Harry, who had reason to respect the hardiness of mules, also admitted to himself the wisdom of Tremont’s strategy. He who controlled the appearances, controlled the game, usually. Tremont had figured out a way to appear foolish while, in fact, making a fool of a superior officer.

Then too, Tremont was apparently sweet on Tilly. Her finer qualities—loyalty, patience, low expectations of the men in her life—were easy to overlook, though Tremont hadn’t.

And that, too, would work to Harry’s advantage.

“I’m Matilda’s husband. His lordship can saddle up all the mules in England, and he won’t change that fact. Matilda will sign the house over to me, and she and I will come to some mutually agreeable arrangements. Tremont needn’t know anything about it, provided Matilda shares her pin money with me. If she wants to be difficult—and I sincerely hope she does not—then I will make her life hell.”

Sparky rose. “Ye already done that once.”

“I preserved her good name.”

“Such a saint, ye are, ’Arry Help Yerself. Ye should leave her in peace and thank the good Lord ye ain’t dancing on a gibbet.”

“Go write your poems,” Harry said, saluting with his flask and drawing his chair nearer the fire. “You can move the key back under the boot scrape on your way to the pub.”

“Why?” Sparky said, settling his hat on his head. “Why torment a woman who never done ye wrong?”

“I’m not tormenting her. I’m firing warning shots so she knows there’s a parley in the offing. Matilda will see reason, and I will be set up quite nicely. Dying on her was the best rig I’ve ever run.”

Sparky let Harry have the last word—unusual for old Sparky—and Harry settled in to refine plans that were already shaping up sweetly.

“If we might adjourn to the library?” Tremont asked. The entire table went silent, and a few knowing winks were passed up and down the ranks. He went on as if he were blind to the smiles and smirks. “The fires are lit in there, and the night grows chilly. We’ll want Mrs. Winklebleck and the rest of the staff to join us.”

Tucker stood. “The library it is. I’ll fetch the womenfolk. C’mon, lad.” He held out a hand to Tommie, who scampered out the door with him.

The men doubtless expected an announcement of forthcoming nuptials, but Tremont hadn’t Matilda’s leave to share that good news. The discussion with Tommie had yet to be handled, a special license to be procured, and some sewing to be done.

And more ledgers to review. A simple, happy list. Tremont offered Matilda his arm, and they followed the men down the corridor.

“I do believe Cook’s menus have improved,” Tremont said. “I know table manners are held in much higher regard than they were several weeks ago.”