Simon let out a low whistle. “I feared as much. Governesses flee London all the time, but this coincidence seemed too neat.”
Neil leaned against his desk, staring down at the sketch. Even rendered in ink, those eyes stared back at him defiantly.
What made you run, Miss Winter? What did you see?
“Who is her father?” he heard himself ask quietly.
“Thomas Camden. A cloth merchant, by trade—and a fool. He owes Bramwell ten thousand pounds.”
Neil gave a low whistle. “Plus interest.”
“Naturally. He could never pay it, so he offered his daughter in lieu. To everyone’s astonishment, Bramwell accepted.”
“And did she accept?”
Simon frowned. “I do not recall anyone saying. I assumed she had.”
“Assume nothing,” Neil said sharply. “From what I have seen of this woman, she would never allow herself to be barteredso. Still, it matters little. What matters is that Bramwell believes he has a claim upon her—and means to find her.”
“He’s offering gold for information,” Simon warned. “And gold loosens tongues. You must send her away.”
Neil’s head came up. “Send her away?”
“Yes. Otherwise Bramwell will trace her here.”
Neil paced the room, rolling the paper into a tight cylinder and tapping it against his palm.
“If I send her away, and he follows her trail, he’ll come here regardless,” he said at last. “Besides—she must know something about him. There’s a reason she fled. Why not simply refuse him?”
“Perhaps she feared he would turn his wrath upon her father.”
“And running away would not do that? No. It takes courage—desperation, even—for a young woman, alone and penniless, to flee her home. There is more to this.”
Simon pursed his lips. “She did not strike you as naïve?”
Neil allowed himself a faint smile. “Not particularly.”
“Then she knows her own mind. All the same, I’d send her away. Think on it.”
Neil turned back to the window. He realised he was still holding his half-full glass of brandy and set it down. Simon immediately claimed the decanter.
“You don’t mind if I have another, do you, old boy?”
“Would it make any difference if I said no?”
“None whatever,” Simon said cheerfully, pouring himself a generous measure. “It’s too late now, but I should like to meet this Miss Winter—Miss Camden, I should say. What was she like?”
“Intelligent. Outspoken. Rather insolent, truth be told.”
“I like her already,” Simon laughed, settling back. “What does Mrs Thornton make of her?”
“She has not said. Though she took her straight to meet Emma—that seems a favourable sign. She never allowed Miss Swaddle that privilege so soon.”
And what if Emma loves her?Neil thought suddenly.She seems the sort a child might attach herself to. How could I send her away if she is exactly what Emma needs?
It was a sobering question.
“What did Jenny think of her?” Simon asked casually.
