Page 80 of Mr. Eastwood’s Match

Her name crowned the top of the page, each letter a work of art.

Emily,

I fear that in attempting to do what was right, I have caused pain I never intended. I have made decisions that should have been yours, without giving you the time or the freedom to offer your thoughts on matters. For that alone, I owe you an apology I can scarcely frame in words.

But I hope this letter will convey to you the truth of why I acted as I did, why I do not regret it, and the truth that I carry in my heart.

I cannot deny that duty has guided my actions. Duty to your name. Duty to your family. Duty to my own conscience. But if duty were all that bound me to you, I would never have presumed to make my declaration in so public a manner. A sense of obligation might have compelled an offer in private, where it could be refused quietly and forgotten. What I did that morning was born of something I have not had the courage to name aloud until now.

The truth is this: My heart chose you, Emily. Long before the ball.

Her thumb caught on the edge of the paper. Everything was silent save for the soft tap of Miss Feathersby’s claws on her perch and the patter of rain on the windowpanes. And the room felt suddenly too small to contain the words he had given her.

From the first time we danced in London, you have remained in my thoughts. I have admired other women in my life, but never as I have admired you. You are gentle without being weak. You are kind without being foolish. You care for people others overlook. You speak when you ought, and you remain silent when others would rush to judgment. You saved a little bird in the ruins because you could not bear to leave her alone. You listen—truly listen—in rooms where everyone else only waits to speak. Being near you has always made me want to be kinder and a better man.

I did not mean to tell you any of this in such a hasty, clumsy manner. I had thought, foolishly, to ask my brother’s blessing first. To earn the right to court you honorably, to see you smile at me as someone more than a friend. Necessity overtook my plans, and fear for your good name pushed me to act hastily. If I erred, it was in letting that fear convince me before I knew your heart.

I understand that this may be of little comfort to you. You have been subjected to gossip. You have watched your family maneuver within a world that too often values advantage over affection. It would be natural to suspect that any man who offers for you in such circumstances does so for convenience’s sake alone. I swear to you, on all the honor I possess, that where you are concerned, my affection for you is why I made the decision to claim your hand for my own.

Her breath came unsteadily now. She cupped one hand to her mouth and read the final lines through a blur.

If you wish to end our engagement, you have only to say so. I will bear whatever people say of me and will not allow any blame to attach itself to you. I will speak to your brother, to my own, to anyone who listens, and I will tell them the dissolution was made without resentment, and that I alone am at fault.

But if there is any part of you that can believe me, any corner of your heart that has felt even a portion of the regard I hold for you, then I ask most humbly to remain your betrothed not by necessity, but by your choice.

I do not ask that you love me today. I only ask that you allow me the chance to prove, with the rest of my life, that I chose you freely. And that I would choose you again, and again, in any circumstance. My heart is yours, as is my devotion and my love.

With deepest respect and unshaken affection,

Lyness Eastwood

When she finished, the ink swam before her eyes. She lowered the letter carefully into her lap, pressing her fingers to its edges until they stopped trembling.

He had not sat. He still stood by the canary’s cage, shoulders straight, gaze fixed on the far wall. His jaw worked once as he swallowed. His hands, now visible at his sides, were curled into tight fists, as though he were bracing himself for a blow.

“Emily?” he asked at last, not quite looking at her. “If you w—wish me to go, I will.”

Her heart hurt. “Lyness,” she said on a breath.

His head jerked. His eyes flew to hers.

“I have read your letter,” she said, fingers tightening on the page. “I understand what you mean to tell me.” The words scraped on the way out. “But I need to hear you say it.”

The silence stretched, fine and tense.

Color climbed his neck to his cheeks, but he nodded once, as though accepting a challenge. He took one slow step toward her. Then another. He stopped a pace away, enough distance left that she did not feel crowded, and yet near enough that she could see every flicker of emotion across his face. Slowly, he lowered himself to one knee in front of her.

“I chose you,” he began, the first words catching slightly. “L-long before th-that night. L-long before I had any r-right to.” He exhaled, his gaze never leaving hers. “I will not pret-pretend it w-was easy. To adm-admit that to myself. I th-thought…if I kept my distance, I w-would spare us both complication. And then…”

He closed his eyes tightly for a moment and opened them again, clearer.

“And then someone put a d-drugged cup into your hand,” he said, voice low. “And I felt the ground g-go from under me. I thought I had lost you. Before I had ever truly been allowed to claim you, even in my thoughts.”

Her eyes burned.

He continued haltingly, but with growing resolve. “Where you are conc-concerned, Emily, I have only ever wanted to do what would keep you safe and happy. I acted r-rashly so that I could see to those th-things myself. If that has harmed you, I will reg-regret it every day I draw breath.”

She swallowed. “My brothers think you are shouldering a burden that should have been shared. That you tied yourself to me to relieve their consciences.”