“Because,” Matilda replied, gaze on the fire, “if my answer is no, and my affections are not claimable, then you will make no further inquiries. Are you always this logical?”

“’Fraid so, or I aspire to be. I’ve landed in a deal of hot water and created misery for those dear to me by yielding to impulse.”

“As have I,” she said, “and yet, I am not as rational as you seem to be. My father frequently castigated me for impulsiveness.”

“Was Mr. Merridew one of those impulses?”

She smiled at her hands, and Tremont had never seen more sadness in a woman’s eyes.

“Harry was one of my regrettable impulses, not the first, alas. By the time he came along, my father was washing his hands of me, and my aunt was still married to a Puritanical old article. Uncle might have taken me in, but my life would have been difficult.”

The first footman chose then to appear with a lavish tray heaped with comestibles.

“Thank you, Putnam,” Tremont said. “That will be all. Mrs. Merridew, will you pour?”

“Of course.”

Before Putnam blew retreat, he gratuitously poked up the roaring fire, lit two sconces in addition to the two already burning, and tidied decanters on the sideboard that needed no tidying.

“The garrison is on high alert,” Tremont said when Putnam finally quit the parlor. “They spy for my mother and sister, but one cannot resent the family’s concern. Have you no other relatives besides this auntie?”

“None,” Mrs. Merridew replied. “I assume Harry had some family somewhere, but I’d have no idea how to find them, and I am entirely sure I don’t care to. I want to gobble every item on this tray, not only because the food looks delicious, but also because Tommie isn’t on hand to monitor my behavior.”

The tray was the same as a thousand others—sandwiches, cakes, tarts, tea. Tremont put two sandwiches on a plate and passed it over. “Gobble away, and I shall do likewise. Your husband disappointed you.”

Mrs. Merridew poured the tea, added honey and cream to both cups, passed Tremont his serving, and stirred her own.

Delaying tactics by any other name.

“Every spouse is probably a disappointment to their partner before the honeymoon ends,” she said. “We build up our intended to impossible heights, or I did, and then reality intrudes. I disappointed Harry too.”

More delaying, and had the bounder told her she was a disappointment?

“When I mustered out,” Tremont said, “I could not bring myself to return to Shropshire. My mother and sister needed me, as did my tenants and my staff, but I was too muddled to face them. My sister had to eventually fetch me home, and she managed that only because Captain Powell abetted her efforts. My mother and sister have forgiven me my foolishness. I fear Merridew did something beyond forgiveness.”