He was never my Harry. “Three years.” Or was it closer to four? More than four? Good heavens. “Long enough that he should be done haunting me.”

“Your marriage was not a love match,” Dorcas said, not unkindly. “I suspect our mistakes are meant to haunt us so that we don’t repeat them, or don’t repeat them as egregiously.” She sounded as if she spoke from experience.

“Major MacKay could not possibly be a mistake. He suits you in every particular.”

Dorcas’s winding slowed. “Oh, he does, Matilda. He most devilishly, definitely does.”

They shared a smile, and that, too, was a bit devilish on Dorcas’s part. She was a woman made lovely by emotion and easily overlooked by those noting only superficialities. Dark hair, trim figure, a bustling air, and a profound devotion to the major and the boy John.

“Alasdhair claims the men are whistling again,” she said, resuming her winding. “A whistling soldier is a happy fellow.”

“The men needed a bit more order and activity. Tremont knew that, but he also knew he wasn’t the best party to bring those changes about. The men are protective of him and he of them, but they are men.”

“And Tremont is an earl and their former officer.”

He’s also my intended. On the one hand, Matilda was tempted to look over her shoulder twenty times a day to make sure Harry’s ghost wasn’t lounging in a doorway, mocking her for ignoring his cardinal command: If something seems too good to be true, it is too good to be true.

The first corollary to Harry’s Dictum was: But most people nevertheless long to believe in fairy tales, and Harry Merridew is here to collect on their folly.

On the other hand, Matilda was suffused with elation. Marcus understood her, understood the choices she’d made, accepted them, and even admired her for them. He believed her when she said Harry had been a charming scoundrel, and he understood that if Matilda’s child was unhappy, she felt that in her heart.

More amazing still, Tremont was honest with her about his own misgivings and blunders. To step into Tremont’s embrace was to come home to a place she’d never been before, but had longed for all her life.

“Lord Tremont,” Matilda said, “is in every way an estimable fellow. His example alone inspires the men to try harder.”

“Ah, but will his example be on hand much longer?” Dorcas finished her winding and retrieved a second hank of blue yarn from her workbasket. “Alasdhair’s Welsh cousin, Sir Dylan, is married to Tremont’s sister, Lydia. She and Tremont’s mama have been campaigning for his lordship to take a bride, and his lordship is nothing if not dutiful toward his responsibilities.”