Page 26 of Miss Dauntless
“I don’t speak of my marriage,” she said, snatching the linen and blotting her eyes. “I don’t mention my late husband. I don’t bring him up… He’s dead, and buried, and gone… and…”
“And he haunts you. Dunacre haunts me.” Tremont rose and went to the sideboard, rummaging about madly for what else he could say. He poured two small portions of brandy and brought a serving to his guest.
“To ward off the chill, and don’t tell me ladies never partake of strong spirits. If you’d ever sipped my mother’s Christmas punch, you’d know that is utter rot.”
Matilda tasted her brandy. “Thank you.”
Tremont resumed his seat and sampled his drink. “For making you cry?”
“For making me talk. About Harry. He was awful. One lives with disappointment, and when Harry strayed—which he regularly did—I was relieved. I wanted no children with that man, but I was his wife, and he treated me like a second pairof boots. Too useful to pawn, but hardly something to show off. He bought me a fine cloak so nobody would know the rest of my wardrobe was falling to pieces.”
“He betrayed his vows, and he betrayedyou. I’m sorry. You did not deserve the fate Merridew visited upon you, no matter how high your youthful spirits, no matter how much of a hoyden you might have been. The institution of marriage should have been a refuge and became instead a prison and your husband its warden. That is worth crying over.”
Matilda nosed her brandy, which had to be among the loveliest sights Tremont had ever beheld. She hadn’t let herself indulge in a good fit of the weeps, but her eyes were luminous and her color a bit high.
“You are right, my lord. Harry Merridew was the husband from hell. Everything about him, from his smiles, to his poetry, to his promises of marital bliss, was a lie. My aunt agrees with my assessment of him, but to hear a man pronounce sentence on Harry is a comfort I had not thought to have.”
Why not?“I cannot vouch for my entire gender, but I’m sure Major MacKay and Captain Powell would agree with me. Have you met their cousins? Mrs. Sycamore Dorning and Colonel Sir Orion Goddard are brother and sister, and when MacKay is in town, he and his missus socialize with both.”
“I’ve met the colonel. Wears an eye patch? I know of the Dornings.”
“Half of London does. Lord Casriel and I occasionally collaborate on bills in the Lords. Managing eight siblings must be far more complicated for his lordship than dithering about with Parliament. More tea?”
The snow had settled into steady, businesslike precipitation, while conversation wandered from other mutual acquaintances to matters at the House Without a Name. By the time Tremontwas escorting his guest from the parlor, she was again her usual composed self, and he was…
Engaged in another mental flight on the topic of how to woo a lady. Revisiting her worst nightmares was surely not a recommended course, and yet… that trait Tremont had been struggling to recall, that snippet of wisdom he’d picked up somewhere over a campfire or in an officer’s mess, came back to him.
When wooing a lady, a fellow ought to put his best foot forward, of course, but he also ought to remain true to himself. He must never do as Harry Merridew had done and inveigle a woman into falling in love with a lie.
As Tremont saw Mrs. Merridew home and bowed over her hand on her doorstep, he felt a lightness of heart, despite the thickening gloom. Brilliance was beyond him, his wit was ponderous at best, and his gracious hospitality was undoubtedly the work of a conscientious staff.
But Marcus, Earl of Tremont, could be himself. He could most certainly be himself and hope that, for Matilda Merridew, the genuine man was enough.
CHAPTER SIX
Matilda had learned to despise the giddy raptures she’d fallen prey to as a younger woman. Harry Merridew had beensohandsome,sogallant,soveryunderstanding, and marriage to him would besoperfect!
Gradually, she’d come to see that a girl raised in ignorance of the world’s realities had been easy pickings for such as Harry, and she’d forgiven herself—a little—for her gullibility. A mistake of the same magnitude, though, was unthinkable now that Tommie was on hand, and thus Matilda had mended her ways. No more giddy raptures, unless they were reserved for a fine buttery tea cake or a cup of steaming hot chocolate.
The Earl of Tremont bowed over her gloved hand. “I will bid you good day and thank you for a very enjoyable conversation.”
He’d positioned himself to take the brunt of the frigid wind, and Matilda would have bet her last groat he’d done so without any thought or calculation.
“Was it enjoyable?” she asked. “I try to keep my troubles to myself and even more so my errors.” And yet, to tell share truth—part of the truth, anyway—with somebody who had demons of his own, had been a relief. “You trust me, and…”
“Your confidences will go with me to the grave,” Tremont said, crossing his heart with a gloved finger.
“Likewise.” Matilda trusted Tremont to keep his word. That in itself was some sort of miracle. She liked some men—Vicar Delancey was a good sort, his son, Michael, was honorable if a bit too serious, and Alasdhair MacKay was a gentleman to his bones.
But she trusted Tremont,andshe liked him.
A sleigh went by, harness bells jingling until they faded into the wintry quiet.
“I ought to be going.” And yet, Matilda remained on the stoop, her hand in Tremont’s. She wasn’t giddy or rapturous, but she was… interested? Pleased? Something. “I have become so careful, so cautious and circumspect.”
“Hence,” Tremont replied, “the question becomes, do you trust yourself? When I came home from the Continent, I fell into an agony of self-doubt. I had crossed a line at Waterloo, and I did not trust that I could uncross it. I had never thought of myself as a rule breaker or a man who subverted authority, except that I was.”
His lordship would wait for her to retreat into the house until the moon rose, and Matilda did not want to discommode him. She considered their joined hands, and she turned his words over in her mind.
