cast her eyes out to the sky and fields beyond the track. Though she felt as though someone stared at her from behind. She started to turn, but told herself it would be better not to. The last time she had looked, she had found Mr. Eastwood glancing at her only to look away the moment their gaze connected.

The Sweepstakes race busied the track, and a great many of the onlookers, but Emily still found it surprising so many people invested so much interest in a public race. Perhaps enjoyment for such things had to be acquired over time? It hardly mattered. She was not there for the horses, but for the people.

Miss Hannah Frederickson proved good company, and she already knew the two Nelson daughters Emily had met at dinner the week before. That made it easier for Emily to stand among them, letting the three of them speak while she bent her mind toward ignoring the press of bodies around them.

“Miss Nelson, have you told Lady Emily about your rather unique name?” Miss Frederickson asked with a sudden brightness in her eyes. “Lady Emily, I declare, I have never met a family with such distinct naming traditions for their children. I imagine your sister-in-law would know the story.”

Miss Nelson, the older of the two twins by mere minutes, lightly smacked Miss Frederickson on the arm with her fan. “You take far too much delight in the burden of my Christian name, Hannah Frederickson. I should not think you would, were your parents more imaginative with what they called you.”

Trying to pay attention to the conversation, especially given that she had been dragged into it by name, Emily met Miss Nelson’s gaze. She could not join in the teasing, of course. She wasn’t close enough to them and may well get it wrong, causing offense rather than amusement. “I must confess that I have never met anyone else with your name, or your brothers’ names. Is there a particular reason your parents chose them?”

At this point, the other twin Nelson sister sighed heavily. “Thaddeus, Phineas, Euphemia, and myself. Theodora.” She turned when Miss Frederickson giggled. “Yes, yes, Miss Frederickson, astonishingly rare names. Though having possessed mine my whole life, I cannot say that I find it as odd as you do.”

Miss Nelson puffed out a breath that made her curls bounce. “Our mother named us after book characters.”

“Book characters?” Emily raised her eyebrows. “I am not as well read as my sister-in-law. I cannot claim to know books with those names among them.”

“Because they are from Gothic novels,” Miss Theodora said without expression. “Both our parents are avid readers of the genre.”

“Ah. Yes. Then my sister-in-law would find them of interest.” Emily did not laugh, knowing well enough how unpleasant she found being the center of teasing. Especially in public. “I often wish my name were more unique, but at least I am not one of one hundred Marys likely within our sight at this exact moment. Were we to shout ‘Charlotte’ above the crowd, fully half the women would turn around to see who called their name.”

Miss Nelson’s lips twitched upward. “That is a most excellent point. Though I should not mind having been given a name of median usage, or even one common upon the Continent now that we are no longer at war.”

The conversation drifted then to other things, especially focusing on other entertainments during the week. The Panorama in the largest assembly room in York, the ball in two days’ time, the many plays and private parties, and all of it drifted around Emily like leaves in a puddle. Softly, brightly, but not fully pulling her attention to them.

Mrs. Elgin had arrived, and it was she who touched Emily’s arm gently and asked, “Would you like to accompany a few of me to the Panorama tomorrow? I think you would like it. I have seen one before, in London, and it is truly an incredible experience. One feels as though one is partaking in actual history.”

“I cannot remember having heard of such a spectacle before,” Emily admitted, hoping it was not another mark against her in Society’s eyes. “That would be lovely.”

“Excellent! I will send a note with the particulars to your family.” Mrs. Elgin seemed inordinately pleased, and for a moment Emily wondered if the woman had thought her kind invitation would be turned down. Had she been nervous about asking Emily to attend? Surely not.

Her focus returned to making herself appear composed and sociable. This was what an earl’s daughter did. They socialized in public and private. Though she much preferred private, smaller settings to grand, noisy things like the races. The warmth of the sun through her bonnet, the hum of conversation, the flutter of fans, and the faint scent of lemonade and horses surrounded her. Each of her senses assaulted on all sides.

She pulled in a deep breath, hand on the rail again. The feeling from a moment before came back.

She turned to see if Mr. Eastwood was there, and her heart sank when he was not looking her way. Twice now she had thought she felt his eyes on her, but it was a ridiculous thought with little reason behind it. Mr. Eastwood was attentive to the races, like everyone else. She was merely part of the greater spectacle.

Lord Hartwell appeared a moment later, his voice carrying easily above the hum of the crowd. “Ladies, I hope you will not mind if I reclaim Lady Emily. My mother wishes our party to reconvene with her and will expect our attendance before the next race begins.”

It was said so pleasantly that no one could respond with anything but polite enthusiasm. The baron offered his arm, and Emily set her hand lightly upon his sleeve, falling into step beside him.

Jack and Juniper waited for them, but Emily saw no sign of Mr. Eastwood. Perhaps he had gone inside already, to be with his mother. An admirable thing for a son, to look in on her. Both brothers seemed devoted to her. Given that Emily’s own family was quite close, she understood that level of care. Or her family had once been that close, until all the distractions of rank and title overturned their lives.

The shift from the open air to the shaded interior felt like stepping out of a grand celebration into ceremony—the bustle and noise of the crowd replaced by the hush of polished civility. The change in atmosphere was almost startling. The corridor opened into a large reception room, tall windows gathering the hazy afternoon light and scattering it across the highly polished floors. Candles flickered from sconces though the hour hardly required them. Servants wove through the room with trays of lemonade and wine, and the scent of lemon mingled with perfume and wax until it was difficult to tell one from the other.

Lady Hartwell sat near the center of the room, surrounded by a constellation of acquaintances—ladies in feathered bonnets and a few gentlemen of her age and set. Likely husbands to the women giving her their attention, Emily thought.

The baroness was in her element, blooming amid the hum of conversation. She made it look effortless. This was the woman Emily had been told was not sociable? Every time she saw the baroness, the lady was composed and the very picture of elegance.

And where was Mr. Eastwood?