Page 36 of Lord Hartwell’s Refuge

He much preferred to talk through such things. There simply wasn’t anyone to talk to.

He still wanted to tell Tamsin. But she would not want to hear about a Corporation vote. They had been engaged for less than a day. It was not the sort of thing one entertained a woman with after proposing on one’s single outing.

Perhaps, in time, she would come to take an interest in his concerns.

Putting his pen down, Roman turned back through the notebook on a whim.

The list was where he had left it. Several pages back, written in the careful, deliberate hand he used when he was thinking rather than recording. Capable of managing a household. Sensible. Not prone to theatrics. Comfortable in York society. Willing to engage with civic obligations. Not easily alarmed.

Interesting. He had no doubt Tamsin fulfilled those qualities. Yet they seemed lacking, both as requirements and as a description of her qualifications.

Roman reached for his pen again, thinking to amend the list, but paused as his fingertips brushed the implement.

It wasn’t necessary to change a thing. He had secured the engagement. Whether he changed the list or not, it did not signify. The matter was settled.

He closed the notebook.

He sat with that for a moment in the low firelight, uncertain what to do with the fact that he had written that list two weeks ago and had intended to look for a woman to fit it, and instead had spent an afternoon driving through York with someone who had looked up at Micklegate Bar and understood it without being told why it mattered.

He finally rose to go to bed, his dogs both rising to follow him on their big, silent paws.

He thought about Micklegate Bar for another hour before he slept. He did not think about anything or anyone else, or at least did not allow himself to acknowledge doing so.

Chapter Twelve

Matilda Elgin arrived at half past ten, which was early enough that the household was still in its morning disorder—Edward's boots cluttering the entryway, Daisy and George audibly arguing somewhere above, the remains of breakfast cleared by their limited staff. Daphne was already in the morning room when Matilda was shown in, and the tale escaped the young woman before Tamsin could catch it back.

“Tamsin is engaged!” Daphne declared before Matilda had barely bent to sit. “To Lord Hartwell—yesterday—in a gig!”

Matilda, half-frozen in an indelicate position, turned to Tamsin, who was standing in the doorway with a shawl she had not yet wrapped around her shoulders.

“In a gig,” Matilda repeated.

“He drove her through York,” Daphne continued, with great enthusiasm, obviously waiting since yesterday to tell this news to someone who would appreciate it properly. “And proposed—and she said yes, and he went straight in to Papa. Tamsin is to be married in only two weeks!”

Tamsin forced a smile. Though she had wanted to tell her best friend in private, at least the initial shock of the news was out of the way.

“Thank you, Daphne,” Tamsin said at last, shoulders falling.

“You are most welcome.” Daphne showed no sign of understanding Tamsin’s tone nor her pained smile as a dismissal. She picked up a cushion and hugged it to herself. “Is it not incredible news, Mrs. Elgin?”

“Indeed. Most incredible.” Matilda’s eyebrows had raised high enough to hide behind her curls.

Tamsin winced and shrugged at Matilda. Her friend looked back at her with an expression carefully composed over something that might have been delight, or alarm, or both.

“Have you come for our walk?” Tamsin looked meaningfully at her guest. She and her friend had planned no such thing.

“Yes, and I should like to begin immediately,” said Matilda, rising quickly to her feet. “Thank you for sharing the news, Miss Daphne.” She hastily curtsied and joined Tamsin in the corridor.

They did not say a word until they were out of doors, though they linked arms at once.

The garden was not much—a lawn, an apple tree past its fruit, the kitchen beds rotated and planted for the coming winter—but it was outside, and outside meant the conversation was theirs. The younger children materialized within minutes, as younger children always did when the weather permitted, but Daisy and George were immediately absorbed in something competitive involving a stick, and Henry attached himself to Tamsin's side for approximately half a minute before being lured away by the stick situation.

Matilda was clearly waiting until they were far enough from the house, and the sound of play, to ensure privacy. “Proposed to. In a gig,” she said again with a little delighted curl to her lips. “Tamsin!”

“It was practical,” Tamsin swiftly defended. “He wanted to show me something of York. We were not alone in any improper sense, you know, and my stepmother had given her consent to the trip. He has a perfect reputation. We were out in public the whole time. Or, well, nearly the whole time.”

“I am not concerned about impropriety, I am concerned about the fact that you appear to have agreed to marry a baron yesterday and you appear…” Matilda studied her. “Tamsin. You appear quite calm.”