Page 63 of The Marriage Method

Franc raised his head from the tufted satin pillow where he lay curled up on the bed.

Nell gave the poodle a reassuring pet. “I’m sure he doesn’t,” she said. “Just because he’s fond of cats—”

“Obsessed with cats, more like. And with his paper. And with his own consequence.” Having located the item she was searching for (a flat green velvet box), Effie slammed shut the lid of her trunk. “He’s a thoroughly unpleasant gentleman.”

Nell understood why Effie might think so. During her pursuit of Lord Compton, Effie had called on Miles at the Courant with Franc in tow, unaware that there would be cats present in his office. And Franc didn’t care for cats. The result had been pure pandemonium. Add to that, the fact that Effie had been lying about her identity, misrepresenting her intentions, and generally creating chaos wherever she went, and it was no mystery why she and Miles hadn’t got on.

Effie didn’t value order and method. While Miles had too much respect for them to ever appreciate chaos as a strategy. And if one didn’t appreciate chaos, one couldn’t wholly appreciate Effie.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Nell said. “Mr. Quincey has many redeeming qualities.”

Effie came around the edge of the bed to join Nell, the velvet box in her hands. “Very well,” she said. “If that’s true, then name his best one.”

Nell could think of half a dozen of Miles’s good qualities at once. His loyalty. His sense of honor. His kindness to animals.

The way he kissed.

But that wouldn’t serve. Not as a defense to Effie’s ill opinion of him.

And it wasn’t his best quality in any case. That was something else. Something unique to him—as vexing as it was impressive.

“Regrettably,” she said, “his best quality is also his worst one.”

Effie elevated her brows in question.

Nell grimaced. “He pays attention.”

Effie studied Nell for a moment in silence. “I see.”

Heat rose in Nell’s cheeks.

Effie smiled. “Is that a blush, Miss Trewlove?”

“It is not,” Nell said.

Effie sank down beside her. The mattress dipped beneath her weight. “There’s much to be said for a man who pays attention.”

Nell met her friend’s eyes with a flash of rueful humor. “There were three separate bouquets of gardenias in my new bedroom when I arrived.”

“So,” Effie mused, “the dour Mr. Quincey isn’t, after all, lacking in sentiment.”

“No,” Nell said. “Which is nothing to the point. Ours is a marriage of convenience.”

“In truth?”

“Of course. What else could it be?”

Effie searched Nell’s face. “And your wedding night…?”

The heat in Nell’s cheeks deepened. “Was spent alone. Or rather, with one of Mr. Quincey’s cats.”

“Good heavens,” Effie said. “You poor dear.”

“Not at all,” Nell replied, a trifle defensive. “I slept extraordinarily well.”

“You do know that you’re welcome to stay here?”

“That’s very generous of you but—”