Page 142 of The Marriage Method

“Miss Corvus hasn’t lost me, ma’am,” Nell said. “She never could.”

Artemisia Corvus had been a mother to Nell in her own way. And more than a mother. She’d been a mentor, a guide, sparking the very fire that now burned within Nell’s breast, encouraging her to think, to plan, to dare.

There was no forgetting that. And no distancing herself from it, either. Nell and Miss Corvus were still in regular communication. She kept Nell informed about the school, its most promising students, and the continuing progress of Flora Brent, who was, by all reports, thriving in her new environment.

Nell’s relationship with her real mother was a different matter. She only saw Lady Belwood occasionally in passing. They exchanged civil nods in Bond Street and wordless salutes in Hyde Park. Silent but meaningful gestures, typified by their emotional restraint. I see you, they seemed to say. I know you.

It was enough for now.

“And there’s nothing to grieve, is there?” Pettiman said. “Not when Mrs. Quincey has been so admirably replaced in the form of the new sewing teacher, Miss Jean.”

“Ah yes, Miss Jean!” Lady Summers agreed. “Now, she is an exemplar. So modest and unassuming. So exceedingly proper.”

Nell exchanged a speaking glance with Miles. Miss Jean was nothing of the sort. She was a stubborn cockney minx, who—when called upon—could wield an iron as capably as a needle. She’d only agreed to come to the Academy as a means of securing her safety in the aftermath of her assault on Silas. But once there, Miss Jean had lingered. Nell hoped she’d ultimately decide to stay.

“The school is fortunate to have her,” Nell said.

Albert, the footman, opened the front door, letting in a gust of cold air. Lady Summers’s carriage awaited her in the street amid the swirling fog, with Pettiman’s hired coach queued close behind it.

Miles came to stand beside Nell as they bid their guests a final good night. Nell tucked her hand in his arm, grateful to be near him again. They’d been obliged to sit at opposite ends of the table at dinner. It was the fashionable way of things.

“You can stop now,” Miles said after Pettiman and Lady Summers had departed and the door was shut firmly behind them.

Mrs. Bright and Albert withdrew, leaving Miles and Nell alone in the hall.

“Stop what?” Nell asked, turning to face her husband.

“Smiling,” Miles said dryly.

Nell was surprised into a rueful laugh. “Were my efforts that obvious?”

“To me? Yes.” His hand lifted to cradle her face. “I know every shade of your smiles.”

Warmth pooled in her belly. She turned her face into his touch. “I daresay you do.”

He stroked the curve of her cheek with infinite tenderness. “I don’t require it, you know.”

“Require what?” Nell was losing the thread of the conversation. How could she not when he caressed her like this?

“Obedience,” he said. “Blind agreement. Whatever it was you were aiming for at dinner.”

She leaned into him. “I was endeavoring for perfection.”

“Ah. Now, that you already have.”

“Foolish. I’ve told you I’m not perfect.”

His arms came around her, gathering her close. “You’re perfect for me,” he said gruffly.

Nell melted into his embrace. “Oh, Miles,” she breathed. “I do love you so.”

As they held and kissed each other, a looming shadow spread over the hall. Miles’s and Nell’s heads turned in unison to discover that it was cast by Shadow herself. The little tabby was padding cautiously down the stairs.

The cats had made themselves invisible during the dinner party, as they always did when strangers were about, but now the last guests had gone, they emerged one by one. Horus descended the steps behind Shadow. Virgil and Absalom crept out of the library, and Smoke materialized from beneath a chair.

“It’s all right,” Miles told them. “You’re safe now.” His mouth hitched briefly as his gaze returned to Nell’s. “They’re relieved to have the place to themselves again.”

Nell encircled his neck. “They’re not the only ones.”

In a short time, the house in St. James’s Square had become her home. The place where she truly belonged.

But it wasn’t the house.

It was Miles.

He was her home. Her whole world.

“Shall we retire, Mr. Quincey?” she asked.

Miles’s smile spread into a swift grin. “An excellent idea, Mrs. Quincey.” And sweeping Nell up in his arms, he carried her up the stairs.