Page 68 of Mr. Eastwood’s Match

The admission disarmed her. He rarely spoke without caution; rarely allowed himself any ease in conversation. She had never seen his eyes that bright and happy, either.

She slowed a little, turning her head so she could better study him in the sunlight. “You look different this afternoon.”

Lyness raised his eyebrows at her. “Different?”

“Yes.” It was difficult to find the word for it. “Less…guarded, perhaps.”

His gaze darted away, toward the horses warming along the rail. “It is easier when I am not speaking to a crowd. Or expected to hold an entire room’s attention.”

“You are holding mine.” The truth slipped out before she could catch it. He stiffened. She felt her face warm. “I only meant—I did not intend to⁠—”

“I know what you meant.” Then, quietly, almost reverent: “It is a gift, to have your attention. I have always felt it so.”

Her heart made a wholly inconvenient leap.

They continued walking until the crowd thinned enough that conversation felt private, the hum of the track becoming a soft background murmur. Emily found her breath coming easier.

“May I ask you something, Mr. Eastwood?”

He looked at her from the corner of his eye, his lips tugging upward. “Lyness,” he reminded her.

“Very well. Lyness.” The name still felt delicate and daring on her tongue. “Why is it that you are so comfortable now—in this moment—when last night you could not bear to look at me?”

His step faltered. The truth of his reaction, the guilt of it, the regret…she saw it all pass through him like waves on sand. Crashing into one another.

“I did not wish to distress you,” he said quietly. “You were unwell. And I…when I am afraid, my stutter worsens.”

Afraid. The word struck her softly and most unexpectedly. “You were afraid for me?”

His jaw worked. He nodded. After a long moment, he said, “I have stuttered all my life. Some children outgrow such things. I did not.” He glanced toward her, then away again. “When Father died, the world expected me to become louder—more commanding, more certain. Instead, I became quieter. The more that was laid upon my shoulders, the more the words tangled when my emotions ran high.” He did not quite meet her eyes as he continued. “And last night, when you could not stand, my concern and fear far outran my tongue.”

Emily’s breath caught in her sympathy. “Oh, Lyness.”

He shrugged lightly, as though brushing off a lifetime of hurt was a simple matter. Which she did not believe for a moment. “I do not mind, not usually. It sounds as though you thought me cold and unfeeling. When in truth, I felt too much.”

Her eyes stung. She had thought exactly that—that he was distant, uninterested. When all along he had been frightened of failing her in the moment she needed someone.

What could she say to honor the reassurance he had given her? She felt there must be something, some part of her she could offer in exchange for the gift of understanding him. Finally, she said, “Ever since my family’s elevation in Society, I have wished to be smaller. Less noticeable. I want to be a good daughter, to not cause worry, to be thought capable. But it has been difficult to feel at ease anywhere.” She lifted her gaze to his. “Except with you.”

Lyness stopped walking and he turned fully to face her, the murmuring of the racecourse pressing in at the edges of the moment, wind pulling faintly at his coat. His expression cracked wide open—earnest, disbelieving, and something else. Something that looked a great deal like longing.

“Emily,” he breathed, her name spoken in a way she had never heard it before.

Immediately, her pulse fluttered like a wild bird and her stomach dipped low. They were standing much too close. Anyone could see them. Anyone could whisper about them. She ought to step back—for propriety, for caution, for the sake of her poor spinning thoughts. But her feet would not obey.

The world narrowed to him and the warmth of his gaze, the tremble of his breath, the gentleness curling at the edge of his smile. His gloved fingers brushed hers.

“I wish…” He stopped, swallowed, and tried again with an intent look in his eyes. “You make me wish I were braver.”

Her heart broke and mended in the same instant. The breeze carried the trumpet call announcing the next race. People shifted toward the stands.

“We should—” she whispered.

“Yes.” His voice was rough. “But…thank you. For what you said.”

She gathered herself as they stepped apart. “It was only the truth.”

He offered his arm again, slower this time, as though presenting her with something important. “Walk back with me, my lady?”