Page 51 of Miss Dauntless
Harry, who had reason to respect the hardiness of mules, also admitted to himself the wisdom of Tremont’s strategy. He who controlled the appearances, controlled the game, usually. Tremont had figured out a way to appear foolish while, in fact, making a fool of a superior officer.
Then too, Tremont was apparently sweet on Tilly. Her finer qualities—loyalty, patience, low expectations of the men in her life—were easy to overlook, though Tremont hadn’t.
And that, too, would work to Harry’s advantage.
“I’m Matilda’s husband. His lordship can saddle up all the mules in England, and he won’t change that fact. Matilda will sign the house over to me, and she and I will come to some mutually agreeable arrangements. Tremont needn’t know anything about it, provided Matilda shares her pin money withme. If she wants to be difficult—and I sincerely hope she does not—then I will make her life hell.”
Sparky rose. “Ye already done that once.”
“I preserved her good name.”
“Such a saint, ye are, ’Arry Help Yerself. Ye should leave her in peace and thank the good Lord ye ain’t dancing on a gibbet.”
“Go write your poems,” Harry said, saluting with his flask and drawing his chair nearer the fire. “You can move the key back under the boot scrape on your way to the pub.”
“Why?” Sparky said, settling his hat on his head. “Why torment a woman who never done ye wrong?”
“I’m not tormenting her. I’m firing warning shots so she knows there’s a parley in the offing. Matilda will see reason, and I will be set up quite nicely. Dying on her was the best rig I’ve ever run.”
Sparky let Harry have the last word—unusual for old Sparky—and Harry settled in to refine plans that were already shaping up sweetly.
“If we might adjourn to the library?” Tremont asked. The entire table went silent, and a few knowing winks were passed up and down the ranks. He went on as if he were blind to the smiles and smirks. “The fires are lit in there, and the night grows chilly. We’ll want Mrs. Winklebleck and the rest of the staff to join us.”
Tucker stood. “The library it is. I’ll fetch the womenfolk. C’mon, lad.” He held out a hand to Tommie, who scampered out the door with him.
The men doubtless expected an announcement of forthcoming nuptials, but Tremont hadn’t Matilda’s leave to share that good news. The discussion with Tommie had yet to behandled, a special license to be procured, and some sewing to be done.
And more ledgers to review. A simple, happy list. Tremont offered Matilda his arm, and they followed the men down the corridor.
“I do believe Cook’s menus have improved,” Tremont said. “I know table manners are held in much higher regard than they were several weeks ago.”
“‘Please pass the salt’ isn’t complicated,” Matilda replied. “I’m also making progress with those who can’t read. Your men are quick-witted and determined—like you.”
Never in his entire existence had Tremont considered himself quick-witted, though the determination part rang true enough.
“When I’m in Shropshire, I miss them,” Tremont said as they waited for the queue to file into the library. “When I’m in London…”
“You don’t miss Shropshire?”
“Not as I once did. It’s home, and I will delight in showing it to you, but Mama has the place quite in hand. I feel more useful here in London, haranguing Parliament, wheedling the parsons to spruce up their churchyards, and teaching Tommie to skip rocks. I will be content to dwell wherever you please to make our home, but London does have its attractions.”
Matilda gave his hand a surreptitious squeeze.
The rest of the company had shuffled into the library. Tremont remained in the corridor with his intended.
“I did not say this before…” Matilda still had him by the hand, and she had lowered her voice.
“Matilda?” Tremont steeled himself for any announcement—conditions of the betrothal, a change of heart, a request for more time. Matilda had been gracious but distracted all through supper, and Tremont hoped it was his lovemaking on her mind.
She was doubtless fretting over that damned key and that narrow house on the tired lane.
“I am all ears,” he said, taking her free hand. “Though in about one minute, the staff will thunder up the steps, and we will have no privacy whatsoever.”
Matilda leaned near. “I love you.”
Tremont waited, for thebut… For thenonetheless… For thehowever. Delivering good news or compliments first was a rhetorical strategy for ensuring the hearer was paying attention to the subsequent bad news. Good news first also ensured the hearer regarded the speaker benignly when the inevitable reservations or criticisms came along. No fellow tasked with managing subordinates ignored the tactic of delivering the good news first.
“And…?”
