“Don’t be ridiculous, Nickerson.” Larson grunted and shook his head. “No woman is that smart.”
“I beg to differ,” Glynn said. “I have known many intelligent ladies.”
“Of course, you do, which is why none of them have agreed to marry you.” Larson grinned, obviously humored from his comment.
“And you think you’re smarter?” Glynn jumped to his feet and faced Larson.
Ashton stopped listening to his partners’ senseless argument as his mind began working properly. Both men had been right—if only a little. Most women Ashton had met were not very intelligent, yet Nicole was. True, there were a few times she tried to act naïve, but he could tell it was all for show. And she had been asking a lot of questions about his life. Then there was the fact that he had caught her and her brother dressed as waifs on the railway asking questions about the robberies.
His gut twisted with uncertainty. Was it possible she had been playing him for a fool this whole time? Why not? Most women he met lied to him and deceived him, any way they could. Why couldn’t Nicole be different? But the pain twisting like a knife in his heart told him she wasn’t.
NICOLE STROLLED WITH Mrs. Phelps along Stone Street as they did some shopping. It had been twenty-four very long hours since Nicole had seen Ashton, and she had the uncontrollable urge to drop by his office again. This time she didn’t dare visit him while Angela was with her. It wasn’t that she was afraid to do something wrong in front of Angela, but the older woman had always treated Nicole like a daughter, and she didn’t want that motherly advice she knew Mrs. Phelps liked to throw Nicole’s way every so often.
She felt a little more settled with their plans for the dinner party since Angela had contacted her friend who worked at the hotel and set them up a room. Nicole and Mrs. Phelps would wait in the lobby when Ashton’s friends came to get her for their social. Everything would appear just as it should be.
Mrs. Phelps insisted on going into the milliner’s shop. Nicole loved to collect beautiful gowns, but Angela loved to collect hats. In Nicole’s opinion, women shouldn’t have to wear hats. She loved her hair and wanted it long and flowing over her shoulders instead of tucked away in a coil at the back of her head or hiding underneath an awful hat. She thought Angela had pretty, brown hair and should show it off a little more, but the older woman wouldn’t think of such a thing.
Just as they stepped toward the door, a middle-aged woman exited. She was busy tying the ribbons of her hat under her chin and didn’t see Angela until almost bumping into her.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I—” The woman’s eyes widened. “Mrs. Phelps. What a pleasure to see you. How long has it been?”
Angela grinned. “At least six months.” She clasped the other lady’s hand in a friendly greeting.
The woman’s gaze moved to Nicole and stopped. “And who is this lovely creature?”
“This is Miss Bastian. I work with her father.”
Nicole tried not to appear startled at Angela’s comment, only because she wasn’t sure what exactly the other woman knew about their profession.
“Miss Bastian,” Angela said, looking at Nicole, “this is Miss Merriweather. I have known her for years.” She switched her gaze to the woman. “Margaret, this is Nicole Bastian.”
“How very nice to meet you.” She patted Nicole’s hand.
“And you, as well.” Nicole smiled.
“Don’t you think Mrs. Phelps is a remarkable woman?” Mrs. Merriweather beamed. “I have never known a woman who could do what this one does.”
“Oh, yes.” Nicole nodded, still not knowing how much to say. “She is absolutely amazing.”
“Now, now...” Angela waved her hand in the air. “Enough boasting about my accomplishments. I’m sure they are overrated.”
Nicole chuckled. Not often did she see this side of the detective.
“So tell me, Margaret,” Angela lowered her voice, “have you heard anything lately about Liverpool’s railway robberies? There are so many rumors, I just don’t know what to believe.”
Holding her breath, Nicole kept herself from overreacting. Angela must have told Mrs. Merriweather something about her secret life. Why else would she ask such a question?
“Actually, yes,” she whispered and leaned closer. “Rumor has it that the thief was spotted during their last robbery, and the guards were able to get a better description of him.”
Nicole gasped and put her hand over her mouth. Why hadn’t they heard this information yet? Mr. Walters hadn’t mentioned anything about a description.
“Do tell,” Angela urged.
“Apparently, he is a tall, strappingly handsome man with dark brown hair. Rumor has it that he is young, too.”
“How young?” Nicole whispered, not really wanting to hear this, especially if it pointed to Ashton.
“Probably in his late twenties or even early thirties.” Mrs. Merriweather nodded. “I’ve heard he dresses like a gentleman.”
