“I will be pleased to become your wife, Tremont. I appreciate very much what taking vows with me will cost you. Few people will close their doors to you, but I will gladly live in quiet obscurity.”

More irony, that, because the quiet obscurity of a village parsonage had driven her to make witless choices as a younger woman.

Tremont squeezed her in a half hug. “I will suffer the loss of loneliness gladly. The loss of attention from the matchmakers will pain me not at all. The loss of bachelor pleasures does not signify. Need I go on?”

He could doubtless discourse at length regarding the blessings that marriage to Matilda would afford him, while she could only marvel at his devotion.

“I wish there was another way,” she said. “Divorce is ruinously expensive, and the press turns the whole thing into a farce.”

“The press, the public, and the peerage can all go to blazes, Matilda, as long as you and I can be married. A little patience and some coin will see matters resolved.”

Tremont was so very sensible, and so kissable. Matilda indulged herself, though she realized that Tremont was holding back.

“If I am to escort you from the premises,” he said, “I must be composed, Matilda. Bodily and otherwise.”

“Composed?”

He put her hand over his falls. “Composed. On my dignity. Lord Tremont, not a randy swain panting at your heels.”

Matilda gave him a squeeze and withdrew her hand. “Marriage to you will try my dignity sorely, Marcus. I’m looking forward to it.”

“As am I.” His smile was mischievous, but as he escorted her to the tea shop, he was every inch the proper gentleman. Matilda was his decorously devoted damsel, and she enjoyed the meal very much.

Even so, she worried, just a little. Harry—if he was alive—was indeed a creature of endless self-interest, and divorce would be impossible unless Harry agreed to the scheme.

Which, given the coin Marcus could wave before him, he’d have every reason to do.

“The time has come to put the cat among the pigeons, Harry Merri… dew.”

The hesitation was understandable, but must not be repeated. Harry hadn’t used the Merridew name for several years, and he hadn’t missed it, but that’s who he was at the moment, or most of who he was. Harry Merridew, with Harry Merriman lurking at his elbow. As he strolled along the walkway opposite the tea shop Tilly and her earl had patronized several days past, he admitted that he’d been a poor sort of husband to Matilda.

If dear Tilly took the time to reflect on the matter, she’d admit that he’d done her a great favor by setting her free.