Page 132 of Lord Hartwell’s Refuge

He had heard those words before in a dozen forms: from friends who stood beside him in council chambers, from men who answered letters and attended meetings and appeared when a cause seemed lost. But he understood them differently now.

Tamsin was not promising to fix him. She was not promising to save Walmgate. She was not offering to carry whatever he set down. She was promising her presence in his life.

That was all, and it was everything.

Roman turned his head and kissed the center of her palm. They retired to her bed together, Tamsin tucked against his side, one of her hands still caught in his. He kissed her forehead and whispered again, “I love you.”

Outside, the wind moved against Hartwell House. There would be no work for Roman tomorrow, not the kind he was used to. Only the road, and Tamsin beside him, and York falling away behind them with Walmgate still standing in it, still argued over, entirely out of his hands.

Others would carry it now. There would be petitions and meetings and arguments he would hear about only in letters, days old by the time they reached him. Walmgate might stand for another hundred years. Another thousand. Or it might not.

Roman did not know, and he would not even be there to watch it happen, one way or the other. Sitting in bed next to his wife, with a house full of trunks waiting below them for morning, he found he could let that be true without it costing him anything.

Tamsin rested her head against his shoulder. Roman stayed where he was, fully content and exactly where he belonged.

Epilogue

Keeping oneself busy was the surest way to avoid thinking of unpleasant things. Mrs. Robert Elgin, née Matilda Holly, knew this with absolute surety. That was why she spent time with friends, on the committees her mother so loved, and wandering about York in search of things to capture her attention.

Perhaps a place like London would offer more distractions for a woman thirty years of age and a widow, but London was far too expensive for her. Still, with a good reason, and a safe place to stay, she would not be adverse to visiting.

When a letter came from her dearest friend directly after Lady Hartwell arrived in London, Matilda couldn’t help smiling as the best of reasons was laid out on the page. She read the letter through a second time with an ever growing smile.

Dearest Tilly,

How did you realize before I did what was to come this spring? Or perhaps early summer, according to the first physician I have spoken with. We are utterly beside ourselves! Roman thought I was dying when I was sick for the entirety of the carriage ride to London. You have never seen a man so pale. I suspected the cause and reassured him until we arrived at our townhouse.

Tilly, I am to be a mother! I will have my own sweet little one to raise, and I am quite ready to give my heart to a babe. I think my family will be happy to learn of this, but I have not yet determined how best to tell them. I know you can keep this confidential. I certainly could not wait to tell you the news, though.

Thank you for all the help you have given me as my friend, indeed, you are as near to me as a sister. You must come before my confinement, which will be spent in York, of course. Roman says that every Hartwell heir has been born in Yorkshire for three hundred years, and we will not break with tradition now. I put forth the idea that we may be having a Miss Eastwood rather than a future baron, and that did not deter him. He has said any daughter of ours must be a true daughter of York, as there is no finer place to be born.

Were I not now assured of my husband’s love for me, I should be tempted to be jealous of the entire medieval city. It is a good thing I love the old stone walls, too.

I hoped I would find contentment in my marriage to Roman, and I am overjoyed that I have found that and more. I am truly happy, and I am certain of myself in a way I never have been before. My life is my own to shape, my husband is my refuge and support, and there is so much that is good and bright ahead of us.

My dear Tilly, I already miss your laugh and kind counsel. Please write to me often. I will certainly write you of every absurd and curious thing I hear or see. There is bound to be much of such things in so big a place as London.

All my love,

Tamsin, Lady Hartwell

Matilda folded the letter and tucked it into the book she had carried with her to the New Walk. It was one o’clock in the afternoon, the air was crisp and cold, the sky astoundingly blue for a mid-February day. The almanacs predicted more snow in short order, so the clear sky had to be enjoyed at once.

Sitting alone on a bench was nothing new to her. Matilda had taken full advantage of her status as a married woman and then widow, accounting to only her husband and then to no one about her comings and goings. It was the most freedom she had ever had in her life.

Yet there were moments when she rather wished she had a companion, of sorts. She had thought of getting a dog, after watching Tamsin take so well to the large boarhound, Athena. But though she liked animals, keeping up the care of one was both expensive and time consuming. Perhaps a cat would be better. A nice calico or tabby to curl up with by the fire.

Except her mother, who she currently lived with, sneezed a great deal when cats were about. Matilda had moved home after her late husband’s death, with every intention of leaving again after a proper mourning period, but she kept finding reasons to stay. Reasons her mother supplied or supported, too.

Then there was her brother, Christopher Holly. Something had changed at Christmas, for the better, and Matilda had great hopes that her brother was soon to make an announcement that would distract her for at least a month’s time.

But for herself, everything felt unsettled. Rather similar to the feeling of walking into a room and knowing something had changed, but not being able to put her finger on it. Had something moved? Been lost?

Perhaps she was overthinking things, and she was merely a touch melancholy due to the change of seasons. That did happen more years than not.

A barge moved along the canal, and she watched its slow progress with a small shake of her head. That could be the problem. She was watching others move forward and progress, like Tamsin and Christopher, while staying in stagnant waters herself.

A movement at the corner of her eye drew her attention to the path, and she immediately stiffened when she saw the person responsible for the flash of cheerful blue.