“Please be good,” Matilda said, kissing Tommie’s crown and moving to the table in the center of the hall. She took up her post as scribe at the right hand of the chairman’s seat and angled her chair to give her a clear view of Tommie’s corner. He’d plopped himself on the floor and dutifully opened a picture book, but his gaze was leaping all over the hall.

Matilda had packed not one but all three of his picture books, the old stuffed horse that he now sought only at bedtime, two pencils—Tommie invariably broke his pencil points—and some string. The church cat could be counted on to entertain Tommie for two minutes at a time if that good beast was in residence.

Tommie cupped his hands to his mouth and bellowed, “I’ll be good, Mama!”

More winces and scowls greeted that announcement. The earl glanced over at Tommie as if noticing the boy for the first time. Matilda mentally prepared for lordly disdain—children did not belong at business meetings, not even church business meetings.

Tommie waved wildly. “Good day, Mr. Earl! Do you want to see my picture book?”

Merciful angels, deliver me now. St. Mildred’s was a prosperous congregation, though a far cry from St. George’s in Hanover Square. Peers did not frequent St. Mildred’s, and the earl was very much a visiting dignitary.

The whole room went quiet, with gazes ricocheting between the boy and his lordship. Mr. Prebish looked positively eager to hear Tommie on the receiving end of a tongue-lashing.

Another tongue-lashing.

The earl excused himself from his conversation with Major MacKay and walked over to where Tommie sat on the floor.

Matilda did not care that Tremont was a peer, a wealthy man, a noted philanthropist, and a former officer. She marched over to Tommie’s corner, prepared to inform his lordship that nobody scolded her only begotten son for merely being friendly.

Tremont extended a hand in Tommie’s direction. “Tremont, at your service, Master…?”

Tommie scrambled to his feet and wrung the earl’s hand. “I’m Tommie. Tommie Merridew. This is my mama.”

Tremont extricated his lordly paw from Tommie’s grasp and bowed to Matilda. “Madam, you have me at a disadvantage.”

She bobbed a hasty curtsey. “Matilda Merridew, my lord.”

“My amanuensis on this august occasion, I believe. Tommie, a pleasure to have made your acquaintance. I was told St. Mildred’s is a congenial house of worship. Your mama and I must tend to business for the nonce. You will keep that storybook in good repair until I can make proper inspection of it. Mrs. Merridew.”

The earl gestured in the direction of the table. Tommie, for once, was silent, so Matilda preceded his lordship to the table and managed not to faint from shock when he held her chair.