Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
“Completely unaffected?” Juniper repeated as they walked through the back of the garden, where the carefully cultivated flowerbeds gave way to more wild-looking plants before blending in to a stretch of woods.
“Oh dear. And you are not ill? No headache? You mentioned the Shambles made your stomach turn, and I confess they do the same to me.”
“Not ill,” Emily confirmed. “And no headache until mid-way through, when I felt certain I was disappointing him with my lack of enthusiasm for very old buildings.” Her shoulders fell.
She knelt and turned a leaf over in her hands, checking the stem of the plant.
“Chamomile.” She used her gardening sheers to take a cutting for her basket.
Though Emily wished she had a better report to give her sister-in-law, honesty seemed best. She ought to have felt flattered, at the least, by Lord Hartwell’s attention.
Instead, she felt…nothing. Which was a shame.
Jack liked him. The baron seemed to be a good person.
There must be many ladies who would be flattered by his attention.
She simply was not one of them.
Juniper shook her head slightly. “After you left, Jack spoke to me at length about his concerns for you. They are not unusual, you know. He is trying to be a responsible, caring brother. I warned him he might be pushing you too much to Lord Hartwell, but he seemed certain you would like him the better you came to know him. I thought, perhaps, giving him a chance…” She shook her head.
“But no. Oh dear. What will you say if he asks you on another outing?”
That gave Emily pause. Finally, looking down at a knot of clover the gardener had missed, she said, “I will accept his kind invitation, of course.”
It was her duty to find a husband, was it not? Alleviating her family’s worries over her future.
“But—” Juniper bent with her and put her hand on Emily’s wrist. “—you do not like him.”
“I do not dislike him,” Emily pointed out.
“Jack is right about many things. Lord Hartwell is a steady, honorable man. A woman could do worse for herself. Especially given that there are so many who would wed me for my marriage portion. Or think to take advantage of the lack in my knowledge about Society.”
The money was something that often plagued her thoughts.
She had gone from being a woman with no worries and no funds to being a lady with fifteen thousand pounds settled upon her after marriage.
It was a sum she could not even imagine possessing, yet her father’s title and estate had enough to settle the same on all his children, including her two older, already married sisters.
With a frown and both fists going to her hips, Juniper spoke in a corrective tone. “Emily. That is not a good enough reason to wed—”
“Mr. Eastwood is here to pay a call to you, Lady Emily,” their butler said.
Emily’s head came up so fast it nearly cracked against Juniper’s. Emily straightened and brushed her gardening gloves off on her apron.
“Oh.” Juniper was slightly shaking her head. “We are not fit to be seen. He must call again, when we—”
“I will see him,” Emily said in a rush, stuffing her gloves in her apron pocket and untying the protective covering.
“I can go right away. I am still mostly put together from my outing with his brother.” She heard her words, recognized the somewhat problematic nature of them, and shook her head.
“I will walk with him. Down the lane. It will only be for a few minutes, I am certain.”
The butler looked from Juniper to Emily without a word or a flicker of emotion. He waited for direction. Finally, Juniper sighed. “All right. You may walk with him.”
So it was that she went through the house to where he waited in a small sitting room by the front door. Smoothing her hair as she went, trying not to run. She had to maintain some decorum in the way she walked, lest she appear overeager or uncouth or…some other ill-mannered sort of thing.
As her lungs tightened from excitement, however, and she paused.
“Oh dear,” she whispered to herself, turning to a looking glass hanging on the wall, right beside the door that hid Mr. Eastwood from view.
The excitement of a brief walk down the lane with this brother far outstripped her excitement of an hour’s carriage ride with the other.
Something was terribly wrong with her. But she could not examine the problem at the length it deserved. Not presently. She opened the door to where her caller waited.
Lyness Eastwood stood in the room, looking out the window facing the front drive, and he turned when she entered. His smile appeared immediately, and he bowed without looking away from her. “Lady Emily. Good afternoon.”
A quick curtsy managed, she came forward with hands tucked behind her back. “Mr. Eastwood, welcome. I did not expect a visit from you today. I hope you are well?”
“Q-quite well. I ought to have asked, I know, but I was reading today and came upon interesting advice for canary keeping.” It was then she realized he’d kept one hand tucked behind his back, and now he drew it forward to reveal a small, brown-paper wrapped parcel.
“I learned that canaries enjoy their own reflection. I thought Miss Feathersby might appreciate a gift.”
She took the parcel and unwrapped it, finding a small framed mirror inside, with a hook affixed to the back, making it easy to hang.
“Oh, it will suit her cage perfectly.” She looked up at him.
“Thank you.” She bit her lip, then said, “I told my sister-in-law that we would walk down the lane, since she is unable to chaperone at present. Otherwise, I would take you to see Miss Feathersby right away—”
“A walk with you would be delightful,” he said calmly, his eyes on hers, his lips upturned. “You can tell me how she likes it another time.”
She put the mirror and its wrapping down on a table beneath the window, then gestured to the open doorway. “Shall we?”
He walked with her, taking his hat from the butler while she accepted a bonnet and gloves. They walked out into the late afternoon light, and she took in a deep breath.
“I am sorry if I seemed out of breath at first,” she said finally. “I was working in the gardens when you came, toward the wooded portion of my brother’s property.”
His eyebrows raised. “Working, is it? What were you up to? Sketching? Attacking weeds?”
“Gathering wildflowers and herbs,” she said with enthusiasm, “because I asked Juniper, after our last meeting, if it was true. That a lady could run her own stillroom. I had never discussed my enjoyment of such work with her before, you see. I have been setting one up off the kitchen ever since. It is merely a second pantry with the smallest of windows, but it has shelves and hooks aplenty.”
That brought a chuckle from him. “I am glad to hear it. You seemed rather forlorn before, when you thought you had given it up forever. I hope you will find joy in it again.” The sincerity with which he spoke made warmth spread from her heart to her chest, in the most pleasant way, until she felt it in her cheeks.
“I will need a list of your stores, of course, so I know which tinctures and teas you will have for curing my ills.”
“I am hardly an apothecary, Mr. Eastwood,” she protested, though the thought pleased her.
Lowering his voice, as though to share a secret, he said, “That means you will offer me your potions at no charge. As a second son, I can hardly resist such an ideal situation.”
That coaxed a small giggle from her, and she immediately hid her smile behind one gloved hand.
“Very well. I will offer you my cures for stomach ache, nightmares, and eye bruises without asking one ha’penny for them.
In return, however, you must help me label my bottles.
You have beautiful penmanship, so I believe it is a fair trade. ”
“Indeed, it sounds quite fair.” The pleasure in his eyes, the upward tug of his lips, even the easy way he shortened his stride to walk with her, made her want to thank him. Merely for being him. For setting her at ease in ways she could not explain.
The tension she had carried since breakfast had melted away, completely.
He had thought of her—or, sort of. He had thought of Miss Feathersby.
But he had remembered Emily’s fondness for herbal work and stillrooms. He had even jested with her in a way her own brothers could not manage.
She felt more herself when Mr. Eastwood spoke to her, and had from their first meeting in London.
What did that mean about the lack of such ease with his brother? Was she not trying hard enough? Or was Lord Hartwell the problem?
They made it to a curve in the lane when he suggested turning back. Marking that their times was half gone, much to her disappointment.
“Are you attending the races?” she asked him. “Or the ball on Wednesday? Or any of the events? It sounds as though York will be full of things to do and see.”
At first, he did not answer. His cheerful demeanor seemed to dim, then turn into an expression she did not have a name for. It was still warm, still him, but he was less present for a moment.
“Mr. Eastwood?” she said softly. Had she given offense, somehow? Or was he trying to form an excuse for not being present? Her mind jumped to half a dozen other possibilities while waiting for his response.
He blinked and shook his head, as though he needed to dislodge his thoughts.
“I beg your pardon. You asked if I would attend any of the race week events? Yes, I believe I will. Almost anywhere my brother goes, I will go. And he would not miss the pleasure of seeing York and its citizens truly shine. What about you, my lady?”