Chapter 6 #2
Tamsin became immediately and acutely aware of her bonnet.
It was not a bonnet fit for company. It was a bonnet for garden work and overeager children to knock askew.
It was a wide-brimmed straw configuration, slightly lopsided from being sat upon the previous spring, with a ribbon faded from its original yellow to something approaching the color of old paper.
She had not given it a moment’s thought when she put it on that morning.
She gave it a great deal of thought now.
With any luck, barons did not care about gardening hats. Or, well, anything to do with her.
What on earth was he doing here?
Lord Hartwell looked exactly as he had by the city walls: composed, and deliberately dignified.
Dressed with impeccability. She wondered if he had ever in his life reached for the nearest hat without thinking about it first. He was holding himself with a posture that reminded her, absurdly, of a captain inspecting his crew, having arrived at Sycamore Lodge with a purpose and intending to see it through.
Was this some sort of invasion? Had she done something wrong when she visited his home? Perhaps his brother told him of it and the man had come to tell her not to presume to make such visits in future?
Then she saw Mr. Holly following a step behind, Matilda’s brother’s expression as polite as when he often escorted his sister to their home.
He caught Tamsin’s eye briefly, and she had the distinct impression he was finding something privately amusing, though what specifically she could not have said.
Henry had turned back after his declaration to launch himself toward the dogs at Lord Hartwell’s heels.
Apparently they had been told to stay, for they remained precisely where they were despite Henry’s enthusiastic arrival in their immediate vicinity.
One of the dogs regarded the child with a certain dignified patience, quite used to being the sort of a creature who inspired excitement.
The other dog’s ears twitched once, looking up at their master with great restraint.
The lady of the house was clearly restraining herself too as she spoke. “Lord Hartwell, this is my husband’s eldest daughter, my stepdaughter Miss Thomasine Mayweather. Thomasine, dear, you will of course recognize Lord Hartwell.”
Tamsin tried to smile even as her pulse fluttered.
Her stepmother’s voice had the warmth it reserved for occasions when she needed Tamsin to do something without argument.
“Lord Hartwell has been kind enough to call, and Mr. Holly with him. I will take Mr. Holly inside to speak with your father, and I wonder if you would be so good as to show his lordship the meadow beyond the garden. He would like to exercise his animals. Henry has been talking of nothing else since—well.” She smiled at Lord Hartwell, gracious as ever, but obviously with more important things on her mind.
“Since he saw your dogs near the walls. The children would so enjoy seeing them run properly.”
As expected, her stepmother did not wait for an answer from Tamsin. She turned to Mr. Holly with a focused energy Tamsin well knew. Her stepmother had decided he was going to solve her problems whether he knew it yet or not.
“Mr. Holly,” said Anne warmly. “I do hope you can help my husband and my stepson see sense about a recent matter that is most delicate. Do come right to the study.”
Mr. Holly went with her without a word, though as he turned, Tamsin caught the edge of something that might have been an amused smile. Inwardly, she winced. As grateful as she was for his help, she truly hoped her parents would show a measure of humility—and would listen.
“That was quite the introduction,” Lord Hartwell said, expression giving away nothing of his thoughts. “It is a pleasure to see you once more, Miss Mayweather.”
Oh, goodness. Tamsin was standing in her gardening bonnet with a baron, three children, and two enormous dogs who were waiting with impressive self-discipline for instructions.
“The pleasure is mine, Lord Hartwell,” she said, letting her concerns take a step back to the civility the moment called for, even as George, Daisy, and Henry all stared. “You have come on a fine day, my lord.”
“Indeed. The weather is excellent for being out of doors.”
She looked at Lord Hartwell. He looked at her. He was holding himself very straight.
Daisy prodded Tamsin’s elbow. “Are those the lion-dogs?”
“They are not lions,” Tamsin said, cheeks flushing. “They are German boarhounds. Their names are Apollo and Athena.” She glanced at Lord Hartwell. “Is that correct, my lord?”
“It is.” He looked faintly surprised that she remembered, then seemed to recollect himself.
“This one is Apollo.” He gestured to the dog who appeared most eager to break from his obedient stance.
“And Athena.” She didn’t even twitch an ear at the sound of her name.
“You may play with them, if you wish. They will not run far once released.”
George had already positioned himself in front of Apollo with a focused intensity which immediately concerned Tamsin. “Will he let me ride him?”
“George.” Tamsin winced.
“No,” said Lord Hartwell calmly. Then, after a pause suggesting he was doing rapid calculations, “He is not built for it.”
“What about the lady dog?”
“George!”
“Also no,” said Lord Hartwell, glancing at Tamsin with an expression suggesting he had not entirely anticipated this dilemma.
Good, she thought. Neither had she.
“Come along then, ducklings and dogs both.” She gathered her shawl more firmly about her shoulders, for the September breeze had opinions about back gardens and meadows and ladies without proper coats, and nodded to the gate at the far end of the garden.
“Henry, do not run ahead of the dogs. George, put your sketchbook down. Daisy, put your bonnet back on.”
She set off across the garden toward the gate, the children orbiting her in various states of containment, and after a moment she heard the quiet sound of Lord Hartwell falling into step beside her.
The children chattered like eager fledglings down the path, hardly giving the baron room to answer their questions about the dogs.
He tried, at least, and did not seem annoyed. That was something of a relief.
After Tamsin opened the gate he released the dogs with a word she didn’t catch, and Apollo and Athena moved ahead of them and into the meadow beyond.
They loped in a way that made the large animals seem graceful, looping around to come back before running out again.
The children followed with approximately the same energy.
For a moment the meadow was all movement and noise: Henry shrieking with delight, the dogs ranging outward in long easy arcs, Daisy calling after Athena, George attempting to keep pace with Apollo and losing immediately and cheerfully.
Tamsin stood at the gate, watching them, aware in the peripheral way one is aware of things one is trying not to be too aware of that Lord Hartwell had come to stand beside her.
He was still holding himself stiff and straight. But he was watching his dogs with an expression she hadn’t expected—something quieter and less guarded than what she’d seen on his face by the walls. The peace of the meadow had done something to the composure he’d arrived with. Softened it, perhaps.