And some other day, some day when she and Tommie were far, far away and the ache in her heart had faded to a mere agony, she’d again indulge in tears. Since weeping on Marcus’s shoulder two days ago, Matilda had clung to reason with ruthless devotion.

Marcus had been closeted with his solicitors, though Matilda well knew what the result of those conferences would be. The situation occasioned by Harry’s rise from the dead had a solution. It did not have a happily ever after, not for her and Marcus. Harry was just being Harry—conscienceless and self-interested to a staggering degree—but he was Matilda’s husband.

“Did you for even one moment think of leaving me and Tommie in peace, Harry?”

“Yes. I left you in peace for several years, but I am tired, Tilly. I am tired of British laws, British snobbery, and British hypocrisy. I mean to go to the New World and take my chances in a new land. If you cannot see your way clear to deed the house to me, then I will simply take Tommie and leave you to your honorable earl. You can have all the peace you please.”

And there it was, Harry’s heavy artillery, fired with what sounded like genuine remorse.

“Your name does not appear on the birth registry, Harry. You dealt yourself out of an honor I would have willingly granted you. You are not Tommie’s father in any sense.”

“Happens I am. I have consulted the lawyers, and they say it’s not even a question. You were married to me when the lad was born, I have not repudiated him, and thus the honor of his paternity is entirely mine.”

Harry could put on and take off accents like a trained actor. Matilda had heard him glide from Cockney to Yorkshire and over to East Anglia in the space of an hour. He sounded in this conversation as if he’d had a proper education, to the manor born, even.

“Harry, who are your people?”

His steps slowed. “You ask me that now? I tell you I’m about to take your only begotten son halfway around the world, and when you should be shoving the deed to that house into my hands, you want to review old business?”

“Humor me. If you do plan to impersonate Tommie’s father, you will have to become accustomed to all manner of outlandish questions bearing no apparent relation to anything save a small boy’s curiosity. When Tommie asks about his grandpapa, what will you say?”

Harry touched a finger to his hat brim when a pair of shopgirls passed by. They giggled, he smiled, and Matilda wanted to shout profanities.