Page 57 of Miss Dauntless
Even so, she worried, just a little. Harry—if he was alive—was indeed a creature of endless self-interest, and divorce would be impossible unless Harry agreed to the scheme.
Which, given the coin Marcus could wave before him, he’d haveeveryreason to do.
“The time has come to put the cat among the pigeons, Harry Merri… dew.”
The hesitation was understandable, but must not be repeated. Harry hadn’t used the Merridew name for several years, and he hadn’t missed it, but that’s who he was at the moment, or most of who he was. Harry Merridew, with Harry Merriman lurking at his elbow. As he strolled along the walkway opposite the tea shop Tilly and her earl had patronized several days past, he admitted that he’d been a poor sort of husband to Matilda.
If dear Tilly took the time to reflect on the matter, she’d admit that he’d done her a great favor by setting her free.
She thus owed him a great favor, and that necessitated acquainting her with a few particulars—such as the fact that she was not a widow in truth. Tilly had not liked surprises, poor thing, and a warning shot across her figurative bow was only courteous. Let her contemplate the joy of wedded bliss with the lordling for a bit, and she’d likely be more amenable to parting with the house—and some coin.
The job at the soldiers’ home allowed her to indulge in hot chocolate and fresh buns. She was doing well for herself, despite the dowdy weeds, and that eased the twinges that Harry called his conscience these days.
He moved along with foot traffic, adopting the walk of a gent in contemplation of good news. He was cheery, tipping his hat to the dowagers and shopgirls, but not too quick. Good news took the worry off a fellow’s shoulders and put a little swagger in his step.
He had made his third pass across from the tea shop when Matilda and young Tommie entered the shop at precisely ten o’clock, the same as they had the past two Tuesday mornings. The lad had grown, as all lads must, but still… Tommie was a child now, not a baby, and that realization made Harry sad.
Tempus fugitand all that.
Matilda, for her part, had matured from girl-just-out-of-the-schoolroom dewiness into the more substantial appeal of a grown woman.
“You chose well, Harry Merri… dew,” he muttered. From Matilda’s walk, from the way she gripped Tommie’s hand, from the businesslike swish of her pale skirts, Harry perceived that his wife had landed on her feet. Widowhood agreed with her as marriage never had.
But then, she’d been carrying the baby early in the marriage and contending with new motherhood thereafter. Perhaps now…
“None of that, Harry-me-lad.” He consulted his broken watch and appeared to await some friend or acquaintance while he loitered outside the corner pub. The neighborhood was on the way up, a nice blend of shops and well-maintained town houses, with a crossing sweeper minding the intersection and the walkways free of mud and snow.
Put him in mind of the Bristol of his halcyon youth, though sea breezes had given the port cleaner air than London would ever boast.
After forty-five minutes, Matilda and Tommie emerged, a little bundle clutched in Tommie’s mittened paw. He’d wheedled a bun or two from his mama and probably hadn’t realized that days of good behavior was the price he’d pay for his prize.
Ah, the innocence of the very young. Harry gauged distance and speed with a pickpocket’s expert eye, then started in Matilda’s direction. He kept his gaze on the street’s wheeled traffic, turning his head only at the last minute as he brushed against Tommie’s package of buns. Tommie, unprepared for the collision, lost his grip on the parcel.
“Oh, I do beg your pardon, ma’am, young sir.” Harry crouched down, handed Tommie his package, patted the boy on the head, and gave Matilda the barest instant to take in the features of the husband she’d thought dead.
He touched the brim of his hat with a single finger, winked at his wife, and sauntered on his way.
“Come along, Tommie,” she said, sounding admirably calm. “Charlie is waiting to share those buns with you, and the breeze is picking up.”
Well done, Tilly.She marched off, no glance over her shoulder, no hastening away in fright. She’d never been easily intimidated, much to her old pater’s frustration. Harry had admired Tilly’s spirit—Miss Dauntless, indeed—even as he’ddreaded the fights she’d picked. She was a gifted verbal brawler, was Tilly, and didn’t believe in kissing and making up.
That was all behind them now. Tilly was apparently well set up these days, and with some judicious horse trading and a little common sense, Harry could land on his feet right beside her. She’d eventually learned to see reason, and Harry had nothing but sweet reason to offer her now.
Well, reason and a Banbury tale or two.
“Mama, who was that man?” Tommie asked. “He wasn’t watching where he was going.”
Matilda wanted to snatch Tommie up and run, but that would only alarm her son. Besides, Harry—who was alive and in the very pink of health—might well be watching from some shadowed doorway.
“He was a fellow who needs to be more careful.” Harry’s life in a nutshell, but ye gods, what of the woman who had married him—and was still married to him?
Though, of course, Harry would say he was always careful. He’d been carefully watching Matilda’s comings and goings, he’d carefully plotted how to confront her, and he’d carefully chosen somewhere she could not make a scene and he could make an easy escape.
“He smiled at you,” Tommie said. “I think he liked you and was trying to make friends. MacIvey likes Mrs. Winklebleck, so he plays his fiddle for her. He should ask her, ‘Do you want to be friends?’ But Tuck says MacIvey’s shy. Mrs. Winklebleck isn’t shy. She could ask him first.”
Matilda wanted to clap her hand over Tommie’s mouth and silence his chattering.
I must think.All the moments of her marriage when she’d spoken without thinking, acted without thinking, reacted without thinking kept her marching along the walkway. The only thought she could form was to get to safety and away from…him.
