For attempting that wistful, confiding tone, Matilda would have gladly pushed Harry beneath the wheels of the next oncoming coach.

“We’re cowards, Harry, who are good at running. I ran from scandal, and I ran from the vicarage. You ran from me. Now you’ve run from schemes gone inevitably awry, and I am running from scandal again.” And running straight into a broken heart.

Harry studied the sky, which today was a bright, wintry blue. “Cowards live to run another day, Tilly. Tremont wants you to be his fancy piece?”

No, he did not, though Matilda had offered. “Is that so surprising?”

“Not surprising in the least, but less than you deserve.” Harry drew Matilda away from the edge of the walkway just as a phaeton splashed past. “You will find it hard to credit, erstwhile wife of mine—I find it hard to credit—but I have missed you, contrary to previous representations. You kept a wonderfully tidy house, and you were so trusting, so earnest, and then so ferociously devoted to the boy.”

“And now,” Matilda said sweetly, “I am so angry. I will book passage for next Tuesday, and you will not see me off. I have arrangements to make if you are to be given the deed upon my departure.”

“I knew you’d see reason. Any chance I can have the deed sooner?” Harry studied a dray lugging a steaming load of manure along the muddy street.

“Tuesday is less than a week away, Harry. Are you truly that hard up?”

“Rent’s coming due.” Said with casual humor.

Matilda counted to ten in French, while a crossing sweeper diligently collected a fresh pile of horse droppings.

“And you think you are fit to parent a small boy,” she muttered, taking out a few coins and passing them over. “Until Tuesday, stay away from me and mine, Harry, and that means keeping your skulking minions away from Tommie too.”

The coins disappeared while Harry resumed studying the sky. “Never skulk. I taught you better than that. March, saunter, stroll, take the air, bustle along, but don’t ever skulk. I’ll expect that deed by Monday, Tilly.”

“Where shall I send it?”

He recited an unprepossessing direction in Knightsbridge, one that would, alas, never see another penny in rent from Harry Merridew.

Merriman. He was going by Merriman now, or so he claimed.

“Don’t come near Tommie, and you will not impose your company upon us in Philadelphia.”

Harry shuddered. “Too many Quakers. I’ll keep to Boston or New York, if the wilderness doesn’t take my fancy. Is this good-bye, Tilly?”

“I dearly hope so.”