Chapter 13 #2
“It is a lovely sound,” the baroness remarked, correctly noting what had made Tamsin pause.
“As long as all the churches with bells are in agreement with one another. There was a time a few years ago when it seemed no one knew the correct hour, and I heard bells ringing at all hours until the matter was put to rights.”
Lady Hartwell next showed her the dining room.
“The table can seat fourteen if needed,” she said.
“Though we rarely use more than one end of it of late. Roman really must entertain more, at least for his political allies.” She pursed her lips and regarded Tamsin for a long moment, debating how much more to say on the matter.
“He has trusted me to manage it all these years, though I confess it has not been my favorite duty. I have not issued many invitations of late.”
Tamsin looked at the table and promised herself she would learn how to do all of it. The invitations, the hostessing, the menu planning—all that a baroness would be expected to manage.
The room at the back of the house opened into the garden through a pair of glass-pained doors. Even in October, with the roses stripped to their canes, Tamsin understood immediately why it was Lady Hartwell’s favorite.
“In summer,” Lady Hartwell said warmly, “you can smell them from here with the doors open.” She stood looking out, a wistful smile softening her elegant features. “If I must be indoors at all, then I am here.”
“It must be a perfect sanctuary,” Tamsin said, looking at the paintings of roses on the walls and the subtle floral print of the furnishings. “It feels rather like a garden inside as well as out.”
She understood the importance of a room like this for the baroness, too.
There were few enough places in Tamsin’s own life where she felt such gentle peace.
She stood in the doorway to the garden, looking at the sleeping roses, unlit lanterns, and the walls surrounding and protecting the whole of it. “I would like to see it in summer.”
A delighted laugh escaped Lady Hartwell. “My dear, this is to be your home! I should hope you will.”
“Oh.” Tamsin placed a hand over her mouth. “Yes. I suppose so. I have been enjoying myself to the point I nearly forgot the purpose of our tour.”
“Indeed. I imagine it does not feel quite real yet,” the baroness remarked, her expression gentle. “And with it all happening with such speed, you have not had much time to get used to the idea. I understand, perfectly. But you will be mistress here. The new Baroness Hartwell.”
A thought Tamsin had to practice believing.
The upper floors were orderly, the guest chambers well-appointed, the family rooms arranged with the same quiet logic as everything else in the house.
Tamsin noted what she saw and said little, except to offer a sincere compliment here and there.
Lady Hartwell guided her through the home without pressure or asking Tamsin probing questions, which she appreciated more than she could have expressed.
It was at the end of the tour when they approached a room that Tamsin, for some reason, had not given any thought to until the moment of its introduction.
“Here is the least used room of the house—for now. The nursery.” Lady Hartwell gestured to the door at the end of the corridor on the uppermost floor. She opened it but did not enter, stepping aside to allow Tamsin to enter first.
It was empty. Clean, well-proportioned, the windows looking out over the back of the house.
A small fireplace was tucked within one wall.
A chair near the window was empty, save for a quilt folded over its back.
There was a small cot, a trunk, and a wardrobe with little birds painted on its surface.
Tamsin stood in the doorway for a long moment before she stepped inside, walking to that chair. She stood beside it, placing one hand on the quilt of yellow and blue fabric.
She had spent more than fifteen years caring for her half-siblings.
She knew the weight of a sleeping three-year-old against her chest, the pitch of a six-year-old’s cry when genuinely hurt versus merely indignant, the way a small hand felt in hers on the way to an ordinary errand a child viewed as an adventure.
She had given all to her family freely and without accounting, because it was what was needed and she was the one who could provide it.
She had not, in some years, allowed herself to think about children of her own.
She looked at the empty cot by the wall. The stack of blocks on a shelf. All kept waiting in this room.
Children of her own.
The thought arrived quietly, without fanfare, and sat down somewhere inside her heart, nestling warmly there.
“Shall we have tea now?” Lady Hartwell said gently from the doorway.
“Yes,” Tamsin said. “Thank you, your ladyship.”
On the landing, Lady Hartwell turned to her, the baroness’s eyebrows drawn softly together and lips turned upward in a considerate smile. “I hope you will feel at home here, Miss Mayweather. I intend to do everything in my power to help you find your footing in your role as baroness.”
Tamsin easily returned the smile with sincere warmth. “You are very kind, Lady Hartwell. And I wonder—” She paused, considered swiftly, then decided. “Those who are dearest to me call me Tamsin. I would be honored if you would do the same.”
Lady Hartwell was quiet for a moment. A bittersweet smile moved across her expression.
“Tamsin,” she said, trying the sound of it.
Then, more quietly, “I had always hoped my daughters-in-law might feel comfortable enough, in time, to call me Mother after their marriages. Until then, my name is Frances. But either address is entirely for you to decide, and there is no hurry whatsoever.”
Tamsin’s body relaxed, and some of the tightness within her eased. “Thank you, Frances.”
Lady Hartwell’s eyes gleamed. “I think we will get along splendidly, my dear. Now come. Tea, and likely my son, await.” She led the way back downstairs.
Roman was already in the sitting room when they returned, standing near the window with hands clasped behind his back. He turned when they came in, giving the impression he had been waiting. There was no irritation or any indication he wished to be anywhere other than there in that moment.
Though she had not even known the men in her life waited with an air of impatience, she knew it at once when she saw the opposite before her.
Perhaps Lord Hartwell would be a different sort of man altogether. The evidence continued to attest to that possibility. “Ah, the brave adventurers return from their expedition.”
Lady Hartwell chuckled and moved to the tea things. “Tease all you want, my dear, but we had a marvelous time.”
“Indeed, we did.” Tamsin crossed the room to stand next to him, looking up into his eyes. The quiet peace from the nursery lingered. She would have children. His children. The idea sent a strange sensation of warmth through her, along with a trickle of anxiety.
Would he be a good father? A good husband?
“I feel I have discovered an entirely new world.”
That declaration made Lord Hartwell raise his eyebrows.
“Truly? That is gratifying to hear, given that my London friends think our York townhouses too small. But your opinion sounds far more in keeping with my own. How do you find the house, in whole, Miss Mayweather?” The way he looked down into her eyes, the seriousness of his stare, made the question feel like far more than polite curiosity. He seemed anxious to hear her answer.
Tamsin considered her answer with care. “I found it orderly,” she said. “Each room’s purpose well thought out. I think I shall like it here very much.”
Something shifted in his expression. Her words had pleased him.
He gestured toward the chairs arranged near the fire.
“That sounds like an excellent first impression. And remember, there is also our country estate, but that will require its own visit. Please, sit. You must need refreshment after your expedition.”
His mother settled into a chair. “I have decided I would like to take up my name again, rather than hear ‘dowager this’ and ‘dowager that’ a thousand times. Frances, Lady Hartwell, will be my preferred address. Do see that your friends are informed, Roman.”
He chuckled. “Of course, Mother. I will make certain they all know to avoid calling you a dowager. Even if that is, technically, what you will soon be.”
She smiled, fully accepting his teasing and pouring the tea.
Roman asked questions about the tour. At some point, without anyone marking the moment, the conversation stopped being a polite exchange and became something easier: conversation about homes, and warmth in the winter, and roses in the summer.
Tamsin looked at the glass doors to the sleeping garden, and at Roman, who was saying something to his mother about the dining room curtains, then back at her tea.
She was going to live here.
And she was, she realized, not afraid of that prospect in the least.
Apollo heard them before he saw them.
The study, dark now by four in the afternoon, was cool and silent by eight. Candles and the fire kept the atmosphere comfortable and bright enough for Roman to go about his business. Both dogs were stretched out near the fire, taking up a great deal of the floor, while he sat behind the desk.
Apollo lifted his head from his paws, tilting his head the way he did when he heard something familiar.
An alert, but not one with any concern. Athena followed a half second later, both of them oriented toward the front of the house with the synchronized focus that meant someone known was approaching.
Roman looked up from the paper he had been reading without absorbing for the past quarter hour as the sound of the front door opening echoed through the house. Voices bounced about in the entryway.
“—not his study, Kettlewell, we cannot simply—”