Page 44 of Lord Hartwell’s Refuge

“It isn’t,” Thaddeus said.

Phineas raised one finger. “It might be, though we agreed to make Hartwell the center of attention. I vote we abstain from asking Kettlewell for details. That would be giving him what he wants.”

Lyness raised his hand. “Seconded.”

Athena lifted her head and huffed.

“Athena’s vote counts.” Thaddeus rose and went to pour a drink. “That settles it. No one ask Kettlewell a thing. Instead we will further torture Hartwell, who marries tomorrow! All in favor?”

A chorus of ‘ayes’ followed, and Roman glowered at his brother again. Then at his solicitor.

Holly said nothing, but the near-smile had become something more definite, and Roman, against his better judgment, felt the corner of his own mouth move upward too.

Chapter Fourteen

October 6th, 1822

Asimple wedding ceremony did not immediately change a man’s outlook on life.

Or at least, it hadn’t changed Roman’s when he said his vows and listened to Tamsin speak her own.

He had read through the entirety of the service before leaving for the church where her family attended services. He had rehearsed his lines privately, in his thoughts, and did not stumble. The ceremony was like all weddings he had attended, and when he left the old stone building with Tamsin on his arm, he handed her into the carriage the way he had handed other ladies into carriages.

Nothing in his life had altered yet, he supposed, as they entered her family’s house for the wedding breakfast.

Lyness arrived and clasped his hand. “Can you believe it, brother? Your wife is one of us now, an Eastwood. I promise I will be as true a brother to her as I am to you.”

He greeted Tamsin and kissed her cheek and Roman’s vision shifted. Cleared.

Wife. It wasn’t Tamsin beside him—well, it was. But she was not merely another lady to escort. She was his wife.

He could not focus on the other guests and family members as they came through the receiving line. It took moving away from the entry and into the drawing room for his thoughts to advance.

Roman had attended enough breakfasts, dinners, and assemblies to know precisely how a room ought to feel when things were going well. Sycamore Lodge, on the morning after his wedding, felt like a room going well in spite of itself.

Anne Mayweather had not stopped moving since he had arrived with Tamsin on his arm. She corrected the placement of a chair, murmured something sharp to a maid about ham, and swept past him with a smile so bright it verged on a warning signal. At some point, Tamsin slipped away to speak to her younger siblings. He remained rooted to the spot, fascinated, as Mrs. Mayweather whirled about.

He understood now precisely why Tamsin had spent a decade running this household instead of enjoying it. Competence, in this family, was not a gift. It was a talent absolutely no one, save his bride, seemed to cultivate.

He found himself itching to take charge. No wonder Tamsin had. Once that thought struck him, he sought out his wife.

He found her near the sideboard, quietly redirecting a borrowed footman on his placement of fruits and tarts, and something in him went taut with the wrongness of it.

Roman stepped up directly behind her, nearly brushing her skirts. “You are not to do that today,” he murmured, voice low so only she would hear it.

She started. “Oh—Lord Hartwell. You startled me. I am not to do what, exactly?”

“Manage.” He nodded at the footman, already correcting course with red ear-tips. “Whatever needs doing, someone else will do it. That is the entire point of a wedding breakfast.”

“It is only the placement of a few⁠—”

“Tamsin.” He said her name, the one he most preferred, the way he might address a point of order. He regretted it instantly when her eyebrows shot upward. No. He was not going to manage her. “My Lady Hartwell,” he said, and her chin tipped upward. “Let them get it wrong. It will not matter nearly so much as you think.”

She stared, as if trying to form a counterargument.

His lips twitched. “I am told my skill at debate is quite high, my lady wife. Do you wish to test it today?”

Her dark eyes held his, then crinkled at the corners. “I suppose I would prefer a fair showing of my own skills on another topic entirely.” Slowly she stepped back from the sideboard and let her hands fall still at her sides. That lasted only a moment before she was gripping her skirts to give her fingers an occupation. “What am I to do, then?”