Page 2 of Lord Hartwell’s Refuge

“May I pet them?” he asked the groom, who had not moved an inch.

“Henry! Henry, stop, please.” A woman hurried along the path, one hand holding her bonnet to her head, the other gripping a basket. She was dressed in a rather somber brown gown and coat. A governess, or nursemaid? The lad was wearing much finer clothing.

Roman was close enough to raise his voice. “It is all right, Jones,” he called to his groom. “Let the lad bid them good morning.”

The boy looked over his shoulder to beam at Roman, then politely held his hand out expectantly to Apollo. The large boarhound snuffled the boy’s hand, then bent to receive a pat on the head and scratch behind his large ears.

Apollo and Athena, a mated pair, were a marvel to most who met them merely because of their size. Roman loved them because they had the courage and loyalty to match, and would not trade them for any earthly treasure.

The woman arrived, completely out of breath. She made eye contact with Roman, deep brown eyes large and bright from her run, then quickly dropped a curtsy. “Thank you, Lord Hartwell. Henry has a great love of animals, of all shapes and sizes.”

Her cheeks were quite pink from her run, which he found somewhat…charming.

The boy nodded enthusiastically. “It is true, sir, but I have never seen dogs this big. I thought them lions from far away. What are they?”

Apollo pressed his head against the boy’s shoulder to better enjoy the attention of the child. Athena watched her mate with her head tipped to the side, before tentatively sniffing at the gloved hand of the boy’s minder, which she stretched out to the dog.

He did not wonder how the woman knew him on sight; he was one of York’s most public figures. He had no notion who she or the boy might be, however, and it would be rude to force an introduction.

Even if they were giving attention to his dogs. That, at least, was an introduction he could make within all propriety.

“They are German boarhounds. I found them on a visit to Berlin, Prussia, where they and their ancestors before them were raised to hunt deer and boar alike. They are Apollo and Athena.” He watched from the corner of his eye as the woman gently scratched between Athena’s ears, the dog politely tipping her head to allow it.

“I like them,” Henry said with the confidence of a happy child.

The woman gently placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “They are charming creatures but Henry, we must be on our way. Thank Lord Hartwell for his time, please.”

The boy sighed but immediately obeyed, offering Roman a bow. “Thank you, Lord Hartwell, for letting me meet your dogs.” He looked up at the woman, then back at the baron. “I must go now, I have another appointment to keep.”

Roman raised his eyebrows at the sudden formality and glanced at the boy’s caretaker with a lift of his brows. He found her fighting back a smile, her dark eyes glittering with amusement. She curtsied again, adding her own murmured thanks, then went on her way with the boy.

The child’s voice rose in the morning air. “Did I do well, Tamsin? Was I a gentleman?”

“Yes, you were. Next time, though, we ought not run up to strange animals…” Her voice faded as they turned a corner on the path, disappearing from sight.

The boy had used the woman’s name—a familiar nickname for Thomasina, if he had heard correctly. He hadn’t called her nurse or ‘Miss’ anything. That suggested a familial relationship, did it not?

“Jones,” Roman said, turning to his groom. “Find out who they were, will you?” He was curious about a boy who had approached his dogs with wonder and the woman who had given silent attention to Athena.

“Yes, my lord,” the young groom said. It was an easy enough matter for a servant to find out such things with a few questions placed in nearby shops. Roman had never known such a simple inquiry—and a little coin—to produce no results.

He gave the word for the dogs’ release, and they pranced energetically around him before circling to the rear of the carriage to follow it through the city. With a final look at the ancient walls, Roman stepped into the conveyance, the scent of worn leather greeting him as the carriage trundled down the street.

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.”