Another man would have been arguing with the child, or worse, ordering him to give up his trade for what might be a terrible position. As a crossing sweeper, Charles set his own hours, kept all of his pay, worked no harder than he pleased, and was never beaten for a job poorly done.

None of which mattered with a winter storm bearing down. Matilda was about to shove Charles off in the direction of the house when he held out his hand to Tremont.

“I’ll give it a looking over, milord, like you said, but I can come back to me patch if I’d rather.”

Tremont shook. “You scout the terrain for yourself, and Mrs. Merridew and I will await your decision. If you cut through that alley there, you’ll save yourself some time.”

Charles gathered up his barrow, broom, and shovel and trotted off into the thickening snow.

“Perhaps we should take the alley,” Matilda said. “This is turning into quite a squall.”

“I have another idea,” Tremont replied as they resumed walking. “We can seek shelter along the way, and twenty minutes from now, the snow will have stopped.”

“You suggest we tarry at the tea shop?” A delightful notion, particularly given that Tommie was not underfoot.

“The tea shop is one street over in the wrong direction, but my town house is right around the corner.”

Matilda nearly lost her footing. The Earl of Tremont was inviting her into his home. True, the hour was technically appropriate for paying calls, and she was a widow and thus needed no chaperone, but still…

“Maybe this is how Charles felt when confronted with a suspiciously tempting offer,” Matilda said.

“We were to discuss how you’re settling in and what plans you have for the men,” Tremont replied. “Why not do so in comfort while Charles makes his inspection tour of the soldiers’ home?”

Reason. Tremont was the very devil for applying sweet reason. “That place needs a different name,” Matilda said. “‘Soldiers’ home’ brings to mind grizzled, arthritic men rendered deaf by artillery rounds fired decades in the past. Our lot is hale and relatively young.”

“I had not thought of naming the house, but that makes sense, and now, with you newly appointed to your post, is a perfect time to do it.”

The wind gusted, nearly knocking Matilda off her feet. She took a snug hold of Tremont’s arm. “Get me out of this weather, my lord, and we can name the house anything you please.”

Matilda capitulated to the earl’s offer with equal parts misgiving and anticipation. She’d wondered if his domicile would be as neat and understated as he was, or would the mental absorption of the philosopher mean boots were left in the library, and a half-full brandy glass had been abandoned in a linen closet?

He’d called himself curious, while Matilda thought of herself as cautious. Curiosity and caution were not mutually exclusive, apparently.