“For so long, I lived on dreams,” she went on. “Dreams of leaving my father’s house, of being special to somebody, of finding a man who would think me clever and pretty and wonderful. Joseph was the answer to my foolish prayers, and then he was my worst nightmare. Harry was the answer to a less romantic set of prayers, until he became another nightmare. Widowhood was the answer to a very practical set of prayers… I should not say that. I did not want Harry dead, but I wanted him gone.”

And now Marcus was the answer to her wildest dreams, deepest longings, and her prayers, and he had handed her a sketch of Harry’s twin, who’d been alive and committing crimes not two years past.

“I wanted Dunacre dead,” Marcus said. “The whole regiment did, and the generals were none too fond of him either. If I thought he once again walked the earth, Matilda, I would not be half as calm as you are now.”

“I am not calm. I am overwhelmed and that is a condition with which I am far too familiar. Please hold me.”

Tremont obliged, and gradually, Matilda sorted through her emotions. She was afraid—the man in the portrait might be Harry—and she was hopeful. He might not be Harry, or Harry might have died—for real—since Nan had seen him.

“If Harry is alive…” Matilda could hardly stand to finish the thought.

“I have given the matter some thought. If Harry is alive, I can inspire him to divorce you for adultery, which you have committed with my obliging self. You and I can then be married without legal impediment.”

Matilda sat up to peer at Tremont. “Divorce? Divorce means expense and scandal and a blight upon the family escutcheon and months and months of waiting… Divorce?”

And yet, divorce was the logical, effective, legal solution.

“If Harry Merridew attempts to come back from the dead, I will make it worth his while to divorce you. He is a creature of endless self-interest, and he and I will come to terms, provided this plan has your approval.”

Tremont might well have been asking Matilda if she’d like to pop ’round to the tea shop for luncheon. She, by contrast, was shocked at the simplicity and audacity of Tremont’s solution.

“The plan has my grudging approval,” Matilda said, snuggling against Tremont’s side. “I would never have thought of divorce. I once regarded scandal as the worst fate that could befall me, and now scandal will be my salvation.”

“You sound pleased with this state of affairs.”

Matilda rummaged around in her emotions once more. She found both vast relief that there was a solution to the problem of a living Harry and vast admiration for the mind that could solve the riddle.