She’d deduced he was a bachelor. Still, it saddened her to think he might be all alone in the world. “He’s not been here that long. Perhaps he’s just not settled in fully yet.”

“Mayhaps. He’s never had a visitor as far as I can tell. Always just the one glass that needs washing. Still, I polish everything up, scrub his floors. Won’t find a speck of dust when I’m done.”

“That’s very commendable on your part. Will you let him know I came by and wanted to have a word?”

“Of course, Miss Trewlove. Don’t know when he’ll be returning, though.”

“It’s not urgent. Just at his convenience, I’d like to speak with him.”

“I’ll pass it on.”

“Thank you. And give my best to Mr. Bennett.”

“I will, miss.”

Darting down the steps, she heard the door close. When she reached the pavement, she glanced back, noting now the absence of draperies at the windows, something she’d overlooked watching him the night before. Although perhaps even now he was out seeing about having some sewn. He had Mrs. Bennett to worry over him. She didn’t need to do it. Still, she was more convinced than ever that he would welcome the opportunity to assist others in learning to read. What better way to become part and parcel of the whole of the community and to ease one’s loneliness?

Miss Trewlove had occupied Matthew’s thoughts through the night and into the following morning, which was deuced irritating, so he’d decided a day seeing to business was called for. After meeting with his man of affairs and then enjoying a leisurely meal at Dodger’s, his favorite club, he’d hailed a hansom cab and had instructed the driver to deliver him to the outskirts of Trewlove’s domain, because he was in the mood for a stroll before returning to his residence. He stood for a moment taking in the construction that was expanding the area. The pounding of hammers, the grunting of men, the occasional shouted order, and the creaking of wheels beneath a wheelbarrow’s weight created a symphony of sounds that hinted at increased wealth and power.

He’d heard similar sounds when he was a lad and went to the coal mines with his father, in order to better understand the workings of the Yorkshire legacy that would be left to him. He’d gone down into the labyrinth of tunnels, even wielded a pickax a time or two, enjoying the stretch of his muscles, the toil, and the concentration his labors required to avoid creating a mishap. All the worries of living up to his father’s expectations had dwindled as the target at which he needed to strike had become his sole focus.