Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
Roman had written four letters before breakfast, all on the subject of the bars and barbicans of York.
One to Mr. William Salmond, thanking the fossil-enthusiast’s willingness to lend his name to a formal petition regarding Micklegate.
One to Hargrove, the newspaperman, shorter than the last, precisely as concise as he’d promised.
Two more to men whose support he needed and did not yet have, phrased as respectfully as he could, given that he was directly asking for them to speak on his behalf.
By the time he met with Salmond that afternoon, spreading maps and old surveys across a table at the man’s home while his host traced the line of the original walls with one ink-stained finger, Roman had stopped noticing this was, by any reasonable measure, the whole of his day.
Correspondence. Meetings. Notes compared, positions confirmed, small alliances built one careful sentence at a time.
It did not feel like narrowing. It felt like the only sensible way to spend the hours available to him, given what was at stake, and if there was less room left over for anything else, he had not thought to ask where it had gone.
He had been married for a fortnight. Dinners with Tamsin at the table, and with his mother now she was returned to the house, were where his conversation changed from the needs of the city to the pleasant domestic matters the women in his life oversaw.
The evenings in Tamsin’s company alone were restorative in a way he had never expected.
But this evening was different. They were invited to dinner and a party of conversation and cards at Ellerby Park, a modest estate outside of the city.
A former Lord Mayor had called it his home, but upon his passing, his widow had taken up management until her son came of age.
Mrs. Laycock took her civic and social duties quite seriously.
“Of course I will accompany you,” Tamsin had said when he mentioned the party. “Mrs. Laycock’s gatherings are known to be consequential in matters of York politics.”
He had blinked at her in surprise. “Yes. Oh. Indeed.”
“Your mother has been educating me,” she told him with a little grin he found endearing in a way he could not possibly explain.
He had given her a kiss on the cheek, and the invitation so she could write their acceptance.
Roman had meant to offer a compliment on her quick study, but of course she had been efficient. It was one of the reasons he had noticed her worth as a wife to a man of his position. One hardly needed praise for being oneself.
When they met on the landing to leave that evening, she had donned a gown of deep plum that he thought most becoming.
It made her dark brown eyes stand out, somehow, or perhaps he was merely more appreciative of the intelligence that shone there than usual.
He opened his mouth to tell her of the pretty picture she made, but instead she had asked, “How best can I be of use this evening?”
Thus their conversation from door to carriage, and for most of the drive, had been his rehearsal of his goals for the evening.
“If you find it natural to bring up the subject, I should like to know what others are saying. The wives of the men present may have insight into their husbands’ thoughts which I lack. ”
“I think I can manage that.” Tamsin’s confidence gave him leave to think on his own plans for the evening, especially when she asked, “Is there anything you are concerned about?”
“Ah. Mr. Salmond will be present this evening. He is one of the men intent on forming a philosophical society in York. His primary concern seems to be the keeping and display of fossils. I am not certain he sees much use in things that have not been buried underground for centuries, or longer.”
He was still turning over a phrase for Mr. Salmond’s letter to the Corporation—something about precedent, about what had been permitted to stand elsewhere in the county—when the carriage drew up outside Ellerby Park.
It was only Tamsin’s hand finding his arm as they climbed the steps that returned him fully to the present moment.
“You are still thinking of the letter,” she noted quietly, not as a complaint. It sounded more like an observation, offered as easily as she might have remarked on the weather.
“I am. Forgive me.” He covered her hand with his own briefly. “I have left our conversation entirely. I will do my best to be conversant on other topics this evening.”
“You needn’t on my account,” she said quietly. “That was rather the point of coming, I think. I need to understand how best to be of help to you at these gatherings, and I should like to see you as you are, among your friends and peers.”
That caught his attention in a way nothing else had that evening.
Well, nothing other than how elegant she looked in her gown with her dark hair framing her face in soft little curls. But he was only human.
“Thank you,” Roman said quietly, squeezing the hand on his arm.
They were in public, the door ahead of them open to admit them, another carriage pulling in behind their own.
He could say nothing else. Yet his heart warmed to her.
She wanted to see his world, and more, she wanted to understand his place in it.
“Of course, my lord.” Tamsin looked up at the door. “Now, let us enter the evening as allies. We have much to accomplish, as well as friends to make and meet.”
It was, he thought, a very Tamsin thing to say—practical, and somehow more generous for being so plainly stated.
He did not have time to examine why it settled something in his chest before they were through the doors and into the chaotically polite noise of the drawing room, as the evening began in earnest.
Guests flowed up the staircase to the large hall above where doorways opened into a card room, music room, and sitting room.
Refreshments were in the hall on long tables, including a generous punch bowl, with liveried servants attending to guests in finery nearly befitting a ball.
Mrs. Laycock’s gatherings were much more than simple card parties.
They were opportunities to see, be seen, and gather intelligence.
Kettlewell approached at once, offering a polite bow to Tamsin. “Lady Hartwell, you look as lovely as a bride ought to on such a fine evening.”
“It is good to see you again, Mr. Kettlewell,” she returned with a curtsy.
Then he turned to Roman without preamble. “Patchett has yet to arrive, but some of his hangers-on are already making the rounds. Danby in particular is being a little—”
“Of course he is,” Roman interrupted with a quick frown, glancing pointedly at Tamsin.
The man had the good sense to appear chastened. “Ah. Excuse me, Lady Hartwell. My language can be rather…decorative.”
“I understand, Mr. Kettlewell.” Tamsin’s smile could only be called serene. “I myself prefer my language less provocatively adorned.” She looked up at Roman with a smile. “I see a friend. Excuse me, my lord, good sir. I will leave you to your conversation.”
Roman watched her go, her head high, to speak to Mrs. Suddaby. They were friends? The woman was older than Roman’s own mother. He turned to correct Kettlewell’s casual manner in front of Tamsin, but Kettlewell spoke first.
“You have a most direct lady wife, Hartwell. She does you credit.” Kettlewell grinned. “Now, tell me what we plan to do about Danby.”
Though Roman promised himself he would keep an eye on his wife, he lost track of her almost immediately, which was simply the natural shape of such evenings.
The room demanded him in a dozen directions at once.
At least she had never needed managing, never once giving him cause to think she would benefit from his hovering like an overly concerned nursemaid.
He caught her at the edges of his attention as the evening wore on: near the window with Mrs. Laycock, her head tilted in a way that looked like she was listening rather than merely waiting to speak; by the refreshment table, laughing at something Phineas Nelson had said, appearing quite comfortable with her place in the conversation.
Roman’s first glimpse of his brother was from across the room, when he looked to find Tamsin and saw her with Lyness and Lady Emily.
The three of them were chatting amicably with Mr. Sterling and his wife, Lady Juniper Sterling.
The five of them together made a happy little scene, and with a start he realized they were all, in some way, his family.
Connected to him. His brother, his brother’s future wife, her family, and Roman’s own wife.
Laughing together.
He took a step that direction.
“Ah, Lord Hartwell, here you are.” Mrs. Laycock had found him. “I am pleased you came this evening. In fact, I do believe this is the first event that you and your wife have attended in Society after your wedding. My congratulations to you, she seems a most lovely woman.”
Roman gave his hostess his full attention. It would be quite a feather in her cap to be the first to welcome a baron’s bride into York’s social circle. He had not given that aspect of the evening any thought until that moment. Most unlike him.
“Thank you, Mrs. Laycock. I quite agree with you. We were both honored by your invitation.” It was the polite thing to say, and the right one to make a woman like Mrs. Laycock happy. “As always, you have gathered the best of York into your home.”
He was absorbed for a time by Mrs. Laycock’s desire to speak of the current Lord Mayor and how her own husband had filled the position with great credibility. She then introduced him to her visiting cousin, before she went on to see to other guests.