Page 92 of Miss Dauntless
Matilda wrapped her arms about her middle. “I am afraid,” she said again, “that if we embrace, I will never let you go. I will make a complete cake of myself, turn into a watering pot, and abandon dignity entirely…”
“And,” Tremont said, holding his arms wide, “I will yield all my pretensions to self-possession without caring a whit for the loss.”
She hurled herself against him, and they clung to each other in silent rejoicing. When Madame Howard tapped gently on the door half an hour later, she found Tremont and his beloved lady entwined, fast asleep on the sofa.
She draped two blankets over them, banked the fire, and left them to their dreams, which were sweet indeed.
“Harry stayed put,” Alasdhair MacKay said, taking a tea tray from the footman. “What honor could not accomplish, Dorcas’s fine table, clean sheets, and a roaring fire did. I believe our Harry is tired of being without funds, cold, and haunted.”
“He is not ‘our Harry,’” Matilda snapped as MacKay set the tray before his wife. “He is nobody’s Harry, and that is entirely his fault. What are we to do with him?”
A week of decent sleep and good meals had put Matilda very much on her mettle. That Tremont took her driving and for outings to the tea shop had also served to raise her spirits—and her frustrations.
“Tremont has a few ideas for Harry’s next steps,” Dorcas MacKay said. “Michael tells me the bishop should have your marriage dissolved within a fortnight, if you’re sure that’s what you want?”
“I have never been more sure of anything in my life.”
And where was Tremont? Tommie bided with the soldiers, as Matilda had been doing since returning to London. They were a well-behaved lot compared to when she’d first met them, but then, her definition of good behavior had shifted.
The men cursed fluently. They forgot to scrape their boots when they came through the front door. They occasionally neglected to say grace before a meal and descended into fisticuffs with ungenteel frequency, but they were hardworking, loyal to their friends, and honest.
They had had a few pointed suggestions for what to do with Harry, while Matilda increasingly favored Madame Howard’s solution—toss him into the sea to take his chances with the sharks.
“You are angry,” Dorcas MacKay said, passing Matilda a cup of tea. “I like that you are finally angry. Harry has been dreading this meeting, and you aren’t to let him off too easily, Matilda.”
Whatever that meant. “Harry was never violent,” she said. “He cheated, he stole, he extorted, and lied. If we’re to revert to Old Testament guidance, then he should make remuneration in proportion to his sins.”
“You don’t want to see him hanged or transported,” Dorcas observed, passing the major his tea. “Would you like to see him on remittance?”
“Tremont claims Harry has family. If we send my erstwhile spouse to India or Argentina, they will never see him again.” And yet, Matilda wouldn’t mind if Harry went halfway around the world, provided he stayed on his side of the globe and left her in peace.
“Ah, but does his family want to see him again?” Major MacKay said, setting down his tea untasted.
“Idon’t want to see him again,” Matilda muttered, “but I suppose I must.”
“You need not,” Dorcas said, glancing at the mantel clock.
Matilda considered bolting, except that she was through with bolting.
Harry joined the gathering in the parlor before Matilda had taken the first sip of her tea. He looked… attired for running one of his Mayfair rigs. Togged out as a gent, right down to a cravat pin in the shape of a four-leaf clover.
And yet, his eyes lacked the watchful edge of the swindler, and he’d abandoned his charming smile.
“Matilda.” He bowed. “You are looking well.”
“I am in quite good health.” She did not append a thank-you. “I am also furious with you.”
“You have every reason to be.”
How she itched to slap him. “Is that genuine remorse, Harry, the manipulative show of humble contrition, or something in between?”
He glanced at MacKay, whose expression was one of supreme indifference. “It’s a statement of fact. Tremont destroyed the quitclaim deed.”
“And you nearly destroyed me.”
“I never meant…”
Matilda glowered at him, and Harry took to studying the green and white plaid pillows on the sofa.
