Page 42 of Lord Hartwell’s Refuge

“Indeed, we did.” Tamsin crossed the room to stand next to him, looking up into his eyes. The quiet peace from the nursery lingered. She would have children. His children. The idea sent a strange sensation of warmth through her, along with a trickle of anxiety.

Would he be a good father? A good husband?

“I feel I have discovered an entirely new world.”

That declaration made Lord Hartwell raise his eyebrows. “Truly? That is gratifying to hear, given that my London friends think our York townhouses too small. But your opinion sounds far more in keeping with my own. How do you find the house, in whole, Miss Mayweather?” The way he looked down into her eyes, the seriousness of his stare, made the question feel like far more than polite curiosity. He seemed anxious to hear her answer.

Tamsin considered her answer with care. “I found it orderly,” she said. “Each room’s purpose well thought out. I think I shall like it here very much.”

Something shifted in his expression. Her words had pleased him. He gestured toward the chairs arranged near the fire. “That sounds like an excellent first impression. And remember, there is also our country estate, but that will require its own visit. Please, sit. You must need refreshment after your expedition.”

His mother settled into a chair. “I have decided I would like to take up my name again, rather than hear ‘dowager this’ and ‘dowager that’ a thousand times. Frances, Lady Hartwell, will be my preferred address. Do see that your friends are informed, Roman.”

He chuckled. “Of course, Mother. I will make certain they all know to avoid calling you a dowager. Even if that is, technically, what you will soon be.”

She smiled, fully accepting his teasing and pouring the tea.

Roman asked questions about the tour. At some point, without anyone marking the moment, the conversation stopped being a polite exchange and became something easier: conversation about homes, and warmth in the winter, and roses in the summer.

Tamsin looked at the glass doors to the sleeping garden, and at Roman, who was saying something to his mother about the dining room curtains, then back at her tea.

She was going to live here.

And she was, she realized, not afraid of that prospect in the least.

Apollo heard them before he saw them.

The study, dark now by four in the afternoon, was cool and silent by eight. Candles and the fire kept the atmosphere comfortable and bright enough for Roman to go about his business. Both dogs were stretched out near the fire, taking up a great deal of the floor, while he sat behind the desk.

Apollo lifted his head from his paws, tilting his head the way he did when he heard something familiar. An alert, but not one with any concern. Athena followed a half second later, both of them oriented toward the front of the house with the synchronized focus that meant someone known was approaching.

Roman looked up from the paper he had been reading without absorbing for the past quarter hour as the sound of the front door opening echoed through the house. Voices bounced about in the entryway.

“—not his study, Kettlewell, we cannot simply⁠—”

“We absolutely can,” Kettlewell interrupted the voice of Phineas Nelson, already swinging the study door open. He beheld Roman, looked at the room, and made his assessment in approximately one second. “Yes. This will do.”

He came in and sat on the edge of the desk.

Roman looked up at him, and turned to see who else had invaded his territory. Lyness had appeared in the doorway with a crooked, unrepentant grin which told Roman everything he needed to know about what would unfold. His younger brother had organized something and was prepared to accept only partial responsibility for how it unfolded. Phineas Nelson peered over Lyness’s shoulder with his hat still on, his brother Thaddeus a step behind him, and Christopher Holly last, ushering them in so he could close the door, adjusting the lapels of his coat and brushing off his sleeves with the air of one having completed an important feat. His closest confidants and friends were invading his study and contemplation.

Holly raised his eyebrows. “Welcome to the inevitable, Roman.”

“Lyness.” Roman greeted his brother, voice flat. “What is this?”

“Roman,” Lyness answered, tone much pleasanter. “We were in the neighborhood.”

“You live here. The rest of them...” He looked around at his friends.

Phineas and Thaddeus were the sons of Mr. Victor Nelson, a gentleman of modest means with an estate outside the city walls. Though Thaddeus was the eldest son, Phineas was the more outgoing and came first in Roman’s mind when he thought of the two of them together.

Archibald Kettlewell had been the most outspoken of the group for as long as Roman could remember, and it was often his loudly stated opinions that proved troublesome for the rest of them when they were out together. Still, the man had a good heart and loyalty to those he counted as friends.

“Remarkably convenient that they were with me then, is it not?” Lyness helped himself to the chair nearest the fire with the ease of a man in his own home. “Kettlewell, come now, you are distressing my brother.”

“I’m comfortable,” Kettlewell said.

Roman looked at Kettlewell on his desk; the papers displaced beneath him, and Apollo, who had decided the situation was benign and put his head back down. Athena had gone directly to Phineas, already crouching to greet her with his usual enthusiasm. The man who liked dogs more than he liked most people.