Page 127 of The Marriage Method

She looked up as Nell entered. Her needle stilled. “Mrs. Quincey.”

Nell suppressed a rogue surge of emotion. “Lady Belwood,” she said. “May I join you?”

Her ladyship straightened in her seat. Her face was peculiarly colorless. “By all means. You have brought your sewing, I see.”

Nell touched her workbag. “I’ve a sampler to finish.”

Innes silently withdrew. Nell cast a final glance after him. She’d met several gentlemen during her time in London. The villains in Whitechapel, the staff at Miles’s office, the men at the fashionable shops. Even a police inspector. She ran over their faces in her mind, trying to find a match for Innes’s, with no success.

“Do sit down,” Lady Belwood said.

Nell crossed the thick carpet. With every limping step, she was conscious of Lady Belwood’s regard. Her ladyship had looked at her in just such an anxious way yesterday evening during dinner and cards. An odd look—as though she were struggling to place Nell’s face, just as Nell had been struggling to place Innes’s.

It was Nell’s own fault. During the journey from London, she’d admitted to not having a mother. Naturally, Lady Belwood was fearful that Nell might be the child she’d given away. It was the very reason Nell had made the ill-advised admission—to provoke the woman’s fear and guilt.

Not Nell’s finest moment. Nor her wisest, either. The last thing she and Miles needed while investigating Mr. Cowgill’s death was another complication.

Sitting down in the chair opposite her ladyship, Nell withdrew a half-finished sampler from her workbag.

Lady Belwood resumed sewing. “Sir Walter is very fond of my embroidery,” she said. “He insists I be the one to initial all of his handkerchiefs, and all of the household linens.” She tipped the scrap of white fabric in her hand so Nell might see her work.

Nell didn’t have to pretend to be impressed. The delicate pattern, with its swirling letters and subtle floral motif, was one of the finest examples of stitchery she had ever seen. “It’s beautiful,” she said. “You have an exceedingly elegant hand.”

“I’ve often been praised for it,” Lady Belwood acknowledged with no trace of humility. She craned her head to see Nell’s work. “May I?”

Nell held her sampler out for her ladyship’s perusal. It wasn’t her best effort, but it was still rather formidable, all things considered.

Lady Belwood’s eyes shone with frank appreciation. “You’re very talented.”

“Thank you,” Nell said. “I confess, I do enjoy needlework.”

“May I ask how you learned it?” her ladyship inquired. “Was it a governess who taught you? I recall you mentioning that you had no mother.”

Nell quietly threaded her needle. She hadn’t expected Lady Belwood to broach the subject. She hadn’t thought her bold enough.

Then again, they were alone. And for the first time, too. During their previous meetings, there had always been at least one other person present—Effie, Miles, the guests at the shooting party. Someone to distract, to mediate, to set a guard on Nell’s tongue.

But not now.

Nell could say anything.

She finished threading her needle. “Everyone has a mother.”

Lady Belwood’s gaze intensified. This time it wasn’t fixed on Nell’s needlework. It was fixed on her face. “Did I misunderstand you?” she asked. “What you said on the train—”

“I did have a mother,” Nell informed her.

Lady Belwood’s countenance betrayed a flicker of relief.

It didn’t last.

Nell stabbed her needle into the coarse cloth of her sampler. “She left me when I was very young.”

Lady Belwood lost what remained of her color. “I see.” Her gaze dropped back to her handkerchief. She smoothed the embroidered letters with her thumb. “May I ask…under what circumstances?”

“I was too young to know them,” Nell said. “The woman who bore me surrendered me to Miss Corvus’s Benevolent Academy when I was but five years of age. I was left there, with my meager belongings—a few scraps of clothing and a little toy loom.”

A moan escaped Lady Belwood’s lips.