Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
Pacing in agitation while wearing a ballgown was not something Emily would recommend to anyone, though she practiced it herself the evening of the ball.
Her thoughts raced and tripped and grew muddled.
All because of one man. She couldn’t believe how completely her thoughts had tangled themselves around Mr. Lyness Eastwood.
How had he become such a presence in her life in so short a time? When had he begun to occupy so many of her thoughts, so much quiet territory in her heart?
With him, she did not have to watch herself.
All she could think of was the panorama the day before: how he had stood so near her that she could feel the soft tickle of his breath at the back of her neck, the subtle heat of him close enough to steady her without a word.
And when he had taken her hand… she doubted she would ever forget the sensation.
His fingers had wrapped around hers with such gentle certainty, offering both comfort and strength.
It was silly to have startled at the lights and noise. Nothing truly frightening had occurred. But she had leapt all the same—her heart thundering in her ears—and he had been there at once to soothe her. And she had let him.
She had not hesitated to offer him her hand again, and again. Until he held it for nearly the entire performance.
What was she to do?
It was his brother who acted as though he meant to court her. His brother who invited her on outings. His brother who held the title. His brother whom her family would expect her to favor. That was the match already forming around her.
Emily paused at the window. The sky remained bright, though the hour crept steadily toward the start of the ball. Why must assemblies begin so late? Ten o’clock felt far better suited to settling into a comfortable chair with a book and a cup of tea.
Yet she would not miss this ball for the world—not for any book or any tea.
Lyness would be there.
She corrected herself hastily. The baron would be there, and it was the baron she ought to focus her attentions upon. The thought sat like a weight at the base of her throat.
Lyness was only a friend.
Mr. Eastwood. That was what she must call him.
When, precisely, had he become “Lyness” in her thoughts?
When he held her hand? Before? She did not know—but it was entirely inappropriate.
Mr. Eastwood was his name, and that was what he must remain: a friend, a gentleman, the brother of a man who seemed poised to offer her courtship. Perhaps tonight.
She drew in a slow breath, her stays tightening comfortingly around her ribs—holding her together when her thoughts threatened to fly away with any semblance of calm she possessed.
A cheerful trill sounded from the birdcage, and she turned. Miss Feathersby bobbed on her perch, bright-eyed, hopping from one end of the looking glass to the other.
Emily smiled. “I am thankful you are part of my life now, Feathers. You are a bright spot in the evenings. And during difficult moments like this one.” The last words came out on a sigh.
She could not help it; looking at the bird made her think of Mr. Eastwood.
That made her wonder if he thought of her.
And if he did, what his thoughts about her were like.
Did he see all her hesitations in a world where she did not belong?
Miss Feathersby was small and unremarkable. But Emily cherished her without hesitation. Why, then, was she unwilling to grant herself the same gentleness? Why did she demand perfection from herself when she did not require it of anything she loved?
Smoothing her gloved hands down the front of her gown, she redirected her thoughts. She needed to stop thinking about him.
Lyness was a friend.
Ladies in her position did not indulge fanciful hopes. They behaved properly. Perfectly. Her father’s new station demanded as much. She pressed her lips together.
Blessedly, Juniper entered the room, and Emily turned with a practiced smile. Grateful for the distraction from her thoughts.
“Oh, Emily,” Juniper breathed, “that gown is absolutely dazzling. Every time you put it on, from the first fitting until now, I’m grateful we found such a skilled seamstress. That shade of pink truly becomes you. It is not a color every woman can wear.”
“Thank you,” Emily said, adjusting the neckline again. Then she glanced down at the many ruffled lace flounces at the hem. “It all seems rather excessive. I cannot believe how fashionable these ruffles have become. I constantly fear they will catch on something and tear.”
Juniper’s eyes lit with humor. “That is fashion. Rarely practical, always spectacular.”She crossed to the table where a slim volume lay waiting and lifted it with triumph. “Ah—this is what I was searching for. I shall slip it into my reticule and hope for a quiet moment to read a page or two.”
Emily laughed. “Only you would bring a book to a ball and expect time to read.”
Juniper placed a hand to her heart, raising her eyebrows as high as possible. “How could I not? The story is just becoming interesting. Putting it down to dress for the ball was agony.”
Jack entered then, adjusting the cuffs of his jacket.
“I hear the familiar debate: ‘Which book shall accompany me to the ball? Which volume shall I smuggle into my social calls?’ My love, why must you forever be attached to a book? Surely we can find reading materials in the places we go. There must be a stray volume lurking in the ballroom somewhere.”
Juniper shot him a disgusted look—a moment later softened by sticking out her tongue like a gargoyle. Their affection was unmistakable.
Emily had never thought to describe a relationship as adorable, yet the word suited them perfectly. Jack with his stoic reserve, Juniper with her bright laughter—they complemented each other effortlessly.
She wondered, not for the first time, whether such easy companionship was meant for someone like her. Someone who spent every day striving not to disappoint. Someone who feared that, if she faltered even once, everything around her might crumble.
“Now, I have come to escort my wife and my sister to a ball.” Jack held his hand out to Juniper, and she placed her own in his with a look in her eyes that made Emily blink in surprise.
They had turned from banter to something else, something softer that had her turning away to spare herself, because seeing it made her heart ache.
They were perfectly in love. And neither of them seemed to be trying. That was why they teased one another, why they laughed together, and why they looked at one another as though they could speak with their eyes and hearts alone.
And Emily…Emily longed for that, too. But love matches were rarities. Weren’t they?
It was a foolish hope to carry into a ballroom.
She followed as Jack led them out the door to the waiting carriage.
The short drive became an exercise in restraint.
Emily kept her gloved hands folded tightly in her lap, while Juniper chatted about books and fashion and Jack answered in his dry way.
Emily heard very little of it. She sat beside Juniper, both of them across from Jack, surrounded by their easy companionship.
However, she could not enjoy it, as she spent the ride trying to smooth her own unruly hopes into something neat and sensible.
Hopefully, before the doors of the assembly rooms opened upon her.
They arrived, stepped out of the carriage, and walked between tall columns and were swept along by the crowd into the assembly-room-turned-ballroom
Emily drew in a steadying breath as she absorbed the spectacle around her. The crowd had already swelled—gentlemen in handsome frock coats, ladies in shimmering silks and lace—milling about with bright anticipation of the evening and of the entertainments already enjoyed that week.
Yet none of it held her attention for long. Her pulse thrummed loudly in her ears, drowning out the conversation around her, her focus on her own silent search of the room.
Where was he?
Juniper laid a reassuring hand on Emily’s wrist, startling her. “Once the dancing begins,” her sister-in-law murmured, “everything will be much better. Far less overwhelming.”
Juniper had noted her unease. Emily had never been troubled by crowds before her father’s unexpected elevation to nobility.
She had danced at many a country assembly without growing faint, and she had sat packed into church pews without the slightest flutter.
Yet in the months since everything changed, her tolerance for bustling rooms had dwindled.
What was it about becoming a titled lady that made everything about her conspicuous? The constant worry of mis-stepping, the fear of reflecting poorly upon her family, coursed through her mind in a constant stream. She missed the unselfconscious girl she had been before her father became an earl.
There was also that memory of the ball in London that stung every time it came to mind. Anxiety strangled her heart, and she took in a deep breath to settle it. This was not London. She had Jack and Juniper as her support. She was making friends. And this time, she would see Lyness Eastwood.
Jack stepped between his wife and sister. “As the evening goes on, things will calm down,” he said confidently. “And Emily will be distracted from the sound and noise by pleasant conversation. Several acquaintances assured me you will have a full night of dancing, Emily. Should you wish it.”
She shot him a sharp look. “Jack, have you been soliciting dances for me? I would much rather gentlemen ask because they want to, not because my brother hinted I needed partners.”
Jack lifted his brows. “I beg your pardon. I believed myself rather clever for ensuring you had a list of options.”