Cover

Dedication

To all the dauntless ladies

and the dauntless fellows who love them

Chapter One

“That is an earl, Thomas,” Matilda Merridew said quietly. She’d crouched down to admonish her son at eye level. “The Earl of Tremont is a peer of the realm, an important man, a lord.”

Also a bit stuffy, based on what little Matilda knew of him. He was dark-haired, lean, tall, and turned out in exquisitely understated good taste. His reputation among the former soldiers who’d served with him was one for rules, policies, and proper decorum.

If any force on earth was not inclined in those boring directions, it was Matilda’s five-year-old son.

“I am an important boy,” Tommie replied, grinning. “My mama loves me best in the whole world!”

He’d nearly yelled that proclamation, his voice carrying to every corner of the church hall. Vicar Delancey sent her a pained smile, Mrs. Oldbach flinched but otherwise ignored Tommie’s outburst, and Mr. Prebish—current dominus factotum of the pastoral committee—glowered at Tommie, then at Matilda.

The earl, fortunately, remained in conversation with the vicar’s son-in-law, one Major Alasdhair MacKay.

“I do love you best in the whole world,” Matilda said, putting a hand on Tommie’s bony little shoulder lest he hare off to make a cave out of the cloaks hanging in the corridor. “I also want to be proud of you, and if I’m to take the minutes for this meeting, then you must stay out of trouble.”

“I’m always in trouble,” Tommie said, puffing out his chest. “Mrs. Oldbach says I’m a proper limb.”

A limb of Satan, did Tommie but know it. “You are not always in trouble. You are simply lively.” Exhausting was a more accurate term. “For the next hour, you will please look at your picture book, practice writing your name, and be quiet.”

Tommie would try, he truly would. He’d turn a few pages of his picture book. He’d even pick up the pencil and wave it about or make a few scratches on the paper Matilda had fetched from Vicar’s office, but Tommie had a constitutional aversion to extended periods of quiet while awake.

Mrs. Oldbach clapped her hands. “Tempus fugit, my friends. Lord Tremont is a busy man, and it’s time we brought our meeting to order.”

Mrs. O was a fixture at St. Mildred’s. White-haired, imperious, and well-to-do. She exuded a perfect balance of Christian good cheer and elderly ruthlessness. Matilda kept Tommie as far from Mrs. O as possible.