Chapter 6 #2
“I appreciate your kind understanding.” Juniper rose and came to look at the canary. “Have you news?”
“My little friend is a lady bird.”
“Ah. Congratulations.” Juniper’s grin turned brighter. “What shall we call her, then?”
Naming the little bird was a much pleasanter way to pass the afternoon than worrying about Lord Hartwell.
She eagerly agreed to draw up a list of names to choose from, and the better part of the next half hour was listing off names, speaking of why one or two certainly would not work, giggling over half a dozen of them, and finally settling on one.
“Miss Honora Feathersby. But we will call her Feathers for short.” Emily picked up a little watering can.
It was on the windowsill, next to a fern that Juniper wanted to revive through sheer determination and less sunlight.
She picked up Juniper’s saucer from tea and poured water into it, then put that inside the bird cage.
The canary was quick to go to the water and drink.
“Excellent.” Juniper leaned against the window, looking out at the modest garden behind their cottage. “Did Jack tell you his suspicions about Lord Hartwell’s interest?”
Emily froze as surely as the heroine in Juniper’s book. “Not you, too, Juniper.”
“We can hardly help ourselves,” Juniper said with a crooked grin. “He is a fine man. An excellent catch. And we did promise your parents we would help you adjust to Society while you are with us. What better way to do so than have a courtship with a handsome baron?”
Emily laughed, though the sound caught awkwardly in her throat.
“You and Jack both conspire against me, it seems. I am hardly fit to be anyone’s object of interest at present.
” She still made so many mistakes. Only that morning, she had left the house without her calling cards.
She had not realized the mistake until Juniper had them stop in, after the park, to leave word for a friend.
She had also worn gloves that did not match, but had strived to keep that hidden, lest the maid be blamed.
“Nonsense,” Juniper said, smiling. “You are kind, clever, and charming. That is more than enough to draw attention.”
“Perhaps. But my lack of social graces may soon cause that attention to wither.”
“Like my poor fern?” Juniper tried to tease, pointing at the sad greenery. “Emily, you hardly make any mistakes now. You are being too hard on yourself. In addition to that, you are lovely. Men are bound to take notice.”
Emily bent toward the canary’s cage, adjusting the dish of water. “I would rather earn regard for my good sense than my face.” She had sense in abundance.
“Then you are in luck,” Juniper replied lightly.
“Men of good character notice that sort of thing. And I do believe Lord Hartwell has an excellent character. I will leave you to think on that for now. I must return to my poor, frightened heroine and the ghost I highly suspect is her wicked neighbor in disguise.”
While Juniper went back to her novel, Emily lingered at the window, watching the pale flutter of the bird’s wings inside the cage. She forced her thoughts back to that morning, to Lord Hartwell’s barely present smile.
Soon enough, one memory insisted on returning. It was not Lord Hartwell’s elegant bow or his voice, smooth as polished wood. The memory that she lingered on was softer. The sound of laughter quickly suppressed, the glint of sunlight in unruly hair, and a gentleman’s hat cradled in her arms.
She touched the cage idly, eyes on the canary as it hopped on the perch again. “We are both rather out of place, aren’t we, little one? You in a cage, me in a title.”
The canary gave a brief, bright chirp in reply, and Emily could only sigh. “And both of us expected to thrive.”
The desk in the townhouse study felt cramped compared to Lyness’s workroom at the family estate, near Easingwold.
A little over twenty miles separated him from that workroom and the country air, where stewards of Barons Hartwell had balanced the accounts and conducted business for over a hundred years.
Perhaps he should give up on York. Take his leave from his mother and brother and use estate matters as his excuse.
As he signed his name to a letter asking about the replacement of an outbuilding’s roof, Lyness let his mind wander in that direction.
Surely, they would not miss him. Not if both of them were planning on finding Roman a match.
What could Lyness do to help with that? Better he clear the way and make himself useful by preparing the estate for the coming harvest season.
Their tenants would likely appreciate having a member of the family nearby.
If nothing else, they would save on postal expenses every time someone had a question they sent along to him.
Then he would not have to watch as Roman attempted to court Lady Emily.
A large drop of ink fell from his pen to the desk.
“Blast,” he hissed, dropping his pen into the inkwell. He picked up the stained cloth he used in such moment, hastily getting up the black liquid before dropping the cloth, too, and rubbing his temples.
It should not bother him, to know Roman turned his attentions to Lady Emily.
Especially given that it was early days, yet.
Roman had only spoken to her once since her arrival in Yorkshire, and one time before that during a ball in London.
He hadn’t formed any special attachment.
There hadn’t been enough time for such a thing.
Had there?
Lyness had spoken to her on one more occasion than his brother. That was all. He certainly could not claim any feelings toward Lady Emily greater than curiosity. Perhaps some admiration, too. Certainly, some level of attraction…
“I should leave,” he murmured aloud, tilting his head back to stare at the ceiling, trying to ignore the ache growing within his chest.
A soft tap at the door preceded the entrance of a footman, holding a familiar hat.
“Mr. Eastwood, this has just arrived for you. There is a note inside, otherwise I would have returned it to your room.”
Lyness sat up straight and motioned for the servant to leave the hat on the desk. “A note, you say? Thank you, Thomas.”
Once the servant had withdrawn, Lyness tipped the hat toward him to see a small sheet of paper, not folded, and when he lifted it out, he noted something else.
Flowers. At the bottom of his hat. Tiny little things.
Tied together with a thin ribbon. He took those out to inspect them.
Daisies and forget-me-nots, with a little yellow feather at the center.
His heart tripped.
The two flowers together were an interesting choice, if she knew the meanings behind them. Friendliness, affection, remembrance.
He brought the flowers to his nose and inhaled, then chuckled to himself. Not daisies. Chamomile. That changed things, somewhat. “Patience. Calm. Hm.”
Lyness looked at the small square of paper, knowing well that whatever she had written had been approved by her sister-in-law or brother. Unmarried ladies simply did not send notes to bachelors without oversight. It would be improper.
To Mr. Eastwood,
I thank you for the use of your hat in my self-appointed quest to save the canary.
It may interest you to know that our tiny yellow friend is a female, and I have thus bestowed upon her the name of Honora Feathersby.
Miss Feathersby is obliged to you for the use of your hat, too.
She has seen fit to gift you one of her feathers with her thanks.
As to your hat, I hope you find it in as good a condition as it was when you loaned it to us.
I have made certain it is clean, with the help of my brother, and it has suffered no ill effects from its time with us.
Please also find with this note a few flowers, gathered by myself, from my brother’s gardens.
I look forward to seeing you soon, and I will give you more news of our rescued Miss Feathersby at that time.
Most Sincerely,
Lady Emily Sterling
He read it twice more, smiling all the while. The letter was as sweet as it was amusing, and something about it tugged at his heart as much as it did his sense of humor.
He liked her. A great deal. And he wanted to see her again.
Nothing was set in stone for Roman. Perhaps his brother would direct his interest elsewhere. There were other young ladies coming to dinner the next evening. Roman might find himself more interested in one of them than in Lady Emily.
Nothing was said and done yet. He had time and an opportunity to come to know Lady Emily better. Besides, he conducted estate business from York perfectly well.
He folded the note and tucked it into his pocket with a grin.
Then plucked the feather from the tiny flower arrangement, twirling it between his fingers.
“So much for leaving York,” he murmured. The ache from before changed. Lightened. Feeling dangerously akin to hope.