Page 32 of Miss Dauntless
“My question is serious,” she replied with perfect equanimity. “You undertake everything you turn your hand to with singular thoroughness. I wonder if you are similarly thorough in pursuit of your pleasures.”
Where was the butler when a fellow needed time to concoct a witty retort? “I can see where Tommie gets his relentless logic from—and his curiosity. Let’s find a roaring fire, shall we?”
He led Matilda to the family parlor this time. Tremont allowed himself to enjoy the look of her among gleaming brass fixtures, embroidered pillows, and velvet curtains. He liked that she would turn her hand to hard work, and he liked even more that she wasn’t put off by his Town residence.
He gave the bell-pull the requisite three tugs and realized he’d left the ledger in the foyer.
“Shall I retrieve the account book?” he asked.
“Let’s do justice to the tray first. Is this your mother?” Matilda moved behind the desk to peer up at the portrait of Mama and her only begotten son. “You were a solemn little fellow, if that’s you.”
“I had been breeched shortly before we sat for this painting. Papa made a great to-do out of the occasion. His valet assisted me to don my manly attire as if I were being presented at a royal levee. I wish Papa had joined us for the portrait, but we have several good likenesses of him at Tremont.”
“I am trying to find the words to tell you something,” Matilda said, still studying the portrait. “Something that does not flatter me.”
“I do not care one flying pig if you pinched your husband’s watch to sell for sustenance, Matilda.”
She shook her head. “I sold myself in a sense.”
She had commenced blinking. Tremont produced his handkerchief and led her to the sofa. “If you sold yourself, you had no other options. I have learned not to judge women for wanting to survive. When a soldier fights to survive, he’s a hero, and he’s paid for his efforts. Fed, clothed, housed, and paid. We drink to his health immediately after we toast the health of thesovereign. Soldiers kill people to survive, and we sing jolly songs about them.”
He fell silent and folded Matilda’s hand between his.Hehad killed his commanding officer to survive, and Matilda hadn’t judged him for it.
“Soldiers,” she said, “can cause trouble even when they aren’t fighting.”
“They can be the very devil.” Rioting for days, plundering civilian homes, and worse. “Did you fall in love with a devil?”
Matilda took his handkerchief and clutched it in her fist. “Not a devil, a high-spirited young man. He was the second son of the wealthiest squire in the parish. His mother would not allow him to buy his colors, so he joined the local militia. Papa was pleased when young Joseph Yoe began walking me home from services, and I was… I was besotted. Vicars’ daughters are easily besotted.”
The tray arrived. Tremont poured out and passed Matilda a cup.
“You know how I like my tea,” she said, taking a sip. “If Harry were alive today, if Joseph were alive, neither one of them could fix me a cup of tea as I like it.”
What was so complicated about a dash of cream and a dollop of honey? “What happened to young Joseph?” What had happened to young Matilda was of far more interest, and clearly the two tales were intertwined.
“Joseph and I became close. We had an understanding, and I was in transports. I was to marry into a good family, get away from the vicarage, and finally make my father proud of me. Joseph could make me laugh—I was starved for laughter—and when he touched me, I was starved for that too. He was affectionate and passionate, and I was an idiot.”
“You were young and in love. Early in life, emotions can play havoc with our common sense.” Later in life, too, sometimes.
“I was desperate to be free of my father, desperate to be away from his constant judgment. I wanted to laugh and have a second glass of wine and wear pretty clothes. I had less common sense than a pullet in spring.”
And now, Matilda was all common sense, all the time—almost all the time. What could effect such a radical change?
Tremont considered that question while Matilda sipped her tea, considered the hell that had been Matilda’s marriage and the other hell that had been her life at the vicarage. The squire’s dashing son had showered Matilda with attention, and… the pieces of the puzzle formed a whole.
Matilda had never once referred to Tommie as Harry’s son. The boy was neverourson. He was alwaysmyson.
“Joseph Yoe is Tommie’s father,” Tremont said. “Then something happened, such that you turned to Merridew to give the boy legitimacy.”
Matilda stared at her teacup, then finished her serving. “You do not sound appalled.”
“Oh, I am thoroughly appalled. When Yoe became aware that you carried his child, he should have had the banns read, taken up his responsibilities, and kept you laughing for the rest of his natural days.” Tremont poured Matilda another cup of tea, though he’d yet to touch his own.
“Squire Yoe happened, or so I suspect. I was as ignorant as a girl can be, which is very ignorant in a country parsonage with no mother to educate me. Joseph told me I could not conceive unless he and I were married. I knew of no unmarried women with babies, so Joseph’s perversion of the facts was credible. I happened to mention to him as summer drew to a close that I’d missed my courses.”
“That was unusual?”
“Unheard of. I enjoy very good health, as a rule. We were walking home from services, and that was the last time I sawhim. He didn’t show up for our usual picnic on market day. He did not appear at services the next week. After the service, Squire Yoe was very proud to announce that his son had transferred to an active-duty unit. An uncle had bought him a captaincy. Joseph never set foot in Spain. He died of some stupid accident—stepping barefoot on a rusty nail—and I had only one letter from him. I was to remember him fondly and go on about my life. He hoped I knew that he’d bought his colors the better to make me proud of him.”
