Spotlight & Giveaway: The Marriage Method by Mimi Matthews

Today, HJ is pleased to share with you Mimi Matthews’s new release: The Marriage Method

The Academy always comes first . . . which makes marriage to its most formidable adversary an exceedingly inconvenient arrangement.

 
Well removed from London’s more curious eyes, the Benevolent Academy for the Betterment of Young Ladies strives toward one clandestine goal: to distract, disrupt, and discredit men in power who would seek to harm the advancement of women—by appropriate means, of course.

When intrepid newspaper editor Miles Quincy starts to question the school’s intentions, the Academy appoints Penelope “Nell” Trewlove, one of their brightest graduates, to put this nuisance to rest. An easy enough mission, she supposes. Or it would be, if Miles wasn’t so fascinating—too fascinating to resist—and if Nell’s visit to London didn’t perfectly coincide with the murder of one of Miles’s reporters.

When the inexorable claws of fate trap Nell and Miles in a compromising situation, they agree to an arrangement that will save their reputations while enabling them to investigate the story that led to a man’s death, as well as the surprising chemistry between them . . .

Enjoy an exclusive excerpt from The Marriage Method 

“Miss Trewlove?”

Nell’s head turned sharply. Never mind that she’d been expecting him, the sight of the tall, raven-haired newspaper editor still served to send a jolt through her. She stared up at him from behind her veil. “Mr. Quincey?”

He was in his shirtsleeves, his cravat askew and his black waistcoat rumpled. It did nothing to lessen his air of command. Self-assurance radiated from every inch of him. “Apologies for the delay. One of my reporters has gone missing and my staff is up in arms.” He entered, closing the door behind him. “I trust you don’t mind my not leaving it open? I’ve no wish to let the cat out.”

“The cat?” She flicked another glance to the sofa as she moved to rise. “I didn’t see any-”

“Pray don’t get up. We’re not much for formalities here. We’ve precious little time for them.” Rather than bow, he reached to shake her hand. “I am, however, very pleased to meet you.”

Nell’s mouth went dry as his fingers engulfed hers. His hand was easily twice the size of her own, surely better suited to holding a steel broadsword than a steel-nibbed pen. His shoulders were quite broad, too, lending an unmistakable power to the leanness of his long-limbed frame.

Alarm bells jangled in her head, inspired as much by his physical presence as by the peculiar intensity that gleamed at the back of his dark brown eyes.

This was the gentleman who had penned the explosive series of articles that had lately brought down a powerful politician. A dogged and indefatigable reporter, possessed of an unassailable firmness of character, unafraid of retaliation or threats.

For the first time, Nell considered the possibility that she might be out of her depth.

“As to the cat,” Mr. Quincey continued, releasing her hand, “she’s barely civilized. She’ll be hiding here somewhere.” He crossed to his desk, taking a seat behind it in the large leather chair. “Did Higgins offer you tea? I can have some brought in for you.”

“I thank you, no,” Nell said. She made an effort to regain her composure. In truth, she was astonished she’d lost it-even if it was only for the space of a heartbeat.

She wasn’t accustomed to dealing with men, that was the trouble. She’d spent the majority of her life at the Academy, first as an orphan, then as a teacher. Nearly the whole of her three-and-twenty years, surrounded by girls and women. The only gentlemen to ever set foot through the gates were the antiquated members of the parish council, and then but rarely. Miss Corvus saw to that.

Nell couldn’t recall when she’d last been obliged to deal with any gentleman under the age of fifty. Unless one counted the stripling lads from the village who sometimes attempted communication with the orphan girls. And Mr. Quincey was no stripling. He must be thirty, at least.

He regarded her from across his desk’s cluttered surface. He wasn’t a handsome man. Not in the classical manner. His face was too angular and severe-his brows too stern, his clean-shaven jaw too hard, and his bold aquiline nose a fraction too large. But his features hung together in such a striking way that one could easily forget their asymmetry.

“Your journey wasn’t too taxing?” he asked.

“Not terribly,” she said.

“Yet still a lengthy business. I’d have preferred coming to you. It would have saved you the trouble.”

“I have multiple reasons for coming to London,” Nell said. “My trip won’t be wasted.”

She was to visit Effie when she and her new husband returned to town in two days’ time. Until they did, Nell had other Academy business to attend to. Important business. It was that which should rightly be occupying her thoughts, not the solemn countenance and unusually broad shoulders of a prying newspaperman she would likely never see again after this morning.

“I’m pleased to hear it,” he said. “I won’t keep you overlong. There are just a few matters about the charity school that I’d hoped you might clarify.” Small talk dispensed with, he picked up his pen, giving every indication that he intended to take notes of their conversation.

Nell would have expected nothing less. “By all means,” she said. “Miss Corvus’s Academy has nothing to hide.”

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 Benevolent 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.

Excerpted from The Marriage Method by Mimi Matthews Copyright © 2025 by Mimi Matthews. Excerpted by permission of Berkley. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
 
 

Giveaway: 1 finished copy of THE MARRIAGE METHOD (U.S. only, 18+)

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Meet the Author:

USA Today bestselling author Mimi Matthews writes both historical nonfiction and award-winning Victorian romances. Her novels have received starred reviews in Publishers Weekly, Library Journal, Booklist, Kirkus Reviews, and Shelf Awareness, and her articles have been featured on the Victorian Web, the Journal of Victorian Culture, and in syndication at BUST magazine. In her other life, Mimi is an attorney. She resides in California with her family, which includes an Andalusian dressage horse, a Sheltie, a miniature poodle, and two Siamese cats.

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