Page 112 of Lord Hartwell’s Refuge

Roman reached for another biscuit. “I will have to read it myself, since it inspired such a search.”

Tamsin very nearly laughed. It was astonishing. Roman could detect a poorly concealed political motive in a man in merely three sentences. He could read a petition and tell which signatures had been obtained through friendship, obligation, or genuine conviction. Yet apparently a gentleman might follow his mother through half of Leeds procuring books for her with great difficulty, and Roman would conclude only that the fellow possessed a commendably helpful disposition.

“Do you think you will see Mr. Conyers while he is in York?” Tamsin asked innocently.

A gleam flashed in Frances’s eyes. “I imagine so, yes. We do seem to move in the same circles when we are in the same neighborhoods.”

“How lovely.”

“Indeed.”

Frances’s lips twitched. “Indeed it is.”

Roman glanced between them at last. “Why do I feel…I am missing something?”

“You, Roman? You have always been so observant, I cannot imagine what you might mean,” said his mother.

Tamsin took a very deliberate sip of tea. For the first time in several days, amusement came easily.

The conversation moved on. Frances wanted news of York: of Daphne’s preparations for the Christmas assembly, of Mrs. Elgin, of everything which had occurred at Hartwell House in her absence. Tamsin spoke of the evening Lyness and Lady Emily had dined with them, and Charles’s visit with Henry. Frances asked after Henry, and Apollo, and whether Charles had stayed long enough to make himself useful or merely long enough to inveigle himself into the kitchen where any cake was to be had.

Tamsin laughed again, and Roman said little. He sat opposite them with one ankle resting over the other, listening more than speaking. Once, Tamsin looked up and found his attention upon her. His focus shifted immediately.

They had been very careful with one another since the night she had told him the truth. There had been no quarrel afterward, no coldness. Roman had not retreated to his study and remained there, which she had half expected and perhaps half feared.

Instead he had begun appearing and lingering, at numerous times and in numerous places. At breakfast. At dinner. In the drawing room for half an hour before retiring to his study. Yesterday he had asked what she had done that afternoon and listened to the answer with such grave concentration that Tamsin imagined herself giving evidence before Parliament.

She knew what he was doing; that made it both easier and more difficult. She would not punish him for trying. But neither would she show him precisely how to be present. He was a grown man, and an intelligent one.

He would learn.

“So,” Frances said, drawing Tamsin’s attention back, “you must accompany me on Thursday.”

Tamsin blinked. “Where?”

“I have been away nearly a month. There are calls to be made, and I refuse to make them alone.”

There was nothing remarkable in the invitation. Perhaps that was why it touched her. Frances did not need her to arrange anything. No one had mislaid a child’s instrument or forgotten an appointment. There was no household difficulty to solve, no younger sister to shepherd, no father who had disappeared in pursuit of a bird.

Frances merely wanted her company.

“I should like that,” Tamsin said warmly.

Her mother-in-law beamed. “Good. Then it is settled.”

Roman’s gaze was upon her again. This time when Tamsin looked across at him, he did not look away. Something in his expression made her wonder what he had seen this time, what mental notes he would keep on it.

Frances remained with them until the tea had gone cold and the light outside dimmed toward evening. At last the journey asserted itself even against her formidable energy, and she confessed that she ought to rest before dinner.

Rising with her, Tamsin wrapped her mother-in-law in a gentle embrace. “I am glad you are home.”

Frances returned it with affection. “So am I, my dear.” She touched Tamsin’s cheek briefly before sweeping from the room and closed the door behind her, leaving her son and daughter-in-law alone.

The silence changed. It was not an unfriendly silence. Tamsin this time settled on the sofa nearer the lamp, with the book she had abandoned when Frances arrived. Roman remained standing where he was. She turned a page.

“You are glad Mother has returned.”

Tamsin glanced over the top of the book.