Chapter 21 #6
Neither Roman nor Tamsin answered, though the silence was not uncomfortable. It was, strangely, rather warm. Full of some feeling akin to contentment.
Henry, blessedly unaware of any of it, leaned toward Roman. “Would you like to know what she did with a frog?”
Tamsin spluttered, “Y-You do not even know that story!”
The boy grinned. “Daisy told me.”
“Daisy was not born—”
“She heard it from Pearl.”
Tamsin gaped for a moment. “Pearl was four.”
“She remembered.”
“She absolutely did not,” insisted Roman’s wife.
He sat in his chair immediately and pointed his full focus at Henry. “I should very much like to know what she did with a frog.”
She gasped. “Roman!”
He met his wife’s eyes. She was trying not to smile again, and he found he rather liked that.
More than he had any business liking it.
The little boy launched into a story that most certainly contained no more than a passing acquaintance with fact. Charles corrected him. Tamsin corrected them both. Somewhere in the middle of it, Apollo put his head happily upon Roman’s knee while Athena remained firmly stationed at Tamsin’s feet.
Quite without meaning to, Roman stopped thinking about the petition, and Patchett, and Micklegate bar, and votes in November. For perhaps a quarter of an hour, he forgot anything outside of that room existed.
A footman appeared in the doorway. “My lord?”
Roman looked up.
“A message has come from Mr. Salmond. The messenger was instructed to wait for an answer.”
The room seemed to rearrange itself around the words. Roman rose and held out his hand.
The servant crossed to him and delivered the folded paper. Salmond’s handwriting covered most of the page. Roman read it through once standing there, heaving a sigh. His time with the family was, necessarily, over for the moment.
Salmond had secured the support and signature of the Fairfax family, an influential branch in York.
However, they required a change to one of the points in his wording.
Though it was not a legal document, they wished it to sound more like one if their names were going to be affixed to it.
He would need to work something out, at once—perhaps apply to Holly for assistance.
There was no question of whether he ought to respond. This mattered. Delay would cost them substantial support when he presented the petition to the York Corporation. He was already composing his answer before he reached the end of Salmond’s note for the second time.
Roman folded the paper with real regret. “I am afraid I have to attend to this. It concerns the barbicans and bars.”
Immediately, his wife said, “Of course, Roman. We will not keep you.”
He hesitated a moment instead of rushing away, studying her with care. She did not appear to be angry or disappointed. That ought to have made it easier to leave the room and return to the front of the house, to his study, and then out into the night to speak to Holly.
Charles and Henry were here. His mother would return before dinner. Tamsin had company; she was comfortable and cheerful, she had no need of him whatsoever. But Salmond did. The choice could hardly have been clearer.
Only Henry looked disappointed. “But you haven’t heard the end of the frog story.”
“No,” Roman admitted.
“You could hear it now then answer your letter.” The boy’s tone was not exactly plaintive…
“I could.” Roman looked at Tamsin again, who had turned in her chair to watch him.
He wanted to sit back down.
The realization was sufficiently unfamiliar that for a moment he did nothing at all. He did want to hear the end of a fabricated story about a frog. He wanted to ask Charles to tell him something else embarrassing about Tamsin. Perhaps she had named the frog too.
Another quarter hour in that room, with the trio, could not be too detrimental to his cause, could it? Except…what he wanted would do nothing to save York’s long history. None of his desires needed him the way the old stone did.
That was the difficulty.
Roman had spent most of his life understanding his obligations according to a relatively simple principle: if something mattered, somebody must take responsibility for it. If the responsibility was his, preference had very little to do with the matter.
Salmond’s letter required an answer. Tamsin did not require anything.
“I will try not to be long.”
Something flickered across her expression. “I know.”
Roman hesitated. After a moment, he bent and pressed a kiss to her temple.
It was not their usual kiss. They had not shared one of those since the night she locked the connecting door between their chambers. But she did not draw away, and her eyes lifted to his when he straightened. Neither spoke a word to each other.
He bowed. “Good afternoon, Mayweather. Henry.”
Roman left. He carried Salmond’s letter with him to his study, unfolded it upon his desk, and set immediately to work on a response. The problem was interesting, and certainly important; and it was his to handle, even if he sought Holly’s advice on the matter.
But for the first time in longer than Roman could remember, he wondered why he was the one who had to solve it.