Page 22 of Lord Hartwell’s Refuge

“I have already explained that I am as surprised as the rest of you.” Tamsin looked away from the road to study the back of her sister’s head. “Perhaps Lord Hartwell said something about our family that made his mother wish to know us?”

“That is entirely possible.” Anne adjusted a small porcelain milkmaid on the table at her elbow. “Finally acknowledging us as suitable for her social circle will be such a benefit to all of you girls.”

Tamsin shook her head slightly and returned to watching for the carriage.

All of them? Not likely. For one thing, she had no desire to gad about in York’s Society when her younger siblings needed someone to look after them. Her parents were not doing so, and there was no governess.

Then there was the financial matter…

The carriage appeared, and with it, her sense that something beyond her understanding was happening. Her stomach clenched unpleasantly, and she had to take a deep breath in and out again before she could announce, “The carriage has turned onto our lane.”

There was a general gasp, and she smiled without turning to look at her family. At least all of them were cognizant of the strangeness of this visit.

“Now, ladies, remember your manners. Lady Hartwell is a baroness. She will expect all of you to behave appropriately. Do not slouch. Do not cough. Do not interrupt when she speaks, and only speak when spoken to.” Anne’s litany of proper behavior made it sound as though none of them knew how to behave in public. “Keep your hands still, Daphne. Put down that silly book, Seraphina. Goodness me. What are you even reading?”

“Kenilworth, by Sir Walter Scott.” Seraphina snapped the book closed. “It is a lovely story, Mama. I think you would like it if⁠—”

“At present, I would like it to disappear, daughter.”

Seraphina put the book behind her and crossed her arms over her chest, but a narrowing of her mother’s eyes had her adjusting the posture quickly to merely folding her hands in her lap.

“Excellent.” Anne looked them over one more time, then directed her attention to Tamsin. “How far now?”

“Nearly at the door. I can hear the clatter of the hooves.”

A moment later, and they could all hear it. The driver called to the horses, the front door opened, a greeting from a servant, and finally—the door opened.

“Lady Hartwell, Mrs. Mayweather.” Their butler bowed as the lady entered.

All the Mayweather women stood and offered an appropriate curtsy in perfect synchronization. Anne stepped forward, hand extended graciously. “Lady Hartwell, it is an honor to have you call upon us this day. I hope your journey to our home was pleasant.”

The moment Tamsin rose from her curtsy, her eyes went to the baroness. Her ladyship’s gaze, after acknowledging the welcome, swept the room. Not rapidly, gracefully taking it in. When her gaze met Tamsin’s, it rested there a moment. She saw the slight lift of the woman’s brow before she stepped forward to take the chair Anne offered. The baroness moved with a grace that would make even the most experienced Society matron envious, her gown rippling from knee to foot with a beautiful weight that spoke of fine material. The cut was tasteful, and Tamsin felt certain she had seen something exactly like it in the most recent Ackerman’s Repository.

“I am grateful you allowed the visit, given it is not your at-home day.” Lady Hartwell’s softness in tone did not make her difficult to understand. Rather, it made Tamsin want to lean in. Two of her sisters did, adjusting their angles slightly. With genuine warmth, their guest continued, “I know we have met before, Mrs. Mayweather, and it is certainly time I take greater care with our acquaintance, especially given you have a fourth daughter about to make her debut in Society. Goodness, but they are all such lovely girls. Do remind me who is who?” Her gaze flickered to meet Tamsin’s again. “Though I know the eldest is Miss Thomasine Mayweather, I should like to be certain of the other three.”

How did she know who Tamsin was? Why call attention to it?

Tamsin’s stepmother momentarily met her gaze, the same question in her eyes, but she hastily answered the lady’s question. “Thomasine is the eldest, yes, from my husband’s first marriage.” Perhaps Anne realized such a distinction sounded less familial than she wished. “I have forever been grateful for her temperament. Mothering her has been a great joy. I do not know how I would manage without her.” Anne’s manner shifted as she spoke the last words, and true warmth entered her tone. She smiled at Tamsin before gesturing to her three daughters as she introduced each by name and age.

“Ah, so it is Miss Daphne who will soon enter the public sphere.” Lady Hartwell folded her hands elegantly in her lap in a gesture Pearl immediately copied. “Are you ready for all the excitement of that step, my dear?”

Daphne glanced quickly at her mother, then answered with a slight tremble, “Oh, e-ever so excited. I am most distracted by thoughts of assemblies and balls.”

That brought a soft, sympathetic laugh from her ladyship. “Oh, I was precisely the same when I was your age. I could hardly get a thing done, my head was so full of dancing slippers and new steps to try. I did not have any older sisters, though. You will do quite well with them to help, both in soothing and in their support of you. I have been here only a few moments and I can see there is much to admire here. Miss Pearl, for example. You carry yourself with an elegance one cannot help but see.”

Pearl flushed at the praise. Tamsin raised her eyebrows. Lady Hartwell had noticed Pearl’s attempt to copy the baroness, she was certain of it.

Anne, of course, picked up on the most complimentary thread of the conversation. “They are quite helpful to one another, you know. Not like some sisters who cannot get along. My own sister and I argued frequently, but my daughters—” She shook her head, smiling at each of them in turn. “They are the best of friends.”

The tea arrived, and for a few minutes the room was pleasantly occupied with cups and chocolate cake.

Poor Charles. He would be so disappointed that evening.

Tamsin had risen to accept her tea from her stepmother before returning to her chair. She had barely settled, saucer balanced on her lap and both hands cradling the teacup, when Lady Hartwell’s entire attention focused on Tamsin.

“Miss Mayweather. I do not think I have seen you at many of the assemblies or events. Did you attend the races this year? Or the ball last month? I confess, I often surround myself so closely with my dearest acquaintances that other things slip beneath my notice—and I find the summer events rather tedious, so I remain at the family estate during the warmer months.”

Anne looked at Tamsin with wide eyes, the three younger ladies all shifting to look at her. The entire room had tilted in her direction, and Tamsin lowered her cup the better to meet the shift in gravity.