She thus owed him a great favor, and that necessitated acquainting her with a few particulars—such as the fact that she was not a widow in truth. Tilly had not liked surprises, poor thing, and a warning shot across her figurative bow was only courteous. Let her contemplate the joy of wedded bliss with the lordling for a bit, and she’d likely be more amenable to parting with the house—and some coin.

The job at the soldiers’ home allowed her to indulge in hot chocolate and fresh buns. She was doing well for herself, despite the dowdy weeds, and that eased the twinges that Harry called his conscience these days.

He moved along with foot traffic, adopting the walk of a gent in contemplation of good news. He was cheery, tipping his hat to the dowagers and shopgirls, but not too quick. Good news took the worry off a fellow’s shoulders and put a little swagger in his step.

He had made his third pass across from the tea shop when Matilda and young Tommie entered the shop at precisely ten o’clock, the same as they had the past two Tuesday mornings. The lad had grown, as all lads must, but still… Tommie was a child now, not a baby, and that realization made Harry sad.

Tempus fugit and all that.

Matilda, for her part, had matured from girl-just-out-of-the-schoolroom dewiness into the more substantial appeal of a grown woman.

“You chose well, Harry Merri… dew,” he muttered. From Matilda’s walk, from the way she gripped Tommie’s hand, from the businesslike swish of her pale skirts, Harry perceived that his wife had landed on her feet. Widowhood agreed with her as marriage never had.

But then, she’d been carrying the baby early in the marriage and contending with new motherhood thereafter. Perhaps now…

“None of that, Harry-me-lad.” He consulted his broken watch and appeared to await some friend or acquaintance while he loitered outside the corner pub. The neighborhood was on the way up, a nice blend of shops and well-maintained town houses, with a crossing sweeper minding the intersection and the walkways free of mud and snow.

Put him in mind of the Bristol of his halcyon youth, though sea breezes had given the port cleaner air than London would ever boast.

After forty-five minutes, Matilda and Tommie emerged, a little bundle clutched in Tommie’s mittened paw. He’d wheedled a bun or two from his mama and probably hadn’t realized that days of good behavior was the price he’d pay for his prize.

Ah, the innocence of the very young. Harry gauged distance and speed with a pickpocket’s expert eye, then started in Matilda’s direction. He kept his gaze on the street’s wheeled traffic, turning his head only at the last minute as he brushed against Tommie’s package of buns. Tommie, unprepared for the collision, lost his grip on the parcel.