He’d applied the same attention to gaining a wife, falling too hard and too fast. He’d actually been grateful his father hadn’t been around to witness the cock-up he’d made of that enterprise.

“Where women are concerned, always think with your big head, not your little one,” his father had often instructed him. “Females can be manipulative wenches.”

His mother had been responsible for teaching his father that lesson. The old man had held no qualms about revealing that tidbit of information. They’d been married a little over six months when Matthew’s sister—now the Marchioness of Fairhaven—made her appearance, so evidence existed his father had been caught by deception as well. He’d never heard one kind word spoken between his parents. Their home had been chilled by their disdain for each other. Matthew suspected his father had breathed a sigh of relief when he was born because it gave the earl an excuse for avoiding the countess’s bed.

He should have paid more attention, learned from their example. Perhaps then he would have foreseen he was destined to repeat his father’s mistake when it came to acquiring a wife. Eventually he would have to marry again in order to secure the lineage, but intended to go about it like a business arrangement, listing out the required qualifications. No brown doe-like eyes, no warm, welcoming smile. Nothing to lure his heart from its guarded state.

Like a dog coming out of a lake ready to rid itself of the water clinging to its fur, he shook off the morose thoughts as he realized he’d reached his residence. The walk hadn’t served to maintain the good spirits he’d achieved that morning. It was always a difficult journey down the path of regret.

Unlocking and opening the door to his residence, he staggered to a stop as Mrs. Bennett came hustling out of the room that served as his main living area. He hadn’t expected her to be about. She generally left once she’d finished cleaning up after his midday meal. As she hadn’t needed to prepare anything for him, she should have been gone by now. “Is something amiss, Mrs. Bennett?”

“Ah, no, sir. But I wanted to let you know Miss Trewlove stopped by. She’d like to have a word.”

He furrowed his brow, not certain he’d heard correctly for surely she had no reason to call upon him, not after they’d left matters between them a bit terse. “Miss Trewlove?”

“Aye, sir. She has the bookshop on the high street?”

“I know who she is.”

“Well, then, sir, she come by earlier, as I was finishing up.”

What the deuce could she possibly want? “It would have been perfectly acceptable to have left me a note, Mrs. Bennett.”

“I thought it too important. I wanted to tell you myself, in person.”