Page 4 of Lord Hartwell’s Refuge

Daisy seemed ready to argue again, but her twin had already scampered away with his prize. “Fine. I’m going back to the garden, then.” She turned and stomped out the door.

Just when quiet appeared to have descended, Henry came running into the room. “Here it is!” he shouted, holding up the missing bow in triumph. “It was under the settee.”

Tamsin bent to give him an approving hug, masking her relief. “Well done, love.”

Though she would tell anyone who asked that she thrived amidst the frantic activity of her household, and loved her siblings dearly, the weight of the Mayweather family’s daily needs rested on Tamsin’s shoulders far too often of late. Everyone came to her first with questions, arguments, and difficulties. Keeping in perpetual motion and needing to soothe and calm and direct meant she had not taken a moment for herself at all that day.

In several days, in fact.

What day was it today, anyway?

“Off to the music room. Your tutor will be here soon.” She gently guided him out of the sitting room.

Responsibility wrapped tightly about her, each need another cord to tug her one direction or another, a woven net connecting a family with no clear design. Even in the quiet moments when she was alone in her corner bedroom, too small for more than her bed and a bureau, Tamsin couldn’t think freely without first going through the list of all the things she must do on the following day.

And that was the scheduled chaos. There were always the unexpected things, too. A missing shoe to find, an argument to settle, tears to dry, and trousers to mend.

The Mayweather family no longer possessed the funds for an army of servants, though a household of their size certainly needed one. They were fortunate to employ a butler and housekeeper, a cook, and a man and girl of all work. The adult members of the family, therefore, had to shoulder a great deal of responsibilities.

Of course, not everyone seemed to realize that. Her father amused himself with rambles about the countryside and visiting friends, and her stepmother joined every committee with an empty chair at their meetings, leaving her preferred chair conspicuously empty, and Tamsin to manage the storm at home.

Yet the sparkle in Henry’s eyes or the joyous laughter of her siblings washed the temptation of resentful thoughts away. They loved her. Tamsin had purpose here.

The day went on. The music lesson completed, the telescope forgotten, the children played games in the sitting room while she checked Daisy’s embroidery. Tucking a stray strand of dark hair behind her ear, Tamsin’s eyes widened as they caught sight of the clock on the mantel. “Good heavens, is it that late already? We must go on to dinner, before Mrs. Godfrey declares nothing but tea and toast before bed. Come along, little ducklings.”

The affectionate name for the familial flock had been bestowed on them by their father, some years before, and had stuck—much like the other fowl-inspired terms of endearment for each individual.

Tamsin swept the children too young for formal family dinners from the room, their chatter a mixture of protest and overly dramatic declarations of abject starvation. She would manage their meal, reminding each child of their manners and resisting the urge to wipe faces until the very end.

Then she would dress for her own dinner. Though her parents were likely out for the evening, and her two older brothers as well, her three grown sisters would sit at table with her. She was the eldest at twenty-nine, and they did not always have much in common due to the differences in responsibility and age. They had been closeted in one of the sitting rooms for most of the day, pouring over the latest dress patterns sent to the family by their grandmother, who lived in London.

Seraphina, Pearl, and Daphne were preparing for Daphne—the youngest of the trio—to debut into Society. They were quite taken by the idea of being three beautiful and matching sisters in public, charming all the gentlemen they met with their beauty and wit.

Silly girls. Tamsin certainly wouldn’t be joining them in any ballrooms.

She left the dining room an hour later, the younger children fed and on their way to prepare for bed. She’d barely exited the room when a pair of arms wrapped around her, making her shriek with fright—and familiarity.

Deep laughter behind her ear made her grimace and she stepped backward hard, pressing her heel into her brother’s shoes.

Charles, the second son and second-oldest, yelped and released her. “Tamsin—ow!”

She whirled about and glared. “Serves you right, frightening me like that! You are too old to go about snatching people from behind and scaring the wits out of them. I had no notion you were home. You could have been a burglar!”

“Of course I came home,” said Charles good-naturedly. “Today is Wednesday. Mrs. Godfrey always makes chocolate cake on Wednesday.”

“Chocolate cake?” Tamsin shook her head. “You come home for that but not for dinner with the family?”

He shrugged and made his way to the stairs as Tamsin fell in beside him.

Charles liked to tease and play pranks on the least-suspecting members of his family, and as his nearest sister in age, Tamsin rarely fell for any of his tricks. Not for the last decade, anyway. Nonetheless, he still tried to get the better of her.

“What were you doing all day?” she asked, somewhat envious of the time he spent out of their home and among the crowds of people in York. The city was half an hour’s walk away, no distance at all with a horse and carriage. Yet she rarely stepped through the gates herself.

“Filing paperwork, mostly. Working as a barrister is not all that exciting, Tams.”

She wrinkled her nose at the nickname, bestowed on her by Charles himself when only they and Leopold were occupying the nursery. The whole family still used it, from time to time, though she wished they’d forget all about it. Tamsin was already short enough, but she supposed both were better than her given name.

Thomasine.