Chapter 1 #2
As they turned a final corner, the carriage jolted gently and Roman caught sight of his residence: Hartwell House, a grandeur manifested in brick and mortar, with its symmetrical facade and elegant windows that peeked out like eyes watching over the narrow street below.
Roman’s chest swelled with a sense of pride; this house was a testament to his family’s history in the city he loved above all else.
The carriage pulled to a stop and Roman stepped out, Apollo and Athena bounding ahead of him towards the home they knew so well.
As the heavy front door closed behind him, Roman felt the familiar shift in the air—cooler, with a hint of beeswax, like the interior of a well-kept library.
The entryway was a world of marble and intricate wooden carvings, portraying scenes from Greek mythology that had fascinated him most during his childhood.
He moved past an ornate longcase clock chiming the hour, a solemn tolling that shifted his thoughts.
He had returned to his sanctuary, yet couldn’t escape the subtle pricking at the edges of his consciousness, a reminder that despite the walls he had built around his life and heart… something was missing.
“Roman, here you are at last,” a cheerful voice greeted from above. He looked up to see his mother on the landing, one of her hands on Athena’s head. “Where have you been all day? The house is far too quiet with you away, Lyness visiting Lady Emily, and not even the dogs for company.”
The footman took his hat, gloves, and coat then wordlessly bowed and went on his way as Roman started to advance up the staircase. “Where is your little lap-creature? The over-sized mouse. What is it we call her? Ah. Yes. Princessa.”
He couldn’t resist teasing his mother about her beloved dog, the tiniest ball of fluff he had been able to find. A Pomeranian, a breed English ladies had latched onto after Queen Charlotte was seen with her own. The royal kennels were reportedly full of the creatures, in various sizes and colors.
“Princessa is ten years old,” his mother said as she tilted her cheek for him to kiss her in greeting.
“That’s almost ninety, according to the medieval calculations!
She requires frequent naps, the poor thing is in her dotage.
So you see, I am quite alone here and have need of a companion.
If it will not be you, Lyness, or your dogs, I must ask for additional consideration. ”
He followed Lady Hartwell into the music room with a wry smile. “I am quite certain this is the beginning of another well-meant lecture on the topic of wife-finding.”
“Not a lecture,” his mother said, settling calmly into the chair nearest the window.
“Merely an observation. Several observations, perhaps, but none of them lectures.” She smoothed her skirts and looked at him, wearing a mild expression he had long since learned to distrust. “Roman. You have been very quiet lately.”
“I am often quiet.”
“You are often contained. That is different.” She tilted her head toward the window where the last of the season’s roses had been pruned away.
She regarded the garden for a moment the way one watched the departure of a beloved friend.
“I have written to Mr. Conyers about cutting the roses back properly before the first frost. He assures me he knows what he is about, and he always does, yet every spring I find myself wondering if there is a better way to go about it.”
A basket near the fire held her little dog, whose snores were as miniature as the rest of her.
Roman settled himself across from his mother. “The roses are well enough.”
“The roses are finished for the year,” the Baroness said pleasantly, “which is exactly my point.” She looked back at him, eyes bright.
“The assembly rooms will be thin of company soon. Everyone retreating to their estates, or to a port city, or to take the waters, or to wherever it is people go when they have decided York has nothing left to offer them for the autumn.” Here she employed a pause, delicate as a held breath.
“I had a most interesting letter from Mrs. Alderton. Her daughter has returned from a lengthy visit to her aunt in Edinburgh. Quite improved, apparently. Very…accomplished.”
“Mhm.” That was all Roman would give her.
“You have met Miss Alderton, I think.”
“I have.”
She waited. He offered nothing further. She accepted this with patience and moved on. “I only wonder whether you intend to visit Hartwell before Christmas, or whether you will remain in York through the winter. I ask only for the purposes of planning, you understand.”
Planning, yes…but what? “I had not decided.”
“How unlike you.” Lady Hartwell folded her hands in her lap.
Outside, a gust pushed the dead rose canes against the wall with a dry, rattling sound, and she glanced toward them again briefly.
When she looked back, something in her expression had softened past gentle maneuvering into something quieter.
“I only want you to be settled, Roman. Happy. That is all I have ever wanted.”
He met his mother’s eyes. She held his gaze a moment, then looked away first—which was unusual enough for him to notice.
“You are not unwell?” A thread of worry for her wrapped around everything else on his mind. Marriage or no, his mother’s health was an entirely separate matter.
“Perfectly well,” she assured him, lifting the bell for tea. “Now. Tell me about your walk.”
He thought, briefly, of the boy and the woman outside the walls. The child’s unguarded delight, Apollo’s undignified enthusiasm, dark eyes that had glittered with amusement before a woman whose full name he didn’t even know turned away.
Jones would have her name before long, most likely. But what to do with it?
“There is nothing of note to tell,” Roman said quietly.
And for the moment, he meant it.