Page 73 of Miss Dauntless
Matilda turned, and more than her expression, her physical attitude made Tremont’s heart sink. Her features were nearly blank, so great was her self-possession—marriage to damned old Harry had probably imbued her with that skill—while her posture was more resolute than a newly promoted lieutenant at his first parade inspection.
“Why are you doing this, Matilda?” She had not lied to him, but neither had she trusted him.
“I told you: We have no honorable way forward, except to wait for Harry’s actual death, and waiting is the one thing you must not do. Ergo, I am quitting the field. When I took up with Joseph, I was thinking of myself. When I took up with Harry, I was still mostly thinking of myself. I must think of Tommie now, and that means removing myself from the ambit of your affections. If you love me, you will marry another lady, a sweet woman who esteems you sincerely, which, God knows, is easy enough to do. You will have a half-dozen sons and live to a ripe and contented old age.”
Matilda passed that sentence on him with a dispassion that would have flattered a judge, save that two spots of pink had bloomed in her cheeks, and she was staring fixedly at the untouched tea tray on the low table.
Why do this?Why make this great, stupid sacrifice? Everything Matilda said was true. Cousin Wesley was a self-absorbed spendthrift who’d stop at little to indulge his many appetites. He’d run Tremont into the ground, of that there was no question.
But the tenants would all have time to find other properties if Wesley inherited, and Marcus had equipped them with letters commending their stewardship and diligence. Mama and the pensioners were taken care of, and the property was in as good repair as Marcus could make it.
This was not about an estate, or even about Marcus’s honor, or even the impact on Tommie of having a mother in an irregular association with an earl.
“Have your feelings for me changed, Matilda?”
Her chin came up, and she glowered at him. “No. Were I free to marry you, I’d do so on the instant.”
He’d seen that same battle light in her eyes before, in St. Mildred’s hall… when she’d thought he’d been about to take Tommie to task.
Well, of course. The issue was not Tommie’s social standing, but rather,his safety.“I can keep Tommie from harm,” Tremont said. “We’ll have him educated in Finland, and Harry will never find him.”
“Finland?”
“Britain is all but out of lumber. The Finns have seas of magnificent pine to sell and land they want cleared. I’m importing that lumber and making a tidy sum doing it. Lovely people, and a beautiful country, what little I’ve seen of it.”
Matilda marched over to him. “I am not sending my son to perishingFinlandwhen he’s barely old enough to dress himself. Besides, Harry would get wind of it somehow, and he is Tommie’s legal father, as he has been at pains to remind me, and…”
Her breath caught. A small sound, one easily ignored, and Matilda would doubtless prefer that Tremont did ignore it.
“Harry threatened Tommie.” Tremont waited for Matilda to refute that conclusion. She instead sank back into her seat.
The rotten, revolting rat had accosted Matilda when she’d been without allies and played a hand she could not beat. Sound tactics and very unsound honor.
“Harry has consulted the attorneys,” Matilda said. “They tell him paternity is not remotely at issue.”
Tremont took the opposite chair, feeling as if the discussion had just now reached productive ground. Difficult ground, but productive.
“Harry Merridew is dead, Matilda, if we’re to resort to legalities.”
She brushed her fingers over the arm of her chair. “I haven’t a death certificate, and Harry does have a convincing tale of lost memory and destitute circumstances.”
“Convincing? How does he explain that letter from a nonexistent innkeeper from a nonexistent inn, written in Harry’s own hand? Shall we exhume the corpse and find dog bones in the coffin?”
Matilda regarded him with something like pity. “Harry will claim he was the victim of a scheme, left for dead, and all in a muddle. He makes the most outlandish tales credible. I’ve seen him do it. Everybody believes Harry—I believed him enough tomarryhim—and I believe him when he says he’ll take Tommie with him when he sails.”
“He can’t sail without blunt.” Tremont had made inquiries, and Harry apparently had no creditors in London—no legal creditors. That didn’t mean he had enough to pay for transatlantic passage.
“He can only sail if I deed him the house, my lord, and I very much want that man out of my life.”
Tremont sat back and forced his mind down logical paths. “You brought up that business with Mama and the estate because you are protecting Harry. I commend the subtly of the strategy, but we have already established that I will not physically harm your… I will not do violence to Harry.”
“I might.” A grudging thread of humor illuminated those words, but only a thread. “I’ve arranged to deed the house to him. Major MacKay connected with me an affordable solicitor. With the wages you’ve paid me, I can leave England.”
Tremont’s worst fear stated in the calmest tones. Another grief, another bereavement coming from out of nowhere.
“What you mean is, you can leaveme,” Tremont said softly, “because I must be fruitful and legitimately multiply, lest the family barbarian sack Shropshire.” He was barely making sense.He knew only that Matilda, for admittedly sound reasons, was conceding the battle and the war.
“I refuse to be the reason your birthright and your good name are put at risk, Marcus, and I will not let you be the reason I lose Tommie. In my undistinguished life, I have done the easy thing, the tempting thing, the too-good-to-be-true thing. For once, I shall do the right thing, as you so often do.”
