And yet… That misunderstanding in the park had been awkward indeed, also intriguing.

“Nobody observing me for five minutes would accuse me of having charm,” Tremont muttered. He flipped a coin to the crossing sweeper, who touched a finger to his cap in response. “That wretched crossing sweeper has charm—and cheek.”

By the time Tremont reached the men’s residence, his mind had turned to another topic altogether. Mrs. Merridew had said that most women would find him “in every way” to be a desirable specimen. Of course they would—he was titled, in good health, and wealthy, though none of that was a result of his own exertions.

What qualities did Matilda Merridew consider desirable in a man? The question intrigued him more than it ought to.

Chapter Three

“That was genius, sending for the boy,” Mrs. Annette Winklebleck said, pouring Matilda a cup of tea. “Settled the men right down to put a youngster amongst ’em at table.”

Mrs. Winklebleck had invited Matilda to the housekeeper’s parlor for a wee chat. The little room would have been of a piece with the vicarage where Matilda had been raised. Clean but worn carpet, a parlor stove wedged into the hearth, a mended porcelain angel on the mantel, and framed needlepoint roses on the walls. The reading chairs were comfortable, and the slightly faded chintz curtains were patterned with more roses.

A peaceful, cozy retreat, very much in contrast with the earlier scene at breakfast.

“Tommie was rather subdued as well,” Matilda said. He’d sat at Matilda’s left hand at the head of the breakfast table, silently spooning porridge into his maw and goggling at the other diners. Mrs. Winklebleck had taken the chair to Matilda’s right, while a half-dozen former soldiers had lined each side of the table.

Their profanity had been prodigious and their manners nonexistent. Mrs. Winklebleck had made a general announcement rather than attempt specific introductions.

“This be Mrs. Merridew. Lord Tremont sent her here to civilize you lot, may God have mercy on her soul. Treat her right or learn to go without your meals, your laundry, and your mendin’.”

Matilda had offered a polite “good morning,” taken her seat, and asked Mrs. Winklebleck to please pass the porridge. After a beat of silence, a roar had ensued, involving the damned salt, the perishin’ butter, the bleedin’ honey ye damned stinkin’ sot, and worse.

Matilda had sent for Tommie in hopes that his example might do for the men what Matilda’s had not, which wasn’t quite what had transpired. The men had fallen all but silent as a staggering amount of food had disappeared.

“Where did they get off to?” Matilda asked.