Page 96 of Lord Hartwell’s Refuge

Oh, yes, Tamsin remembered well enough. Leopold had known Miss Despencer for a remarkably short period before becoming convinced that no woman in England—or Scotland, apparently—could possibly compare.

Miss Despencer’s family had been less enthusiastic. Her mother had sent the young lady to stay with her grandmother in Scotland, and Leopold had spent the intervening months alternately despondent and indignant. He had turned it into a catastrophe of romantic proportions. He had also apparently assumed Miss Despencer would return in precisely the state in which she had left.

There was not much Tamsin could do to help her brother. “What have you done since she returned?”

“I have called twice.”

A gentle nod did not placate him. “That seems reasonable.”

Leopold sighed. “I encountered her at the New Walk as well.”

“And?”

“She was polite there, too,” he declared, as though the very worst had happened.

“How dreadful for you.” The words were uttered lightly colored by amusement. Why was she amused? She ought to be either concerned for him or frustrated, surely.

“Tamsin.” His brow furrowed deeper, with his most disapproving older-brother frown.

She pressed her lips together. She was not going to laugh.

Leopold leaned forward, forearms upon his knees, dropping his face in his hands with his back curved beneath the weight of his troubles. “I think she has been turned from me, if not against me. I don’t know what they said to her in Scotland.”

Some of her amusement faded. “No. I suppose you could not.”

“Her grandmother never approved of me.”

“The Scottish grandmother?” That made her blink. “I did not think you ever met her.”

His face arranged itself into an eloquent expression of disgust. “Of course not, Tamsin. She lives in Scotland.”

The desire to lean forward and shake her brother by the shoulders to shake sensible words from him mounted. “Then how do you know she disapproved?”

“Augusta told me.”

Before she left, Tamsin presumed. That would hardly be in keeping with the polite facade she had shown him.

Still in the throes of his agitation, Leopold stood again. “I thought perhaps Father ought to call upon them.”

That stirred something familiar inside. Reluctant doubt. Her thoughts immediately arranged into the likeliness of that happening, and the consequences. Their father could call upon the Despencers to discuss Leopold and Miss Despencer, but that would signal serious intentions on Leopold’s behalf. Depending upon what had previously passed between the families, perhaps it would help, but⁠—

There was still so much missing from this story. “Why?”

Her brother groaned, apparently exasperated still. “Why what?”

“Why should Father call upon them?”

He spoke as though the answer were obvious. “To speak with her father.”

“About what, precisely?”

“Me.” Leopold made an impatient gesture. “You know why, Tamsin. To make it clear my intentions are honorable. That our family supports the match.”

“Does Father support the match?”

That made her brother’s shoulders and jaw tighten simultaneously. “He would if he paid enough attention to know there was one.” There was enough truth in that to sting both of them.

Very well. She nodded her understanding. “What did Father say when you asked him?”