Page 100 of The Marriage Method

“My shoulder was dislocated,” Nell said. “But it’s on the mend now. I hardly notice the pain.”

She wasn’t being entirely dishonest. Her shoulder did feel much better today. Even so, she’d refrained from putting on her corset or crinoline, and had instead dressed in a loose-flowing wool day dress and soft slippers. A shawl was draped about her shoulders in a concession to the weather. Outside, the air was damp, and the sky was dark with clouds. A storm was coming soon.

“Did he end up summoning a doctor?” Effie inquired.

Nell gave her a speaking look. “What do you think?”

Effie frowned. She recalled as well as Nell the medical miseries that Nell had gone through in the aftermath of falling from the roof. The bleedings. The purgatives. The barbaric surgeries and painful manipulations of her joints. It had been a variety of hell.

“What then?” Effie asked. “Did his housekeeper reset your arm, or—”

“It wasn’t our housekeeper,” Nell said. “It was Mr. Quincey himself. He’s been taking care of me.”

Effie’s mouth curled into a slow smile. “I see.”

Nell willed herself not to blush. “Enough of that,” she remonstrated. She drew Effie to the fireplace. “Come. Tell me what happened with Miss Brent.”

Effie sat down across from Nell in one of the large oxblood leather chairs. “First, you tell me something. When Mr. Quincey came to the Academy, you didn’t, perchance, allow him inside the gates, did you?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Because Mr. Royce insisted that he be let inside the gates. As though he had a God-given right to wait in the garden. I immediately deduced it was because your husband had been in the garden first. Was he?”

“He was,” Nell admitted.

Effie snorted. “Men.”

Nell smiled, amused in spite of herself. “They’re competitive, I suppose.”

“When it comes to the Academy, definitely. My husband wouldn’t like your husband to be granted any privileges that have been denied to him.”

“A brief spell in the garden can hardly be called a privilege.”

“More of one than being exiled outside the gates,” Effie said. “In any event—”

“Miss Brent,” Nell supplied.

“Miss Brent, yes.” Effie grew serious. “You’ll be pleased to know that Mr. Royce and I conveyed her to the Academy without incident. Miss Corvus welcomed her there, and promptly surrendered her into Gemma’s charge.”

Nell exhaled a relieved breath. Gemma may not be the most tenderhearted of the Academy’s teachers, but she was certainly one of its fiercest. No harm would ever come to one of her charges. “And how did Miss Brent find her new surroundings?”

“She was curious above anything else. Her eyes were as wide as they could possibly be, taking it all in. She barely blinked once from the moment we entered the grounds. Fortunately, the Academy appeared to be to her satisfaction. I parted with her after a short time, confident that all would be well.” Effie paused. “It was then Miss Corvus summoned me to her study for a private word.”

A rogue quiver of anxiety went through Nell. She immediately thought of the sampler she’d posted to Miss Corvus two days before. The delicate pattern, bordered with butterflies and tiny blue flowers, and featuring the requisite raven with its white-tipped wing, had contained a coded message consisting of only two words: Lady Belwood.

Nell had sent it, not as a challenge, but as a courtesy. A simple message informing Miss Corvus that Nell had discovered the identity of the woman who had given birth to her and surrendered her to the Academy. She hadn’t anticipated a reply. One hadn’t seemed necessary. There was surely nothing Miss Corvus could reveal about the past that Nell hadn’t already ascertained herself.

“Did she?” she asked with forced unconcern.

“I shan’t beat about the bush,” Effie said. “It involves that odious Reverend Pettiman.”

Nell stared at her friend. “Pettiman? What about him?”

“It seems that, since your contretemps in Mr. Quincey’s office, the reverend has not been idle. He’s written to a handful of the school’s benefactors, and he’s expressed his concerns to the other members of the council. Miss Corvus has assured him that you and Mr. Quincey are married now, but for some reason he questions the legitimacy of the union.”

“What?” Nell was stunned. “But…why would he doubt it?”

“I believe it has to do with the banns not being called.”