Chapter 15 #3
He did not examine too closely why it mattered to him more than he’d expected it to. Some things were better left in the dark where he’d first considered them.
This morning, at least, had gone some way toward reassuring him.
Tamsin had blushed at the mention of the previous evening but had not flinched from him—had, if anything, softened once Athena settled the matter of allegiance so thoroughly in her favor.
He had left for his appointments in a better humor than he could remember leaving the house in some time, spent hours turning over the memory of her laugh, the picture of her sitting with his dog’s head in her lap.
“You will want your blue-stone cufflinks,” Dinsdale said, already retrieving them from the case without waiting to be asked. “Those ones look well enough from a distance, my lord, but not across a dinner table with your bride studying you.”
Roman raised a brow, his attention focusing on his valet. “Studying me.”
“New wives generally make a study of their husbands, in my experience. First fortnight or so.” Dinsdale held out the cufflinks, entirely unbothered by having offered an opinion on matrimony he had no personal authority to hold.
“Nothing to be done for it. Best to simply be studied while looking one’s best.”
Roman said nothing, though privately thought there was more sense in it than Dinsdale likely intended.
He had spent the whole of his adult life being watched: by his mother, by his political rivals, by half of York, all of them waiting to see whether he would perform his role correctly.
He had never once minded being watched in that way; it required nothing of him beyond competence, which came easily.
Being watched by Tamsin was different, and he was not yet certain why, only that it unsettled him more than it should.
He wanted her good opinion in a manner distinct from wanting his mother’s, or Sir George’s, or the Corporation’s.
He wanted, if he were honest with himself, her to find something in him worth keeping.
Not mere toleration; wanting him there, in her presence.
It was an uncomfortable thing to desire from a woman he had married for entirely sensible reasons just the day before. He was a man who understood his own motives as a matter of habit and instinct, and he did not care for the sensation of not fully understanding this one.
His valet gave his coat a final assessing look and stepped back. “That will do very well, my lord.”
“Thank you, Dinsdale.”
“Shall I let the kitchen know you are ready to go down?”
Roman glanced once more at his reflection, straightened a cuff which did not need straightening, and thought, with some private and unfamiliar hope, he would like very much for the evening ahead to go well.
“Yes,” he said. “But we will wait upon Lady Hartwell’s readiness from now on.” He hadn’t intended to make the declaration, but there it was, and he nodded at his reflection in the looking glass. It felt proper.
His personal servant bowed to take his leave. “Of course, my lord.”
When Roman entered the drawing room adjacent to the dining room, he found Tamsin already present.
For a moment he paused in the doorway, watching her as she stood before the hearth.
Tamsin stared up at the painting above the fireplace: a landscape with his country home sitting in the background, the foreground full of wild flowers and a sweeping meadow.
“I hope you find the actual estate to your liking,” he said, and she started.
“I did not hear you come in.” Tamsin turned with a soft smile on her lips. She looked content—at least, he thought she did. She wore a gown the color of a rosy dusk, her dark hair piled up with a few soft tendrils curling loose around her cheeks.
She made a lovely picture.
He recalled himself enough to say, “My apologies. I did not mean to sneak up on you.” Then he came forward and gestured to the chair nearest the hearth. “Dinner will be ready shortly, I am certain. Would you care to sit?”
After Tamsin settled in the chair, he took the one across from her. It was a formality he’d observed every evening of his adult life and had never once questioned, until he saw her glance around the room somewhat nervously.
“Is something amiss, Tamsin?”
“No. Only—” She smoothed her skirts, taking a small, considering pause. “It feels strange, waiting in a room together before dinner, only the two of us.”
That made sense. “You are accustomed to a fuller table.”
“Very.” A faint smile touched her mouth. “I am not certain I have ever sat down to a meal with fewer than six other people in the room, unless one counts breakfast, and even that could be rather crowded some mornings.”
Roman found himself curious in a way he hadn’t quite anticipated. “How does it run, in your father’s house? The evening meal, I mean.”