Page 114 of Lord Hartwell’s Refuge

“With me?”

There was only the smallest hesitation. “Yes.”

Tamsin folded Matilda’s letter. “I should like that.”

The stiffness of his shoulders eased. She did not ask what he wished to do to fill the time before dinner. Roman took the chair across from hers as she settled in once more.

For a time, it went well. Tamsin returned to her letter. Roman had brought a small stack of correspondence with him, but instead of immediately opening it, he asked whether Mrs. Elgin was well.

“Very. She has been invited to dine with the Sterling family on Thursday, accompanying her brother, and is already regretting accepting.”

“I thought she liked the Sterlings.” His brow furrowed. “Why did she accept?”

Tamsin sighed. “She does like them, but it seems there will be someone new at the table.”

Roman frowned. “That does not answer the question of her regret, nor acceptance in the face of it.”

“It does if you know Matilda.”

He considered this and conceded it with a tilt of his head. “I always found her personable, a good conversationalist. Who is the new acquaintance?”

“Matilda can be shy with strangers, though with those she likes she warms to quickly.” Tamsin smiled and picked up her letter again. “The new acquaintance is the Sterling brother who was at sea—the one they tried to find after their father inherited his title. Mr. Arthur Sterling. Imagine, coming to shore after a year at sea and finding your family’s fortunes forever changed, and for the better.”

Her husband nodded. “Ah, yes. I heard of his arrival in London, but I did not realize he meant to travel here so soon after.”

“Perhaps London did not agree with him.” Tamsin kept reading as the fire cracked in the hearth.

It was the sort of evening she had once imagined marriage would provide, though there was little intimatcy in it still, hardly anything companionable. But Roman had come home and immediately sought her out. He had asked about someone who mattered to her, and listened—and heeded her expert knowledge. She could take pleasure and comfort in those things.

A servant brought in more lamps and Roman reached for his correspondence. Tamsin unfolded a letter from her brother, Edward, away at school. His penmanship was certainly improving.

The atmosphere of the room changed. There was no exclamation from her husband; he did not curse or make a sudden movement. There was only the faint rasp of paper as Roman unfolded a letter, followed by a stillness drawing her attention.

He was staring at the page, brow furrowed. Tamsin studied him for a moment. His expression revealed very little. It rarely did when he did not wish it to. But she knew that set of his mouth now; the way his jaw hardened when anger was not permitted.

“Is it Micklegate?”

His eyes lifted. For one instant, she saw surprise. Then it disappeared. “Yes.” Roman looked down at the letter again. “It is over.”

She closed her letter. “I thought it was already.”

“I took one last chance.” There was enough bitterness in the words to make her remain silent. Roman read the page once more, though she doubted he needed to. He folded it with unnecessary precision. “I wrote to a man I know, in London. There was a possibility…”

“I am listening, Roman.” She leaned toward him. “Please tell me what this means to you.”

“It was a very slight possibility,” he admitted dully. “I knew that when I wrote.”

“And?”

“He agrees with everyone else.” Roman placed the folded letter on the table beside him as though it had not injured. “There is nothing more to be done.”

Tamsin studied him. “I didn’t ask whether there was anything to be done.”

His gaze came back to her. For several seconds, neither of them spoke. Roman finally admitted defeat. “What did you ask?”

“Whether it was Micklegate, and what it meant to you.”

He looked confused. “Yes.”