Page 65 of Lord Hartwell’s Refuge

Finally Roman broke the quiet. “I should have spoken to you first.”

The fact was so plainly stated it did not sound like an apology. It certainly did not soothe her. He might have been acknowledging some oversight in the management of his estate rather than admitting he had injured his wife.

“Yes,” she said plainly. “You should have.”

He nodded curtly. “I will correct the matter.”

“No. I would rather you not.”

“Tamsin—”

“No,” She repeated firmly and stared up at him, helplessly. She had no more power here than she had in her father’s household. “Please, Roman. Listen to me. Do not attempt to fix this again.”

His expression changed. This one hurt more.

She hated how they were hurting one another when neither of them had intended harm.

His shoulders went stiff. “Very well. As you wish.”

“Thank you.” Relief flooded her at last, but the tension remained in her head and shoulders.

Roman nodded once and stepped through the door to his study, closing it behind him before the dogs realized what he was doing. Apollo went to the door and looked up at it, then back at Tamsin. He whined.

Tamsin left the drawing room with Anne’s letter in her hand into a large house echoing with silence. For the first time since becoming Lady Hartwell, she felt very much alone.

And they were perfectly civil at dinner.

Roman had never before realized how unpleasant civility could be.

His mother seemed unaware of anything amiss. Or, more likely, she had noticed within the first five minutes of sitting at the table, and either possessed sufficient tact not to acknowledge it or had no desire to involve herself. She spoke cheerfully of the callers who had come that afternoon, including one tiresome woman whose name Roman immediately forgot. Tamsin responded when appropriate. She was entirely pleasant toward his mother. She even laughed once. She did not look at Roman.

He noticed. He wished he had not.

“The Nelson family invited all three of us to dine on Thursday, Mother,” he said when a lull in the conversation permitted it. “Would you ladies like to accept?”

Tamsin looked at him then, but only briefly. “Yes. I think that would be pleasant. Mother?”

“Oh, I am afraid I have already accepted an invitation to another dinner on Thursday.” She smiled over the rim of her wine glass. “Mr. Conyers has come to town to enjoy time with his grandchildren, and has invited me to a little supper party to view some new rose varieties.”

That seemed somewhat strange, given the time of year, but Roman was more interested in Tamsin’s reaction to that news. Would she still wish to attend the dinner with only him? Surely their disagreement would not amount to more than one evening of strain between them?

“That sounds like a lovely way to pass the evening.” Tamsin’s smile widened and a little lift of her eyebrows made him wonder if she too thought it odd. “I suppose Roman and I will have to get along without you.” Another brief glance at Roman. “Would you like to write the acceptance since you received the invitation directly, or shall I?”

“I will take care of it, of course.”

“Thank you.”

Her words were perfectly reasonable. She was perfectly polite.

Roman speared the meat on his plate and wondered how two people who had spent previous evenings communicating perfectly well could have become so thoroughly incapable of clarity in less than a day.

Do you really know anything about me?

The question had followed him into his study. It had followed him through three letters, one of which he’d been forced to read again after discovering he had no notion what the author was describing in extreme detail. He’d thought it was a tenancy disagreement.

It had been a horse.

Her question had followed him upstairs to dress for dinner. Now it had taken a seat at the table.