Page 118 of The Marriage Method

Lord Amstead downed the remainder of his sherry. “No one is indispensable.”

“A good servant can be,” Lady Belwood said. “My own housekeeper has been with me since I married Sir Walter. A full eighteen years. I should be lost if she left me.”

Nell’s gaze came to rest on her ladyship’s face. A trace of brittleness entered Nell’s expression. “Eighteen years is a good long while, ma’am,” she said.

“Household affairs,” Pargeter muttered. “Tedious.”

“Only four ladies present and it’s still the primary topic of conversation,” Radford commiserated under his breath.

Nell’s attention didn’t linger on her mother. A deliberate choice, Miles suspected. When dealing with the woman, Nell had difficulty controlling her emotions. And if they were to succeed in getting to the bottom of Cowgill’s murder during their stay, both Nell and Miles would have to keep their emotions under close control.

“About the gallery, my lord,” Nell said, turning back to Amstead. “If no one else can offer a tour, perhaps I might apply to Mr. Innes?”

“No use there, either,” Radford said. “Innes was only recently elevated to butler, wasn’t he, Amstead?” Radford addressed Miles with a chuckle. “Used to be his valet.”

Miles looked at Nell again. Was she thinking what he was thinking? Every other servant had been dismissed. All except for Innes, who had been promoted from valet to butler. An extraordinary elevation, and one that might well be due to some nefarious service he’d performed for Lord Amstead.

“Don’t be absurd, Mrs. Quincey,” Amstead said. “I shall take you through the gallery myself. Tomorrow afternoon, say, when the gentlemen and I return from shooting?”

Nell smiled. “That would be perfect, my lord.”

“And quite informative, I’m sure,” Miles said. “My wife and I have a mutual fascination with historical paintings. We shall look forward to your tour.”

Nell’s dimple made a brief appearance. Whether it was on account of Miles’s blatant possessiveness or Lord Amstead’s obvious irritation at the same was difficult to tell.

Miles wished he could find humor in the situation, but he assuredly could not.

A man had been murdered. And the crime very well may have originated with someone in this house. If not Baron Amstead or Innes, then one of the others.

Miles was taking no chances. Not where his wife was concerned. However ridiculous he must make himself, however much he must play the jealous, overbearing husband, he privately vowed that, for the remainder of the party, Nell wouldn’t spend a moment alone with any of the men in attendance.

Excepting himself.

30

Nell had sometimes observed a local farmer near the Academy using a clever collie to cut a sheep from his flock. It was in just such an effortless manner that Lord Amstead singled Nell out from his small herd of guests, placing her next to him at tea, then at dinner, and then again as they gathered in the drawing room afterward for cards. It was he who commanded her smiles and her conversation, he who refilled her wineglass (three times altogether!), and he who partnered her at whist.

The other gentlemen had only stared. So, too, had Lady Belwood. Nell had caught the woman stealing anxious glances at her all evening. As for Miles…

There had been no opportunity for Nell to speak with him alone. Not even when they returned to their room to change for dinner. Lady Belwood’s maid had been there, waiting to assist with Nell’s evening toilette.

Miles had politely withdrawn. He hadn’t returned until the maid had buttoned the final jet button on Nell’s blue grosgrain silk bodice and placed the last pin in her gracefully rolled coiffure. Even then, Nell had been denied a chance for a quiet word with her husband, for Lord Amstead had been close at Miles’s heels.

“You’ve promised to act as my hostess,” Amstead had reminded, offering Nell his arm. “Isn’t that right, Quincey? And a charming one she’ll make. I shall be the envy of every man at the table.”

Miles hadn’t given his permission. Neither had he objected. He knew as well as Nell did that they must exploit any chance at getting close to Lord Amstead. It didn’t mean Miles liked the idea. Quite the reverse. As Nell had taken the baron’s arm, she’d caught a glimpse of a muscle working in Miles’s jaw.

He was displeased. Possibly angry.

Or possibly something else.

Nell endeavored not to dwell on it. Indeed, as the evening progressed, she was too focused on gathering information from Lord Amstead and his guests to think very much about Miles at all. When she did, it wasn’t to fret over his potential jealousy, but to long for a moment alone with him so she might share what she’d learned.

An uncomfortable dilemma.

The only place she and Miles could have any semblance of privacy was their room. And there was that dratted bed to consider.

But there was no avoiding it forever. Inevitably, the hour finally arrived when it was time to retire.