Page 111 of The Marriage Method

“And leave behind the empire she was building?”

Miles made a derisive sound. “An empire, was it? That foul establishment of hers in Whitechapel?”

“From her perspective. She had five thousand pounds to refurbish her premises, and was offering the prettiest girls, newly luxurious surroundings, and absolute discretion for her gentlemen clientele. She was plainly on her way to having the most prestigious brothel in town. I don’t see her giving that up to go on the run.”

“It was either that or meet the hangman.”

“But would she have been hanged? Inspector Garrick hasn’t yet been able to prove that she and Silas murdered Mr. Cowgill. As yet, they’re only being charged with the abduction of Miss Brent.”

“They could still face the noose,” Miles said. “More likely, they’ll be transported. Either way, Mrs. Pritchard was wise to run.”

Nell’s expression sobered. “Perhaps she has. Still…I can’t rid myself of the uneasy feeling that she’s here somewhere, watching us. Plotting her revenge.” She scanned the platform as she spoke, as though she might find the runaway madam among the gathering crowd.

When her hand tightened spasmodically on his arm, Miles feared for an instant that she had. But when he followed Nell’s frozen stare through the billowing smoke from the arriving train, it wasn’t Mrs. Pritchard he beheld waiting on the platform with her maid and footman in attendance.

It was Lady Belwood.

28

The train to Hertfordshire departed Euston Station with a gust of steam and a heave of grinding metal. Nell sat across from Lady Belwood in their shared first-class compartment. Miles was in the upholstered seat beside Nell, examining the railway timetable with undue attention. She supposed it was his way of recusing himself from any prospect of conversation. He’d taken refuge in silence ever since she’d invited Lady Belwood to join them.

He didn’t approve, that much was obvious. He thought Nell impulsive. Unwise. Perhaps even self-destructive. As for his opinion of Lady Belwood…

From the moment they’d encountered her on the platform, Miles had regarded the woman with an edge of cool disdain.

Nell was touched by his show of protectiveness. Doubtless he’d rather Nell had limited contact with her ladyship, thereby sparing herself any additional hurt.

But despite the queasiness in her stomach and the uneven flutter of her pulse, Nell couldn’t regret her suggestion that they travel together. She told herself she was being practical. Thinking of the shooting party. It had nothing at all to do with the fact that Lady Belwood was her mother. That she had abandoned Nell to an orphanage eighteen years ago in exchange for a life of wealth and privilege.

“Have you no maid with you?” Lady Belwood asked when they were underway. Her own servants had been relegated to a lower-class carriage at the back of the train. She wasn’t diminished by the lack of them. She sat straight and proud, the picture of elegance in her rose-pink silk-and-velvet traveling gown.

“I don’t keep a lady’s maid,” Nell replied.

Miss Corvus believed that self-sufficiency began with one’s toilette. Both Nell’s old gowns and her new ones were made with front fastenings as a consequence, allowing her to dress and undress herself. Nell would have it no other way.

“You and Mrs. Royce are singular ladies in that regard,” Lady Belwood said. Her disapproval was evident. She was a woman who took pride in her appearance.

“I expect we are,” Nell said. “We have both been used to shifting for ourselves from a young age.”

If Lady Belwood registered the significance of Nell’s statement, she didn’t show it. “I shall lend you the services of my own maid while we’re at Northwick Hall.”

Nell acknowledged the offer with an inclination of her head. “You are very generous.”

Lady Belwood gave a dismissive wave of her kid-gloved hand. “I have a reputation as a lady of fashion. My friends must necessarily be as faultless in their dress as I am.”

Outside the window of their compartment, the hectic London scenery whipped by at an ever-increasing pace. It was but thirty miles to their stop in Hertfordshire. A negligible distance by train.

“I hope we shall be friends,” Nell said. “Despite our difference in age.”

Her ladyship’s eyes hardened with swift censure. “We do not speak of age, Mrs. Quincey. It is an indelicate subject.”

Nell affected a chastened expression. “Forgive my ignorance, ma’am. I hadn’t a mother to advise me.”

Miles flashed Nell a frowning look.

Nell ignored it. She was too busy observing Lady Belwood’s reaction.

Her ladyship’s countenance had gone oddly flat. She withdrew a perfumed handkerchief from her cord-trimmed sleeve. The scent of jasmine, tuberose, and honey stirred in the air.