“Other times, I will focus on Amos Tucker, for example, but that’s not really where my mind is. In some silent, busy way, I’m thinking about a home for crossing sweepers, like a guild hall, but more of a residence. They tend to be children, often orphaned, and they are unsafe, though the city would be unlivable without their labor. But those thoughts are trotting along in parallel to my Amos Tucker thoughts, like a drover’s road parallels the carriageways, just out of sight over the ridge. Without warning, my thought paths converge. Amos Tucker and his lady love could run a boardinghouse for crossing sweepers.”

“Tremont,” Matilda said gently, “Marcus, what are you going on about?”

He secured her hand in both of his. “With you, the paths have converged in a spectacular way. I noticed you at the church, and I thought, ‘That woman has a great deal of patience, and she’s very protective of the boy. Good qualities.’ I was also noticing that you’ve learned to keep your thoughts from showing in your eyes, and what lovely eyes they are too. I noticed that you are tired, but you keep going. You were not cowed by my title, nor did you sneer at it. Your dignity did not desert you on the first, spectacular occasion of miscommunication between us. All of my thoughts, of every description, focused on you.”

“I’m a novelty in your experience, a lady fallen on hard times.”

“You are very much a novelty in my experience,” Tremont said. “I’m in possession of more acres and farms and tenancies than you can imagine. Ladies fallen on hard times besiege me in Shropshire. Ladies trying not to fall on hard times—or trying to fall out of them—besiege me in Mayfair’s ballrooms. You take a general’s view of hard times. Even unforgiving terrain has advantages, and you have survived many a battle.”

She withdrew her hand. “Now I’m a warhorse?”

“In a sense, which, coming from a soldier, is high praise.” Will I look more or less ridiculous if I go down on one knee while I compare my beloved to livestock? “You are also a devoted mother, a pragmatic widow, a woman who can laugh at herself, independent, and nobody’s fool. I could go on and on, because I delight in the mere contemplation of you.”

Matilda rose and paced to the fireplace, which she studied as if the flames held the secret to eternal spring and spotless carpets.

“I’ve told you my worst mistakes, my lord, my most shameful missteps, and you offer me marriage. I am confused. Flattered, but confused.”

The lady was wary, another quality Tremont liked about her, and she was on her feet, so he could also abandon the dratted sofa.