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simplest work, and made them foremen. We provided jobs that paid workers well enough to live decently. We also set up a clinic and soup kitchen in the manner of what you had here in Ireland for a while—well, still do, I imagine, only not with the English government’s help anymore. The Quakers still offer the soup kitchens, so Peter tells me. He keeps apprised of benevolent work, so he may fill a few of the niches.”
    “But you were knighted,” she said. “You must have played an important role.”
    “Well, that was Peter’s doing, on my behalf. I barely lifted a finger, only donated some money and went along for the adventure since I’d never been to a slum before. I wanted to see what poverty looked like from the center of it, not the fringe. Out of curiosity is all.”
    Cosima eyed him, baffled. Had he meant to sound so callous, or was he merely being modest by belittling his own altruism? “And Peter is your close friend?”
    “Oh yes, a marvelous chap. He’s always trying to get me to take the high road—you know the sort. I’m quite fond of him when I don’t hate him out of pure envy for all he is and does.” He laughed lightheartedly. “He’d have become a missionary, I suppose, if his father didn’t have that title all ready to be handed down. Peter’s younger brother is already a champion of the faith in some godforsaken place in Africa. Sadly, Peter has only the one brother. Two sisters, but we all know they don’t count for much when it comes to titles. So the future of the great Hamilton legacy remains squarely upon Peter’s shoulders.”
    “He has no children of his own yet, then, to secure another generation for his legacy?”
    “Children? No, not for Peter. He was engaged once and it ended badly, so he’s been hesitant to consider marriage lately.” Reginald gave her a broad smile. “I was hoping that by setting a good example with you, Peter might not be so reluctant to start his own future.”
    “How kind of you. Is that why you’ve decided to search for a wife? To encourage your friend?”
    He laughed again. “Well, perhaps! You must know, Cosima, that I had designs on you before I even met you. I sent Mr. Linton to bring back his report, knowing he is a very good judge of . . . character.” His laugh rang out again, as if he’d caught himself in some joke only he understood. “He returned saying you were lovely both inside and out, your reputation among the townspeople was unsullied by selfishness or stinginess, and you would, in his humble opinion, make a suitable wife for anyone in such a position as my own.”
    “But are there no women in England who suit you?”
    “Oh yes, plenty—but none of my choosing would have me. You see, Cosima, I am a snob. I readily admit such a fault. I am but a knight—wealthy, to be sure, but for all practical purposes a commoner. Commoners do not suit me—at least English ones—and ladies of the aristocracy will not have me. You, by virtue of your father’s heritage, are the closest thing to nobility I could possibly hope to acquire.”
    That he had looked at marriage through the eyes of social betterment should not come as any surprise, since Cosima already knew romance played no part in his interest. But to have it said so plainly, and with no obvious compunction, made her undeniably uncomfortable. More importantly though, with her family history, how could anyone think of her as being socially desirable?
    Yet he had brought up a whole subject that interested her far more than she’d let herself believe to that moment. “I know very little of my father’s family apart from the portraits hanging in our hall. My mother said Father hired someone to make full-size portraits from small copies he had taken with him when he left England. It always struck me as obvious that it was my father’s family who disowned him and not the other way around. What is his family like?”
    Reginald looked at her as if he could not believe her words.