Chapter 8 #3
They all followed her out to the carriage as the baroness turned one last time, adjusting her gloves.
“Thank you for your kindness, Mrs. Mayweather. Girls, it was a pleasure.” She nodded politely to each of them, but as she was standing in front of Tamsin, she leaned closer, to make her last comment more private.
Instinctively, Tamsin also leaned in, and the baroness looked her fully in the eyes.
“I hope we shall see more of you, Miss Mayweather. York has a great deal to offer, I find, to those who look for its beauty.”
Then she turned and climbed into her carriage, leaving Tamsin to stare after her. Excessively puzzling.
They waved until the carriage was midway down the lane before stepping inside. The girls were giggling, speaking with great animation about the surprise visit, the sophistication of the baroness, and wondering what it could mean.
“We could speculate all day and never know the answer,” Seraphina said as they entered the room where they had hosted the baroness, immediately reaching behind the cushion hiding her book.
“Fiddlesticks.” Anne sat down in her chair with an attitude of relief.
“I know precisely what this means. To have the baroness call upon us so soon after her son paid his visit? Everyone in York knows the younger brother will be married in December, and everyone knows the baron has shown little interest in courting. It would not surprise me in the least if Lady Hartwell wishes to find more options to present directly to her son.”
That brought quiet to the room as the younger three stared in shock at their mother. Tamsin stood at the window. The carriage was already out of sight. Her stepmother’s hunch made some logical sense, except…
“The baron’s solicitor knows our financial situation.
” Tamsin went to the chair where the baroness had sat, and settled into it with hesitation.
“It stands to reason the baron would too. Even if Lady Hartwell came to look us over, I doubt we will receive any favor from it. If that is truly her motive.”
Anne frowned, first at Tamsin, then at the ceiling.
“Perhaps. Then again, stranger things have happened. Perhaps Lord Hartwell is not overly concerned with the financial aspect of a bride. It is, as Seraphina said, all speculation. I will manage my hopes. Yet if more invitations for you girls come from this, it will still improve your prospects. And with three—four of you out—” She glanced at Tamsin with a raise of her brows.
“It is high time for suitors to take notice.”
Seraphina went back to reading without showing much interest in the idea, but Pearl and Daphne began describing their ideal suitors, a common enough topic between the two of them. Anne remained seated, looking at nothing.
Watching her sisters, Tamsin turned over the sequence of events which had brought the baroness to their home. The dogs and the baron? Perhaps. Her visit to Lyness Eastwood? The baron with Mr. Holly. Now Lady Hartwell’s arrival.
Both times she had met with the baron, he had looked at her in a way that made her feel she mattered, not dismissively or with amusement.
He had studied her, and Tamsin had decided that was simply his nature.
He was known for his attention to detail in the political arena, and it made sense that such a thing would carry into other places in his life.
Such as meeting new acquaintances. Discovering the name and family of a woman and her brother he met one day on the road.
Had those events set something grander in motion? She did not yet have the full picture. Speculation, of course, would solve nothing. She had to put it from her mind.
At least for now. There were other things to worry about. Trying to distract her family with something more amusing and immediate would be best. “Well. Who is going to tell Charles there will be no chocolate cake this evening?”
The afternoon had given Roman little satisfaction.
The papers on his desk remained where he had left them, unread, and the letter he intended to write to Patchett sat blank on the blotter. He had walked to the window twice, looked out at nothing of consequence, and returned to his chair both times without having accomplished anything useful.
A small ball of fluff had wandered in sometime after two o’clock. Princessa had settled beneath his chair with the confidence of an animal who knew she was welcome anywhere, and he had ignored her until she put her small paws on his boot and looked up at him with an expression of mild accusation.
He picked her up. She settled against his arm with a sigh.
His mother had likely returned from her calls so Roman carried her dog, a light thing, to the first place he usually found her.
The garden.
The door from the small sitting room stood open, and he paused on the threshold without announcing himself, some instinct stilling him before he stepped fully outside.