Page 78 of Lord Hartwell’s Refuge

His face fell, and Tamsin immediately wanted to take the entire conversation back. She wanted to tell him he needn’t worry, and he certainly did not need to go away at all. She would arrange everything. She would invite him twice a week. She would speak to the twins. She would find him companions. She would make certain he never felt left out again.

Half a dozen solutions began arranging themselves neatly in her mind. And yet, with the way Charles was watching her, and the conversation with Matilda still in her mind, she hesitated.

What was it Roman had said?

“You were expected to solve everyone’s problems, always at hand to take upon yourself what others were capable of doing,” was what Roman had leveled at her.

Was this what he meant? Would it be wrong of her to take Henry’s problems and make them her own?

She bit her lip and looked down at Athena, who watched her with an unnervingly knowing expression.

“Can I go, Tamsin?” Henry asked in a pleading tone.

Tamsin examined him. “I…I do not know if you should, Henry.”

“You don’t?”

“No.” She forced herself to smile. “But I understand why you want to.”

“You do?” He stared at her for a long moment. “That isn’t the same as saying yes, though.”

“No,” she said softly. “I am afraid not. But I am certain Father, Mother, and Mrs. Keating will make a good decision for you, and I will certainly talk to them to see if I might help.”

Henry appeared dissatisfied with this, but Apollo rescued her by dropping the ball directly onto his foot. Within moments, the dog had reclaimed the child’s attention.

Tamsin watched him return to the game of fetch with a sigh. The problem was not school—or at least, school was not the whole of it. Henry was lonely.

What bothered her most in that moment was that she knew what he needed, but it was not up to her—or her alone—to decide what ought to be done about it. She was his sister: not his parent or guardian, not even his governess. He was not her prerogative. Though she loved him dearly, her role was to be one voice on his behalf, not the final voice.

After he tossed the ball a few more times for Apollo, Henry poked his head back inside. “May I explore your house, Tamsin?” He patted the dog on his back. “I can take Apollo with me as my guard dog, then you and Charles can talk about the things grown-ups always talk about.”

That brought a laugh from Charles, the first sound he had made in several minutes. “The things grown-ups talk about? What do you imagine we have to say that you cannot hear, Henry?”

“Boring things.” Henry wrinkled his nose. “Parliament or taxes. Or ballgowns.”

Biting back her own giggle, Tamsin gave permission. “Very well. Go on and explore, but do not go into the bedrooms. Stay on the ground and first floor, please—and be polite to Cook, and my housekeeper Mrs. Briers if you meet them.”

“Yes, Tamsin. Come with me, Apollo.” He went to the door and patted his leg.

“Go on, Apollo,” Tamsin commanded, pointing. She trusted the dog would stay with his new little friend, and out into the hall they went.

Athena lifted her head again, but when she was neither invited nor asked to leave, she settled on the ground with a deep sigh, perhaps relieved that she could remain near her mistress.

Charles looked down at the large dog. “She has laid claim to you, I gather? Does Hartwell mind?”

“It seems to please him, as a matter of fact.” Tamsin bent to stroke Athena’s long back, the coarse, short fur a now familiar texture.

She hadn’t spoken to her husband except briefly at breakfast that morning. He had seemed distracted, then left to speak to more people about saving the barbican and bar. Now she rather wished he was home to tell him about Henry.

But he wasn’t. And she did not know when he would return.

She focused instead on Charles. “You took the time to ask Henry what was bothering him.”

Charles glanced up from watching Athena. “Obviously.”

“No one else did,” she pointed out. “It seems you and I are the only two who thought that an obvious thing to do. It certainly did not occur to Roman to have a conversation with a seven year old.”

All too late, the words had left her lips, and her brother’s expression changed. “Ah. Yes. I gathered Hartwell took a rather more direct approach.”