Page 1 of Miss Dauntless
CHAPTER ONE
“That is an earl, Thomas,” Matilda Merridew said quietly. She’d crouched down to admonish her son at eye level. “The Earl of Tremont is a peer of the realm, an important man,a lord.”
Also a bit stuffy, based on what little Matilda knew of him. He was dark-haired, lean, tall, and turned out in exquisitely understated good taste. His reputation among the former soldiers who’d served with him was one for rules, policies, and proper decorum.
If any force on earth wasnotinclined in those boring directions, it was Matilda’s five-year-old son.
“I am an important boy,” Tommie replied, grinning. “My mama loves me best in the whole world!”
He’d nearly yelled that proclamation, his voice carrying to every corner of the church hall. Vicar Delancey sent her a pained smile, Mrs. Oldbach flinched but otherwise ignored Tommie’s outburst, and Mr. Prebish—currentdominus factotumof the pastoral committee—glowered at Tommie, then at Matilda.
The earl, fortunately, remained in conversation with the vicar’s son-in-law, one Major Alasdhair MacKay.
“I do love you best in the whole world,” Matilda said, putting a hand on Tommie’s bony little shoulder lest he hare off to makea cave out of the cloaks hanging in the corridor. “I also want to be proud of you, and if I’m to take the minutes for this meeting, then you must stay out of trouble.”
“I’m always in trouble,” Tommie said, puffing out his chest. “Mrs. Oldbach says I’m a proper limb.”
A limb of Satan, did Tommie but know it. “You are not always in trouble. You are simply lively.”Exhaustingwas a more accurate term. “For the next hour, you will please look at your picture book, practice writing your name, andbe quiet.”
Tommie would try, he truly would. He’d turn a few pages of his picture book. He’d even pick up the pencil and wave it about or make a few scratches on the paper Matilda had fetched from Vicar’s office, but Tommie had a constitutional aversion to extended periods of quiet while awake.
Mrs. Oldbach clapped her hands. “Tempus fugit,my friends. Lord Tremont is a busy man, and it’s time we brought our meeting to order.”
Mrs. O was a fixture at St. Mildred’s. White-haired, imperious, and well-to-do. She exuded a perfect balance of Christian good cheer and elderly ruthlessness. Matilda kept Tommie as far from Mrs. O as possible.
“Please be good,” Matilda said, kissing Tommie’s crown and moving to the table in the center of the hall. She took up her post as scribe at the right hand of the chairman’s seat and angled her chair to give her a clear view of Tommie’s corner. He’d plopped himself on the floor and dutifully opened a picture book, but his gaze was leaping all over the hall.
Matilda had packed not one but all three of his picture books, the old stuffed horse that he now sought only at bedtime, two pencils—Tommie invariably broke his pencil points—and some string. The church cat could be counted on to entertain Tommie for two minutes at a time if that good beast was in residence.
Tommie cupped his hands to his mouth and bellowed, “I’ll be good, Mama!”
More winces and scowls greeted that announcement. The earl glanced over at Tommie as if noticing the boy for the first time. Matilda mentally prepared for lordly disdain—children did not belong at business meetings, not even church business meetings.
Tommie waved wildly. “Good day, Mr. Earl! Do you want to see my picture book?”
Merciful angels, deliver me now.St. Mildred’s was a prosperous congregation, though a far cry from St. George’s in Hanover Square. Peers did not frequent St. Mildred’s, and the earl was very much a visiting dignitary.
The whole room went quiet, with gazes ricocheting between the boy and his lordship. Mr. Prebish looked positively eager to hear Tommie on the receiving end of a tongue-lashing.
Another tongue-lashing.
The earl excused himself from his conversation with Major MacKay and walked over to where Tommie sat on the floor.
Matilda did not care that Tremont was a peer, a wealthy man, a noted philanthropist, and a former officer. She marched over to Tommie’s corner, prepared to inform his lordship that nobody scolded her only begotten son for merely being friendly.
Tremont extended a hand in Tommie’s direction. “Tremont, at your service, Master…?”
Tommie scrambled to his feet and wrung the earl’s hand. “I’m Tommie. Tommie Merridew. This is my mama.”
Tremont extricated his lordly paw from Tommie’s grasp and bowed to Matilda. “Madam, you have me at a disadvantage.”
She bobbed a hasty curtsey. “Matilda Merridew, my lord.”
“My amanuensis on this august occasion, I believe. Tommie, a pleasure to have made your acquaintance. I was told St. Mildred’s is a congenial house of worship. Your mama andI must tend to business for the nonce. You will keep that storybook in good repair until I can make proper inspection of it. Mrs. Merridew.”
The earl gestured in the direction of the table. Tommie, for once, was silent, so Matilda preceded his lordship to the table and managed not to faint from shock when he held her chair.
The earl called the meeting to order, and a discussion began of hiring former soldiers to look after St. Mildred’s grounds. His lordship’s charitable endeavors included housing a dozen such worthies. Setting them up in some sort of business was his present aim.
