Chapter 21 #3
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.”
“You heard about that too?”
At this, Charles cocked his head to one side, expression rather incredulous.
“The moment I walked into the house. Anne was quick to tell me about ‘the baron taking an interest in the family.’ I went to Father to find out what that meant exactly. He was delighted someone had made a decision, and he was no longer expected to have an opinion.”
Despite herself, Tamsin laughed. “I doubt he stated it that plainly. He is not that bad.”
Charles looked at her.
Her laughter quieted.
Perhaps he was. Not deliberately, of course.
No one had ever deliberately handed Tamsin the Mayweather family and told her to carry it.
She simply had, because someone must. The look Charles had given her said that he was well aware of their father’s habits and lack of awareness, lack of interest in his own family, and as she stared at her brother, a thought came clearly into her mind.
“You…knew,” she said out loud, voice soft and plaintive to her own ears, even as her chest contracted.
Charles sighed. “Knew what, Tamsin?”
“What—what it was like.”
His brow furrowed. “What do you mean? What Father is like?”
Slowly, she shook her head. “No, I mean…all of it. The whole family—Father, Anne, Leopold. You knew. And you simply…left.”
The way his expression immediately cleared told her at once that he understood what she meant, and that was the strongest evidence of all. “Yes.” The answer came quietly, and he did not duck his head in shame nor even apologize for it.
She stared, a sudden pain in her heart. He had known, and he had not done anything. “Why did you never say anything?”
“To what purpose, Tamsin?”
How could he say that? “It might have helped.”
Charles’s face changed. “I did help, when I could. Or I used to.”
“Did you?” The words escaped before she could stop them, but she found she did not regret them. “Did you truly do anything at all, Charles?”
Charles did not become angry or defensive. “No,” he admitted with a shrug. “Or at least, not enough.” The complete surrender in his tone made it somehow worse.
Tamsin looked out the window at the now-empty garden, noting the growing dark, as she tried to compose herself.
Hurt warred with frustration in her heart.
She wanted to excuse him, she realized. As she had excused him for years.
He had been unaware, she thought. Too busy in his own busy life to recognize what went on with their family.
But all the times he had disappeared from conversations, from the tension in a room, weighed upon her mind.
“When I could leave,” Charles admitted after a long, silent moment, “I left.”
She turned back. “You ran away from home and from our family.”
“Yes.” No defense. No excuse. Just that single word. Yes.
Tamsin gripped the arms of her chair and leaned forward, keeping her gaze on his, not looking away. How could he admit it without any sign of shame or guilt? “Why?”
Charles leaned back in his chair. For once, he did not seem to have an easy answer waiting, and did not try to jest. “Because every time I came home there was something. Father needed a letter written. Anne needed someone to speak to a tradesman. Leopold had done something idiotic. Seraphina and Pearl were at one another like cats and dogs, one of the babies needed something arranged, a lesson or a doctor or to make an apology to a neighbor. There was always something, something that someone needed, and for some reason no one seemed capable of handling things themselves. There was never any order, no attempt at management. I learned if I did not want to carry all of it myself, it was best to avoid it entirely.”
“What about me?” she asked quietly, trying to keep her voice from trembling. “What did I need from you?”
Charles sighed heavily. “Nothing, Tamsin. You’d learned to take care of yourself before you ever learned to ask for help.”
When Tamsin stared at him in shock, he grimaced. “That sounded worse than I meant it to.”
A laugh that had nothing to do with amusement left her lips. “It sounded perfectly clear to me.” Athena sat up and dropped her head in Tamsin’s lap, looking up at her with eyes full of concern.
“Tamsin.” He leaned forward, clasping both hands between his knees. “You did not need me.”
She put both hands on Athena’s neck, focusing on the dog’s warmth and gentle eyes. “Because you knew I would take care of everyone else. Didn’t you?”
“Yes.” At least he did not insult her by denying it. “I suppose I told myself you would not mind. You are good at managing things.”
That hurt, even if it was partially true.
Because she hadn’t minded, not always. She loved her brothers and sisters.
She loved being the person they came to.
She loved knowing what they needed and providing it.
She had taken pride in knowing which child required coaxing and which required firmness, which of Anne’s worries would pass if someone simply listened, which household matters Father would forget unless she put the paper directly beneath his nose.
She had been good at it.
“How very convenient that must have been for everyone else,” she murmured.
“You were better at it than any of us,” Charles said, making it praise rather than necessity.
Tamsin forced down a bitter laugh. “That doesn’t mean it should have been mine to carry.”
“No.” The immediate agreement stopped her.
There was no defense in his expression, nor any attempt to persuade her that she remembered things unfairly.
Charles looked toward the windows at the darkening garden.
“You certainly should not have been left to it alone, I see that now. Or I can finally admit it, at least. I should have come back more.”
Tamsin swallowed. “Yes.” She raised her chin. “And I will not make excuses for you, or tell you it is all right when it certainly was not, Charles.”
His lips turned up in a bitter smile. “I know. I won’t ask you to.”
“However,” she said, raising one hand to halt him from saying more. “You came with Henry today.”
“Yes.” He shrugged and put his chin back in his hand. “We talked of the school idea. He asked if he might come and see you.”
Something warm fluttered in her heart. “And you simply brought him?”
Charles frowned. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“I can think of half a dozen reasons why, and they are likely what kept anyone else from offering to do the same. There is always a reason not to do something, especially at Sycamore Lodge.” She knew many of them, because she had heard or seen them employed many times over the years.
Because someone was busy. Because someone else could do it. Because there would be another afternoon. Because Henry was only seven and whatever he wanted could surely wait until an adult found it convenient.
Charles shook his head. “He was wandering about the house looking thoroughly miserable. I asked what was wrong, he told me about school, we talked about it. He asked if I would like to visit you, and if he could come with me. Of course I brought him. He missed you—so did I, in fact.”
Something tightened in her throat. Charles had run away from their family as often as he could, by his own admission, as soon as his life allowed it. He had seen how much Tamsin carried and permitted himself to believe she did not mind, because that made leaving easier.
She was not ready to forgive all of that merely because he had done one thing correctly today.
But he had done it. He had gone back to Sycamore Lodge. He had noticed Henry. He had asked what was wrong. And when Henry said he wanted Tamsin, Charles had brought him straight to her.
Perhaps she was not the only Mayweather who could learn to do things differently.
Roman heard Henry Mayweather before he saw him. The boy’s voice carried from the sitting room and into the corridor, followed by a burst of laughter that was unmistakably Tamsin’s. The sound stopped him in his place.
He had returned home later than intended, with Salmond’s latest amendments to the petition folded inside his coat and three separate matters competing for his attention.
He had expected to find Tamsin upstairs dressing for dinner, or perhaps with his mother if Frances had returned from her afternoon visits.
He had not expected to hear her laughter. Not after the last two days. A deep male voice responded, full of mirth, and more laughter followed.
A man’s voice.
The baron handed out his hat and gloves to the footman, who had appeared from somewhere near the stairs. “Lady Hartwell is in the sitting room?”
“Yes, my lord.” After taking his things, the servant continued, “Mr. Charles Mayweather and Master Henry are with her.”
That explained the voices. It did not explain the laughter. The last Roman had heard, the Mayweather’s youngest was unhappy and Charles always absent.
Something had occurred to alter matters, and judging by the laughter, for the better. He wasted no time crossing the hall and entering the room without being announced.
Henry was standing beside Tamsin’s chair with one hand buried in the fur at Apollo’s neck.
The dog sat at his side with the solemn dignity of a creature who had apparently appointed himself guardian to yet another member of the Mayweather family.
Athena remained nearer Tamsin, stretched across the rug before her chair.
Looking entirely comfortable in another chair, Charles Mayweather sat with one ankle resting over his opposite knee, a cup of tea balanced upon the arm rather precariously, and his wife was…smiling.
Not at Roman, of course. She had not yet noticed him.