Page 9 of Miss Dauntless
“The hot chocolate they serve here is not to be missed,” Tremont said. “One of few consolations for the colder weather.”
They got through the business of cloaks and bonnets, and Tommie took the seat facing the window, leaving Tremont to face the lady.
“How do you know Major MacKay?” she asked when Tremont had placed their orders.
“His cousin is married to my sister. I am thus a cousin by marriage to him, and he is cousins with a host of other luminaries, all of whom are panting for the chance to find me a countess. I did not directly rejoin my family after Waterloo, and in recent years, I have been occupied with some business matters here in London. This, they claim, is very remiss of me.”
That recitation put a pretty bow on years of wandering the stews and more recent efforts to collect fellow former soldiers who were also prone to wandering the stews.
Mrs. Merridew produced pencil and paper from her reticule and passed both to the boy. “Toads were too easy for you. Draw me a dragon, please.”
Tommie set to work with a focus that was doubtless characteristic of his mother.
“You are not capable of finding your own countess?” she asked.
“I have tried telling my matchmaking relations that I am better suited to that task than they are, but I haven’t taken the time to tend to it. They are right to feel a sense of urgency. The heir in line for the Tremont title is a rascal kicking his heels in America. The notion that my cousin might become the earl is insupportable, and thus I must stop lollygagging and find a wife. That’s where you come in.”
Mrs. Merridew sat up straight. “I am not in the business of finding wives for peers, my lord.”
“Alas for me, though you are in the business of making unruly males behave with a modicum of civility. I house a dozen former soldiers at lodgings not far from here. They are good fellows, but rough, and if they are to set up as groundkeepers and gardeners for hire, they must learn some… some decorum. Everything from basic table manners to that business of how to escort a lady. For good and sufficient reasons, they don’t listen to me—not about that. But they will listen to you.”
The food arrived—bowls of steaming pepper pot soup and a tray stacked with half sandwiches—and Tommie sent his mother a questioning glance.
“His lordship will say the grace,” Mrs. Merridew announced, “bearing in mind that the Almighty appreciates brevity.”
As did little boys and hungry earls. “We thank Thee for this food,” Tremont recited in his best earlish drone, “and for the delightful company, and also for dragons. Amen.”
The sketch disappeared into Mrs. Merridew’s reticule, and Tommie’s table napkin went onto his lap. The boy’s manners were exemplary for his age, though when the hot chocolate arrived, he did get whipped cream on his nose. Mrs. Merridew addressed that situation with brisk measures, though the moment sent Tremont’s thoughts careening in odd directions.
“You seek a deportment instructor for your men?” Mrs. Merridew said.
“Something like that, but more as well. You would live on the premises. We have a cook, housekeeper, and some other domestics. The laundresses come around on Mondays, and the men take care of the heavier work themselves. They need somebody to preside over meals, hold parade inspections, schedule chores, rebuke excessive profanity, that sort of thing.”
“A headmistress, then.”
“I had a mother and a sister to guide me onto the path of gentlemanly manners, and for a time, a father. Even my rapscallion cousin was some help when it came to tying cravats or lighting cheroots. These men have nobody, and they are willing to learn. They simply know more of marching and fighting than of holding doors or doffing their caps.”
“You should help them, Mama,” Tommie said. “I’m not grown up yet, but I know all about escorting a lady now. Nobody likes to feel stupid.”
Mrs. Merridew considered the boy for a long, quiet moment. Out of the mouths of babes…
“Let us proceed,” she said, “on a trial basis. I will do what I can with your recruits for, say, thirty days, and then we will reevaluate. If I am effective, they might not need me for much longer than that.”
She truly had no sense of her own appeal. If she waseffective, the men would devise strategies for keeping her on the premises until they were all proficient in French, drawing, pianoforte, and the quadrille.
“I cannot express clearly enough how relieved I am to have your assistance,” Tremont said. “Will fifty pounds do?”
She studied her tea cup. “Per annum?”
Did she rate herself on a par with tippling bachelor curates relegated to obscure rural pulpits? “I had that amount in mind for the first month. Don’t say it’s too much until you’ve met the men.”
“Very well, I won’t. I will also reserve judgment until you and I have agreed upon a curriculum of sorts. Are these men literate?”
“Some of them.”
“I can write my name,” Tommie said, looking up from his cup of chocolate. “Mama makes me practice, and the letter T is my favorite. I write the T and the M grown up. The other letters are small.”
“Capital,” Mrs. Merridew said. “The big letters are capital, majuscule, or uppercase. The others are small, minuscule, or lowercase.”
