It was a falsehood, to be sure. And one Nell didn’t blush to utter. The Academy was her vocation. Her life. Her home. She wouldn’t quail at defending it, even if it meant occasionally speaking something less than the truth to those who threatened its well-being.

Gloved hands folded neatly in her lap, she waited for Mr. Quincey’s questions. But he didn’t give voice to them. Not immediately. He only looked at her with a pensive frown, as though something about her person prevented him from pursuing his logical course.

“Forgive me,” he said at length. “Mrs. Royce failed to mention that you were lately bereaved. Had I known of your loss, I would never have pressed you to—”

“I am not bereaved,” Nell said.

“No?” He swept a glance from her black-veiled hat to her lusterless black mourning dress with its tight-fitting bodice and wide, untrimmed skirts. “You can doubtless understand my confusion.”

Nell would have thought it plain enough. “I traveled alone from the Academy. I preferred to do so unmolested.” She paused, adding, “Widows are generally accorded a degree of respect not offered to unaccompanied young ladies.”

Mr. Quincey didn’t bat an eye at her explanation. She suspected he was a man who wasn’t easily surprised. “In other words, it’s a disguise.”

Nell’s expression tightened. Leave it to a man to reduce a woman’s desire to protect herself to a childish pantomime. “It’s a practical necessity,” she said.

“I see. And do all teachers at Miss Corvus’s Academy for the Betterment of Young Ladies employ such arts? Or is it only you who…” His words died away as she pushed back her veil.

Ah. Perhaps he was capable of being surprised after all.

Nell met his gaze, a hint of a challenge in her own. She wasn’t vain. Neither was she guilty of false modesty. She knew herself, both her weaknesses and her strengths. “Feminine ingenuity isn’t limited to the staff room at the Academy,” she informed him. “Though, I assure you, it’s in no short supply there.”

Mr. Quincey collected himself in a blink—so quickly Nell wondered if she’d imagined the look of masculine alertness that had flared in his eyes on first seeing her face. Clearing his throat, he very slowly and very methodically returned his pen to the brass holder on his desk. “Something else Mrs. Royce failed to mention.”

“What might that be?”

“How young you are.”

Nell stiffened at his frank tone of disappointment. She wasn’t used to anyone implying she was lacking in wisdom or experience. On the contrary. In times of crisis, people generally looked to her for guidance. During Miss Corvus’s recent illness, Nell had all but been running the school. “Is my age of importance to your inquiries?”

“Only as it pertains to your tenure,” he said. “You can’t have been in your position long.”