Page 98 of Lord Hartwell’s Refuge

Understanding the way he thought, the way he knew she would likely react, was rather like looking down at the sketch of a stranger and discovering it was oneself, but from a perspective never seen before.

There was something fascinating about it, now that she had stopped trying to solve the problem. He had asked Father to act. Now he wanted Tamsin to intervene and provide her husband’s influence. He wanted Miss Despencer’s parents persuaded. He wanted an invitation plotted and executed. Everyone seemed to have a part in Leopold’s courtship…except Leopold.

And still, he said nothing. Tamsin sighed. “Have you spoken to her?”

The corners of his mouth turned down. “I told you. Twice.”

Patience… “No. You called upon her family. Have you spoken to Miss Despencer?”

“I did not ask for a private audience.”

“That is not what I asked, Leo.” Goodness, he was more work than Henry sometimes. “Allow me to be clear, as I am growing quite weary of having to ask a dozen questions for a single answer. Have you asked her whether she wishes you to continue courting her?”

His expression changed, and Tamsin had her answer.

Her shoulders fell. “Leo.”

“What am I supposed to say?” he protested.

“Why do you ask me what to say?” Her exasperation rose to new heights.

“You always know what everyone is supposed to do.”

The words struck her with surprising force. Tamsin stared, disbelief sinking into her stomach and making itself at home.

Leopold appeared not to realize what he had said. “That is why I came, you—you understand these things. You know what Anne will think before she says it. You can make Father pay attention, you…you know how to arrange matters so everyone is satisfied.”

Which was precisely what she had done for most of her life. She had cajoled, reasoned with, appeased, appealed to everyone in the family to make things easier. For everyone.

Everyone except herself.

A movement at the drawing-room door caught her attention. Roman. She had not heard the door open. His gaze moved from Leopold to her taking in the room in a glance, brow furrowing.

How much had he heard?

“Tamsin. Are we having our luncheon in this room?”

Leopold exhaled with obvious relief. “Hartwell. Good, perhaps you can talk sense into your wife.”

“I find my wife is usually the one speaking sense, at least when compared to everyone else’s nonsense.” Roman’s expression remained serious as he entered the room, coming to stand beside her chair. He bent and kissed her cheek before taking a seat near her. “What has happened, Mayweather?”

Leopold began his story again immediately, and with sharp clarity. “Miss Despencer has returned from Scotland, and her family⁠—”

Roman listened without interruption and her brother neither paused nor prevaricated this time. Why? Tamsin had to ask a dozen questions to get a full view of the situation, but Leopold did not play that game with her husband.

She watched her husband while Leopold explained the situation, though this version of it involved rather more interference from Miss Despencer’s family and considerably less uncertainty from Miss Despencer herself. Roman’s eyes met Tamsin’s once. She knew that look. He already had an opinion, and likely had several clever things to say about it, too.

When Leopold finished, Roman was silent for a moment. Then he looked at Tamsin, expression neutral as ever, his eyes steady when they met hers. “What do you need from me, Tamsin?”

Leopold dropped onto the sofa, jaw slack. He did not protest, nor say a single word.

Neither did Tamsin. Roman continued to wait, without so much as a flicker of discomfort.

The silence stretched as she considered his question. What was he really asking? Her first instinct was to tell him what Leopold wanted; perhaps even point out that her father ought to take greater interest in his son’s future. Leopold ought not be left entirely without guidance. Someone needed to determine whether Miss Despencer’s family had truly withdrawn their approval.

None of that answered his question, though. Not really. And Roman was always precise with his wording. He wanted to know what she needed from him.

Tamsin’s gaze dropped briefly to his hand resting on the arm of the chair nearest her. He had recently returned home, a folded paper in one hand. He had probably intended to go directly to his study. Micklegate’s barbican needed him. Mr. Hargrove needed things to print. Mr. Holly was consulted on all legal matters at all hours of the day of late. Mr. Patchett continued his harassment. Mr. Salmond had as likely as not written. There would be estate affairs on his desk needing attention. Lyness’s wedding hastened forward. There was always something waiting for him now.