Page 40 of Lord Hartwell’s Refuge

“I am certain she will enjoy a tour all the more when you are the one to give it, my dear,” her ladyship said politely, gesturing to the first door on the right. “Let us begin here.”

Tamsin had been in that room before, though she did not say so as Lady Hartwell led her through into the front sitting room with the comfortable authority of a woman showing something beloved to someone new.

She could at least look around with more interest than the last time she had come to that place, full of anxiety for her family. There was no graceful way to explain she had sat in this same chair on a desperate afternoon not so very long ago, hands folded in her lap, her family’s financial situation laid out with as much dignity as she could manage, speaking to Lyness Eastwood about a problem she could not solve herself.

She looked at the fireplace. The mantle was the same. The artwork and decor the same. The light came through the same windows to illuminate the place where her life had begun to change in ways she had not known at the time.

Yet she was certainly not the same.

“We had it re-papered three years ago,” Lady Hartwell said, following Tamsin’s gaze with a smile of satisfaction. “Roman thought the previous pattern too dark. He was right, though I did not tell him so immediately. Now it has a much lighter, brighter feel to it. I think I much prefer a cheerful room for welcoming friends.”

“It is quite lovely,” Tamsin said, and meant it. She tucked away the knowledge, without quite deciding to, that Roman had opinions about wallpaper. Her father certainly never had expressed any when her stepmother redecorated.

Lady Hartwell tapped lightly at a connecting door before opening it so Tamsin could step inside.

Her eyes immediately found Roman’s, and all else in the room had to wait for her attention. His eyebrows went up, his lips turned at the corners, and Tamsin’s chest tightened. He was as handsome as ever, and his presence as reassuring as it had been on the carriage ride.

Movement to the side pulled her attention to the dogs. Two large heads rose and tails thumped against the floor, but neither Apollo nor Athena moved to greet Tamsin or the baroness. Roman was at a desk, and rose the moment the door opened, the sort of thing Tamsin was beginning to understand he simply did. Not for mere performance, but as the reflexive courtesy of a man for whom certain things were non-negotiable.

“Mother, Miss Mayweather.” He came around the desk to bow as she curtsied. “I did not hear you arrive, Miss Mayweather, else I would have come to greet you. I hope you do not think me rude.”

“Not at all, Lord Hartwell.” She found she suddenly did not know what to do with her hands as he approached. Should she hold them out to him? Tuck them behind her? She settled for folding them before her the same way his mother had.

“You are hardly necessary to the tour,” his mother said serenely. “We are only beginning, and getting along well enough. I think you would get in the way, in truth.”

He did not quite smile, but Tamsin caught the amusement glittering in his eyes. “I defer to you in this matter, of course, Mother.” He gestured to the desk and window behind him. “This is my study when I am in town, Miss Mayweather, and am in this room often. With the overlarge lap dogs you have already met.”

When he gestured to the dogs, one of them actually let out a soft whine.

Roman shook his head and signaled for them to stay with his hand, palm out toward them. The dogs both immediately dropped their heads to their paws, one of them huffing. Tamsin had to bite her lip to keep from giggling at their disappointment, though she was grateful she did not have to contend with their excited affection.

“I am usually more tidy than this.” Roman moved toward his chair, straightening a book so it aligned better with the corner of the desk’s surface.

Tamsin looked at the desk as her future husband stepped behind it. The papers were arranged with the precision of someone who would notice immediately if anything were disturbed. The inkwell was capped. Two books were stacked at a careful angle to the blotter, spines aligned.

“If this is untidy, I certainly must have a word with my father about his own study.” She did not hide her amusement, but the comparison in her mind was most extreme. “His papers and books always appear one sneeze away from an avalanche.”

Her words brought a soft laugh from the baroness.

Tamsin glanced from his desk to the door they had come through. If he was often at his desk, it was a good thing he had been away the day she had spoken to Mr. Eastwood about finances. The rooms were small enough, and the desk close enough, that he could have easily eavesdropped if he wished. Perhaps that was the purpose of the study adjoining the sitting room. It allowed the man of the house to keep an ear out for whatever else went on around him.

Not that she suspected him of listening to private conversations. Roman seemed too proper for such a thing. Still, how interesting, that he could have heard it all from the beginning, rather than gleaning information in whatever way he had…. Except… At what point had he learned of her family’s hardships?

He must have known on the day he accompanied Mr. Holly to her family home. Had the solicitor told him before or after the visit? And why?

She had many questions she could not ask. Yet.

“Shall we continue?” Lady Hartwell asked pleasantly, and Tamsin followed her back into the corridor.

The house was quiet in a way that would take some getting used to. Not empty, exactly—she could hear movement somewhere above, a door closing softly, the efficient sounds of a well-run household—but quiet. No small voices. No boots tromping on the stairs. No one calling her name from three rooms away because they could not find a thing she had put somewhere sensible six months ago after declaring to the family precisely where it was.

The church bells struck somewhere outside, muffled through the thick walls, and Tamsin counted them without thinking. Twelve. She had always counted the bells, a habit from years of managing a household by the hour.

“It is a lovely sound,” the baroness remarked, correctly noting what had made Tamsin pause. “As long as all the churches with bells are in agreement with one another. There was a time a few years ago when it seemed no one knew the correct hour, and I heard bells ringing at all hours until the matter was put to rights.”

Lady Hartwell next showed her the dining room. “The table can seat fourteen if needed,” she said. “Though we rarely use more than one end of it of late. Roman really must entertain more, at least for his political allies.” She pursed her lips and regarded Tamsin for a long moment, debating how much more to say on the matter. “He has trusted me to manage it all these years, though I confess it has not been my favorite duty. I have not issued many invitations of late.”

Tamsin looked at the table and promised herself she would learn how to do all of it. The invitations, the hostessing, the menu planning—all that a baroness would be expected to manage.