Page 62 of Lord Hartwell’s Refuge

Tamsin stared at her maid, then at the clock. Something cold and unpleasant began gathering at the base of her spine, a knot she could not unpick. “Thank you, Eliza. We are finished for now, then.”

After all, she had only to put on spencer, gloves, and bonnet to be ready for her visit. Without the carriage, there was no need for those things. If she had to wait upon her husband’s return, there was nothing left for her to do. She went downstairs, where she sat in the front sitting room and attempted to read.

The dogs were home and both joined her. Apollo stretched out near the fire, Athena resting her heavy chin on Tamsin’s shoe.

The book failed to keep Tamsin’s attention. She rose and went to the desk where there were invitations to answer. Athena rose and followed, again settling at Tamsin’s feet.

She attempted to answer an invitation and found herself writing the same sentence twice. She huffed and stood, going to the window to watch the street. Athena made a similar sound of impatience and joined her, sitting up, ears perked and eyes on the outside world.

Smiling despite herself, Tamsin put her hand on the dog’s large head. “You are a most attentive companion, Athena.” The dog’s tail wagged once then went still.

By the time she saw their carriage arrive, she had paced the length of the room several times. She’d also reread Anne’s letter, now folded into quarters between her fingers. She went to the door to the hall and opened it at the same moment her husband entered the house.

Roman blinked in surprise as he handed his hat and gloves to the footman. “Ah. Tamsin! Good, you are precisely where I need you to be.” He looked irritatingly pleased with himself.

Her chin came up. Where else would she be, given that he had taken the family carriage? When he knew she needed it? She kept those questions to herself and instead asked, in as even a tone as possible, “Roman. Where have you been?”

“Sycamore Lodge.” He walked by her and into the sitting room, where both dogs rose to greet him.

Sycamore Lodge? Her fingers tightened around the letter as she followed. Somehow, she was not surprised. “You went to see my family?”

“I spoke with your father.”

“You spoke with my father.” She felt like a trained parrot, repeating him that way.

“Yes.” Roman bent to scratch both dogs behind their ears, murmuring soft praises to them for their mere existence. He bore the maddening composure of a man who believed everything in the world was precisely as it ought to be. He looked up at her, still with his hands full of furry adoration. “Henry will remain at home for the present. Your father agreed there is no point in disrupting an arrangement serving everyone perfectly well. Mrs. Keating is more than capable, and if Henry wishes for more advanced instruction in another year or two, the question can be considered then.”

Tamsin stared, her chest tight and her mind suddenly full of too many things to express at once. None of them were pleasant.

A deep, long, slow breath did naught but give air to her lungs. Calm, much wanted, did not arrive.

Roman stared, satisfaction leaving his face by degrees. “Tamsin? Is something amiss?”

She would have to manufacture calm, if she could not find it. “You went to my father.”

“Yes.” His brow furrowed and he slowly came to his feet. “As I said.”

“And told him Henry is not to go away to school.” Really, she should be congratulated, her voice remaining so level.

Her husband’s frown deepened. “I did not presume to tell him anything. I discussed the matter with him.”

“Did you speak to Henry?”

Roman shook his head slightly. “No. He was at his lessons.”

Oh goodness. Save her from well-meaning men. “Did you ask Father whether he had spoken to Henry?”

The downturn of his lips answered the question. “I⁠—”

“Did you ask why Henry wants to go?” Her impatience, so rarely exhibited and usually well repressed, was pushing all her frustration forward while her temples throbbed.

“Tamsin.”

When was this headache powder supposed to start working? “Did you speak to Henry, Roman?”

He blinked. “No. I did not consult the seven-year-old boy that the rest of you seem content to allow to manage the entire household.”

She turned away. His words were unnecessarily harsh, though the tone was likely deserved given her own. The room felt suddenly very warm.