Page 117 of The Marriage Method

“Fair Jane,” Radford said.

“Are you talking of m’sister?” Amstead demanded with a flash of irritation. “Not a pretty subject, mind you. Not suitable for company.”

Radford winced. “Apologies. Forgot myself.”

Nell briefly caught Miles’s gaze. A silent question passed between them. Just what had happened to make Jane Fawn-Purvis’s name unsuitable for company?

Miles resolved to find out.

“I’d rather discuss the lady in front of me,” Amstead said. He leaned toward Nell. “Tell me, Mrs. Quincey, how is it that you came to be so indispensable to Lady Belwood? She would have it that she couldn’t attend my party without you.”

Nell lowered her teacup back to its saucer, returning her attention to her host. “Before my marriage, I often acted as companion to her ladyship,” she said. “We’ve come to rely on each other’s company.”

“Is your marriage of a recent vintage?” Amstead asked with interest.

Nell smiled. “Very recent,” she said. “We are newlyweds.”

Amstead’s brows elevated. “Is that so?” He looked from Nell to Miles and back again. “Why, that’s charming. And illuminating as well. It explains why your presence must include that of your husband. Newlyweds are reluctant to be parted, I’m told.”

Nell affected an air of swift concern. “It wasn’t too great an inconvenience to include us, I hope?”

Amstead waved the suggestion away. “The only inconvenience arises from your twisted ankle, ma’am. In allowing you to come, I’d intended you to dance.”

“An unfortunate complication, to be sure,” Nell said. “For me as well.” She paused, adding earnestly, “I do so love dancing.”

Miles took a stiff sip of his sherry, watching with equal amounts of pride and vexation as Nell twined the baron around her finger. She was almost too good at this. The deliberate half-truths and seemingly ingenuous flirtation. Miles had first observed it in Whitechapel when she’d effortlessly charmed her way into Mrs. Pritchard’s brothel.

“We must endeavor to get you well, then, mustn’t we?” Amstead said. “You will have all the cushions, compresses, and cups of tea you require. I shall make it my mission to see you recovered in time to dance the opening set with me.”

“My husband might have something to say about that,” Nell replied. “I have promised most of my dances to him.”

Lord Amstead snorted. “Nonsense. We adhere to town rules here at Northwick. No dancing with one’s spouse more than three times at the same soiree. You don’t desire us to think you countrified, do you?”

A dour elderly woman who had been introduced as the baron’s near neighbor, Lady Upshott, telegraphed her disapproval from a nearby chair. “Your teasing is in poor taste, Amstead. You hardly know the woman.”

“Another mission of mine,” Amstead said to Nell. “To get to know you. For the next three days, I will be entirely at your disposal.”

“At the risk of neglecting your other guests? I wouldn’t dream of it.” Nell raised her teacup back to her lips. “Though, I do have one request to make of you, my lord.”

“Name it,” Amstead said.

“I would appreciate if your housekeeper could take me through the long gallery during my stay. I’d love to hear the history of all the portraits.”

Miles’s attention sharpened. This was something he and Nell had discussed during their preparations for the party. One of the many possibilities for gaining more information about the Fawn-Purvis family.

Amstead’s gaze became intent. “You’ve heard of my long gallery?”

“Your house is famous hereabouts,” Nell said. “It was designed by Sir Robert Taylor, was it not?”

“It was. The Fawn-Purvis family has a long and distinguished history in this part of Hertfordshire. But as to my housekeeper conducting a tour…” Amstead shook his head. “I’m afraid it’s impossible. She knows nothing of the history of the portraits. She only came in the summer.”

“I see,” Nell said. “Another servant, then? Someone of longer tenure? There must be one who knows the history of the house.”

“Sadly not,” Amstead replied. “There was a great turnover in the staff after my dear Papa died. Had to put many of the old retainers out to pasture. It was a mercy. My father was an excellent fellow, but he kept some of the servants too long at their posts. They were ready to be pensioned off.”

“A hard task, but a kind one,” Lady Upshott pronounced. “Though I wouldn’t have been without Mrs. Virtue for the world if I were you. Housekeepers like her are worth their weight in gold. Her talents are wasted at Bricket Lodge. And your father’s butler! Gone to some grand house in Derbyshire, I heard. Well, they will be lucky to have him. As for you—you just see that the house doesn’t fall to rack and ruin in their absence.”

Miles exchanged a glance with Nell. Cowgill had attended a house party at Bricket Lodge in the spring. It was the only one he’d attended all year. Was it there that he’d heard something? Seen something?