Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
The morning after the ball dawned with a brightness particular to York in August, without fog or clouds to disturb the enjoyment of the day.
Lyness Eastwood stood at the window of Hartwell House, in the dining room, watching the faint stir of activity in the street below.
Carriages rattled past, servants hurried with baskets of bread or linens, and the distant hum of race-week excitement rippled through the city.
The Sterling family had left a short time ago, all of them exhausted, and Lady Emily leaning heavily on her brother’s arm as he helped her into the carriage. Though he had been awake the whole night through like them, Lyness’s mind stirred with invigorating ideas.
In a few hours, he would ruin everything.
He pressed his palm briefly to the cool window glass. His thoughts tangled, then untangled, then settled into a single, curving line.
Emily deserved better than fear. Better than rumors. Better than being betrothed for honor’s sake. And if he did not act now, Roman would. Roman always chose the honorable path, even when it crushed him.
But Lyness would not let that happen. Not this time. Not with her.
Behind him, Roman called from the dining table, “You will keep Mother from fretting, won’t you?”
“Of course.” Lyness turned from the window with a reassuring lift of his lips.
Roman looked pale with fatigue, though his posture remained resolute.
He had agreed—after quiet, firm persuasion—that appearing in public today would only fuel gossip.
Let York wake with its whispers and no tired baron to confirm them.
Roman would send notes to his friends instead and work upon his investigation.
“I worry all of this will distress her.” Roman had barely touched his plate.
Lyness nodded. “Mother is more interested in the peonies blooming in Lady Lockwell’s garden than any rumors.
” A half-truth. His mother adored roses, but she loved her sons.
She would listen for the gossip as much as Lyness did.
She had retired before the Sterlings departed, so at least she would be better rested than most of them.
Roman exhaled. “You will have to take the city’s pulse on the matter. I cannot trust myself to react calmly should I hear anything untoward. Or people may hesitate to speak in front of me on the subject.”
“I know.” Lyness kept his tone even. His heartbeat was anything but. “I will escort Mother to the garden party. I will keep my eyes and ears open.”
“Thank you, Lyness. I am fortunate to have a brother such as you.”
Lyness bowed and left the study. Hopefully, his brother would still feel that sentiment later.
The hours passed far too slowly for him, but at last the time came to attend Lady Lockwell’s annual garden party.
She held it every race week on the day of the ladies’ purse.
Knavesmire was practically outside her front gate, so it was easy enough for the elite members of Society to come and go from her flowerbeds to the Grandstand and back again.
Escorting his mother, Lyness lead her into the gardens with his head held high.
Long tables had been set out beneath a striped canopy, laden with pastries, cold meats, and fruit presented in crystal dishes.
The guests floated in clusters across the lawns, chattering brightly over their chocolate and tea, women in bright morning gowns fluttering their fans against the rising warmth.
Gentlemen discussing the races and how their favorites had already performed.
Lyness walked beside his mother, who was discussing the comparative virtues of herbaceous borders with her usual animation.
“—though I maintain that a row of delphiniums is vastly superior to hollyhocks, no matter what Lady Lockwood insists. Oh! Lady Crighton has brought her niece. Do remind me to ask about her new gardener. The one from Leeds. Absolutely disastrous with roses—”
“Mother,” Lyness murmured gently, “you do not need to speak to every gardener in Yorkshire.”
“I do if they are ruining roses.” She sniffed, disdain giving weight to the delicate sound.
He nearly smiled. How easy it was, even in moments of tension, to find comfort in the familiar rhythm of her enthusiasms.
But as they approached the gathering near the refreshments table, the chatter shifted. Faces tilted toward one another. Fans snapped open. Eyes flicked toward them. He knew what that meant.
The rumors had begun.
His stomach tightened. From his left, a familiar figure approached—Mrs. Holly, wearing an expression that suggested she had been born to deliver unpleasant news to others and savor it.
“My lady,” she cooed, dipping in polite curtsy, “how lovely to see you after such a dramatic night.”
His mother paused mid-step. “Dramatic?” She knew as well as anyone how to play the games of Society.
She had simply chosen not to take part for a time.
“Oh, do you speak of the ball? I suppose the music was somewhat loud. The flower arrangements were certainly overdone. Why does anyone need that many lilies? Their scent is often overpowering.”
Mrs. Holly’s smile widened. “Oh, come now. One needn’t pretend.
Due to my connection to your family, through my son’s position as solicitor, I have been asked by many if I was aware of the situation.
Some were coy with details, of course, but it has not been difficult to piece things together.
” She lowered her voice a mere fraction, but took on the quality of one sharing a secret.
Even if anyone within ten yards could likely overhear it should they wish.
“A young lady whisked away from a ballroom by a gentleman—well! It is the talk of the ball this morning. I hear she was scarcely able to walk. Some think she swooned. Perhaps overheated. We all know that Lord Hartwell would come to the aid of a lady in distress. One prays it was all innocent, of course.”
Lyness saw the color drain from his mother’s cheeks. “Oh? I must have missed that, but then, I did leave early. A young lady of my acquaintance fell ill, you see, so I took her home with me.”
That…was not part of the plan. Lyness kept his expression still, admiration for his mother rising. But he had a feeling that story would not be enough.
Mrs. Henry Rothingham had approached, too. A formidable matron in York, even without a title. They owned a great deal of property. “Was it Lady Emily Sterling you took home? How interesting. I heard Lord Hartwell was seen taking her through the servants’ corridor.”
Before his mother could gather her composure to handle that thread of the story, Lyness stepped closer to her side, smile pleasant, tone airy.
“Mrs. Rothingham, Mrs. Holly,” he said without a stutter, thanks to his planning, “you astonish me. You know how quickly tales grow legs during race week.” He let out a soft laugh. Practiced. Light. “I assure you, my brother was not escorting Lady Emily anywhere last evening.”
Mrs. Holly blinked, disappointed. “He was not?”
The other gossip wasn’t so easily dissuaded. Mrs. Rothingham shook her head. “That is what people saw.”
“No indeed,” Lyness responded, his hand resting lightly at his mother’s back. “People likely mistook us in the low light. It was I who escorted Lady Emily from the ballroom.”
A ripple went through the surrounding cluster of eager eavesdroppers like wind across a wheat field. Then there was much glancing away and clearing of throats. Someone began a new conversation. Loudly.
Mrs. Holly’s brows shot upward. “You, Mr. Eastwood?”
Lyness gave a modest incline of his head. “Naturally. She needed air. As her intended, I did not think it amiss to escort her. The Assembly Rooms grow unbearably hot this time of year. But she was unwell, so I took her home. Mother came as soon as I could get word to her.”
The collective gasp was immediate and deeply satisfying.
His mother choked on her breath as she looked up at him.
“Lyness—!” But she recovered with admirable swiftness, years of social training snapping into place.
She placed a gloved hand on his arm. “Of course,” she said faintly.
“We had…we had hoped to save the announcement for a more appropriate moment.”
Mrs. Rothingham looked as though she had been gifted an elephant and did not know what to do about it. “You are engaged to wed Lady Emily Sterling?”
Keeping his expression mild, Lyness lowered his head.
Conveying warmth and a touch of bashfulness as best he could.
“Yes. Though word has outrun us, it seems. Lady Emily was overcome last night due to the heat.” He leaned in slightly, the picture of earnest young love.
“I took her into the air for her comfort. Nothing more.”
“Oh,” Mrs. Holly said, deflated. “Oh.”
Wonderful. The moment hung in the warm summer air until a familiar voice sliced through it.
“Mr. Eastwood.” Jack Sterling stood a few paces away, his wife at his side. Both wore expressions that suggested they had heard every word.
It was convenient, if unexpected. They had likely attended the event for the same reason Roman sent Lyness. To take the measure of the gossip and decide what to do next.
Nothing could be done about it now. Lyness bowed. “Lady Juniper Sterling, Mr. Sterling.”
Jack’s gaze was sharp as a blade. “I did not think we planned to announce my sister’s engagement in public this soon.” His voice was not-quite steady.
The crowd, sensing something dramatic occurring, moved closer.
Lyness met his eyes without flinching. “I apologize, sir. I merely wished to put our friends, Mrs. Holly and Mrs. Rothingham, at ease. They were distressed about Lady Emily’s absence last evening. Of course, I was grateful I could be by her side until her family arrived to care for her.”