Page 39 of Lord Hartwell’s Refuge

“Of course not,” Lyness said, at last. “You are my brother. I would not miss your wedding for anything.” His voice had shifted into something quieter.

When Roman examined him, his brother was watching Roman with an expression he recognized distantly as the one Lyness wore when he was being careful of his words, often to avoid his stutter when anxious.

Had Roman’s decision made Lyness anxious? Why?

“Thank you, Lyness.”

The younger man’s smile tightened. “Whatever you need from m-me, Roman. Always.”

They stayed another quarter hour to enjoy Lady Emily’s company. She asked appropriate questions about the Mayweather family, and Roman answered, with Lyness contributing at intervals. The conversation was pleasant and entirely normal by the end of the visit. When Roman rose to leave he felt, though unable to account for it, that something had happened in that garden he had not prepared for.

Whether it was Lyness’s surprise or Lady Emily's relief, he was not certain.

He looked back once from the doorway. Lyness had moved to sit beside Emily on the bench, their shoulders touching, and she was saying something that made his brother smile. Not a polished smile. A true, wide smile.

Roman turned away to give them a few moments of privacy and went inside.

They were a good match. He had made one that was as good, if more practical. Miss Mayweather was everything he had been looking for in a baroness—and what more could he want?

Chapter Thirteen

Three days before the ceremony, Lady Hartwell sent an invitation for Tamsin to visit. A carriage with a coachman and groom arrived at Sycamore Lodge, a maid tucked inside with a smile.

The groom opened the door for Tamsin, and she paused before stepping inside. He made only brief eye contact before offering his hand to assist her inside, yet she immediately recognized him. He had been the man holding Lord Hartwell’s two enormous dogs steady while Henry made a study of them.

“You had charge of Apollo and Athena, that day on the walls I was with Henry. My brother.”

Something shifted in the groom’s weathered face and he grinned. “Aye, miss. You’ve a good memory.”

“Henry has spoken of it often since. He is convinced Apollo remembers him and likes him.”

The groom chuckled. “Wouldn’t put it past the old fellow.”

“What is your name, if I may ask?” She wanted to be polite. Did baronesses deign to know their servants’ names? They must. Surely. And if he cared for the dogs, the dogs that meant so much to Lord Hartwell, she ought to make a point of it.

“Jones, Miss Mayweather.” He bowed at the waist.

“Thank you, Jones.”

After accepting his hand and settling her skirts, Tamsin watched as Jones latched the door and climbed up to his seat with an ease suggesting he’d done it ten thousand times. He glanced back at her once more before nodding to the coachman with a smile, warm and faintly amused.

Had asking his name amused him? Surely not. Was it her attire? Oh dear. Best to put that smile from her mind.

The maid, Eliza, introduced herself and started talking at once of how lovely the countryside was and what fine weather they were having.

The carriage arrived in front of Hartwell House on Castlegate, and Tamsin took in a deep breath before the footman opened the door. This was not an official visit for presentation to the staff, that would not come until the wedding day. But it was a visit her future mother-in-law had suggested, to help Tamsin feel more comfortable in the place that would soon be her home. She would be shown all the rooms, both public and private.

As the front door opened, every nerve in her body tingled. Would Lord Hartwell be present? The invitation from the baroness had not said. Tamsin had not seen him since the proposal, though she had received notes from him with practical communication for their wedding plans.

What would it feel like to see him now in their future home, with their wedding date settled and approaching swiftly?

Lady Hartwell stood inside the entryway, dressed in a mauve morning gown with her hands folded primly in front of her. “Miss Mayweather, you are most welcome.” Her gaze lingered on the door as the butler closed it behind Tamsin. “Oh. Did your stepmother not accompany you?”

“Thank you, Lady Hartwell. And no, I am afraid my stepmother is quite busy with wedding preparations and ensuring the household is ready for my departure.” Tamsin kept her smile serene as she shared the partial truth.

Anne was quite busy…but Tamsin had not invited her. If Anne walked through the home, there was no telling how well she would keep her opinions to herself, or how much unsolicited advice she would rain down upon Tamsin about household decor and management.

The home was to be Tamsin’s, and she wanted no one to influence how she saw it and planned her future. Perhaps it was a selfish desire, but she did her best to ignore that guilty thought. This house was to be her domain. Not her stepmother’s. She wanted to feel that from the off.