Page 60 of Lord Hartwell’s Refuge

Roman folded his arms. “He has a governess.”

“I am aware.” She put her pen down and looked up at him again, tension clutching most inexplicably around her lungs. “You employed her before we were married. She is a remarkable woman.”

“Yes,” said Roman quietly. “And I specifically engaged her so that the education and daily management of your younger siblings would not fall upon you.”

Something about the sentence made her shoulders stiffen. “I remember.”

“And your stepmother is there.”

“Yes.” These were all true things, but why point them out?

Something in her husband’s face softened. “Your father, too.”

Yes, but she had explained about her father before. Did he not remember those details? “Presumably so. He does live at Sycamore Lodge with the rest of my family.”

“And Leopold? Your older brother, he is a grown man, is he not?”

She could not help herself. “That is most likely true, yes.”

“Precisely.”

Tamsin folded her hands in her lap for something to do with them. “What does that mean?”

Her husband’s gaze did not waver. “It means there are three to four adults in that household capable of discovering why a seven-year-old wishes to be sent away to school.”

“Nearly eight-year-old.”

Roman gave her a look. One she had not seen before. “Tamsin. That is not the point.”

Discomfort swirled in her chest. “No. I suppose not.”

He leaned closer, resting one hand on the back of her chair. “You do not have to go every time they send for you—nor answer every small difficulty the way you would if it were an emergency.”

The words were not sharp. That made them worse. She knew they ought to be true, but Roman simply did not understand. Not yet—but he would. “They haven’t sent for me. Anne wrote because Henry is upset.”

The look wasn’t pitying, and that made it worse. “She specifically asked you to come.”

“Yes.” She lifted her chin. “That is a request, not a demand. Sending for someone is a demand.”

Gaze steady upon her, Roman leaned in closer. “And before you finished reading the letter, you had rearranged your day to fulfill that ‘request.’”

Tamsin’s lips parted. How could he possibly know that? “It—it is hardly a great sacrifice.”

His sigh was heavy. “I never said that it was.”

“He is my brother. My youngest sibling⁠—”

“I know. We established that I am quite aware of who and what Henry is. Seven years old. A little boy who adores dogs. I am rather partial to him myself.”

That did not pull her good humor back. If anything, it made her more ruffled by his lack of understanding. “Then I do not understand what we are arguing about.”

Roman’s expression changed. The gleam went away entirely. “Are we arguing?”

Tamsin could not wrangle her words any better than to admit, “I believe we may be.”

That made him frown. He exhaled and straightened. “I would rather you not feel obliged to solve every difficulty that occurs at Sycamore Lodge simply because you did so before we married.”

Something uncomfortable moved beneath her ribs. “I am not attempting to solve every problem.”