And behind that thought, a more insidious, seductive thought: At least I would be paid. At least Tommie would be warm. If I’m to be ashamed of myself, might I please suffer that indignity with an occasionally full belly?

Tommie managed to make a rock bounce once, and he was in alt. Passersby smiled at the man patiently correcting the child’s form and finding him another good skipper. Tommie was soon busy amassing a collection of smooth, flat, round stones, while the entire armada of waterfowl—swans, ducks, and geese—paddled madly for distant shores.

“Shall we sit?” Tremont said, gesturing to a bench. “The bank will be denuded of rocks, or Tommie’s arm will fall off before his interest flags. I’m not sure even that eventuality would dissuade him from his purpose.”

The bench was warm, despite the chill in the air. Tremont took a seat a proper foot away from Matilda while Tommie scoured the bank.

“About your offensive topic, my lord.”

“The topic that I hoped would not offend, but that has grown rather pressing.”

“I must refuse your proposition,” Matilda said, the words leaving her more sad than angry. “I refuse not because I judge women for doing what they must—or what they claim to enjoy—to survive, but because I hold to the quaint notion that some activities should be undertaken only out of mutual affection and esteem.”

She expected a polite, gentlemanly rejoinder about this most impolite topic. An insistence that she hear his terms, a little touch to her sleeve, and an allusion to wild sexual pleasure. The oldest Prebish boy had referred to paradise and raptures and heavenly transports—oddly theological terms for a lot of heaving and panting.

“You haven’t heard my proposition.” The earl sounded a trifle confused, but then, he was probably a stranger to refusals.

“I’ve heard enough others like it, and while I should doubtless be flattered that a peer would notice me in any capacity… I am not flattered. Silly of me. No offense intended, my lord.”

Silence greeted this declaration.

“We can skip the bakery,” Matilda said, swiping at the corner of her eye with her glove. “Tommie must not become accustomed to luxuries. That way lies nothing but misery.”

Tommie’s rock bounced three times, and Matilda dutifully clapped and cheered, while Tremont declared the job well done.

“Let’s go.” Matilda rose with as much dignity as she yet possessed. “I believe we’ve said all that needs saying.”

Tremont rose, as a gentleman must. He peered at her as if she’d suggested they attend a flying-pig race.

“I am cudgeling my brain for what the philosophers, etiquette books, or even newspaper advice columnists would suggest in such a situation, and my mind is a mortified blank.”