A week of decent sleep and good meals had put Matilda very much on her mettle. That Tremont took her driving and for outings to the tea shop had also served to raise her spirits—and her frustrations.

“Tremont has a few ideas for Harry’s next steps,” Dorcas MacKay said. “Michael tells me the bishop should have your marriage dissolved within a fortnight, if you’re sure that’s what you want?”

“I have never been more sure of anything in my life.”

And where was Tremont? Tommie bided with the soldiers, as Matilda had been doing since returning to London. They were a well-behaved lot compared to when she’d first met them, but then, her definition of good behavior had shifted.

The men cursed fluently. They forgot to scrape their boots when they came through the front door. They occasionally neglected to say grace before a meal and descended into fisticuffs with ungenteel frequency, but they were hardworking, loyal to their friends, and honest.

They had had a few pointed suggestions for what to do with Harry, while Matilda increasingly favored Madame Howard’s solution—toss him into the sea to take his chances with the sharks.

“You are angry,” Dorcas MacKay said, passing Matilda a cup of tea. “I like that you are finally angry. Harry has been dreading this meeting, and you aren’t to let him off too easily, Matilda.”

Whatever that meant. “Harry was never violent,” she said. “He cheated, he stole, he extorted, and lied. If we’re to revert to Old Testament guidance, then he should make remuneration in proportion to his sins.”

“You don’t want to see him hanged or transported,” Dorcas observed, passing the major his tea. “Would you like to see him on remittance?”

“Tremont claims Harry has family. If we send my erstwhile spouse to India or Argentina, they will never see him again.” And yet, Matilda wouldn’t mind if Harry went halfway around the world, provided he stayed on his side of the globe and left her in peace.

“Ah, but does his family want to see him again?” Major MacKay said, setting down his tea untasted.

“I don’t want to see him again,” Matilda muttered, “but I suppose I must.”

“You need not,” Dorcas said, glancing at the mantel clock.

Matilda considered bolting, except that she was through with bolting.

Harry joined the gathering in the parlor before Matilda had taken the first sip of her tea. He looked… attired for running one of his Mayfair rigs. Togged out as a gent, right down to a cravat pin in the shape of a four-leaf clover.

And yet, his eyes lacked the watchful edge of the swindler, and he’d abandoned his charming smile.

“Matilda.” He bowed. “You are looking well.”

“I am in quite good health.” She did not append a thank-you. “I am also furious with you.”

“You have every reason to be.”