The Matrimonial Advertisement

by Matthews, Mimi

  “Mr. Fothergill will require a duplicate of that,” he said to Mr. Boothroyd. “And see that Mr. St. John’s solicitor gets a copy.”

  She gazed out the window. The rain had stopped for good, or so it seemed. How many days would it take for the cliff road to be passable?

  And how many days before Mr. Glyde would once again make an appearance?

  The familiar fear settled over her. She tried to suppress it. To drive it back with cold rationality. She was married now. Justin would never let anyone take her. He’d promised her that.

  Even so, she couldn’t help but worry.

  There was no guarantee that Mr. Finchley’s scheme would work. In the end, the cost to her reputation—and to her peace of mind—might all be for nothing. She could be ostracized. Or worse. Her uncle could seize control of her again and have her locked away somewhere.

  But what was the alternative? A lifetime of living in fear of her uncle and Mr. Glyde? Of peering out of windows? Never knowing from one day to the next whether or not she was safe.

  Was such a life even worth living?

  She resumed reading her book. Her nerves were all a-jangle, but she was determined to forget her problems, even if only for a while.

  Several absorbing chapters later, she heard the library doors close behind Mr. Boothroyd. She marked her place in her book and set it aside as Justin came to stand in front of her.

  His expression was guarded. “Are you enjoying your novel?”

  “Very much,” she said. “I confess, I’ve read it before.”

  “Of course you have.” He leaned his shoulder against the window frame. “You seem very comfortable here.”

  “I hope I’m not disrupting your work.”

  “Not at all. Though I do think it must be boring for you. Trapped here in this house, with nothing to do but read books you’ve already read.”

  “I’m not bored.”

  “Not even after listening to me drone on about the North Devon Railway?”

  She smiled. “I like hearing your voice.”

  At her admission, a faint flush of color appeared at Justin’s neck. She could see it, gradually creeping above the line of his turned-down shirt collar and sensibly tied black cravat.

  He cleared his throat. “I hadn’t realized it was so affecting.”

  His embarrassment only served to feed her own. She felt her cheeks warming. “You’ll tease me mercilessly now, won’t you?”

  “I shall be sorely tempted.” He sat down next to her. The hem of her skirts brushed his thigh. He gave the rose-colored fabric a soft tug with his fingers. “This dress again.”

  “It’s the only one that’s clean. Mrs. Standish is washing the two others I brought with me. She’s going to treat the ordinary stains with gin.”

  “Have we any?”

  “She isn’t certain. She says Mrs. Whitlock may have drunk it all.”

  “True enough.” His eyes found hers. There was no humor in them. “Helena…About those things I told you on the beach…”

  “Yes?”

  “I beg your pardon for speaking so candidly. It was badly done of me.”

  “Don’t be silly. I asked you about your past. I want to know. Naturally, I didn’t mind your telling me.”

  “You disappeared afterward.”

  “Because I needed time to think,” she said. “Which I have done.”

  “And?”

  “It wasn’t easy for you to share all of that with me, was it? The truth about Sir Oswald and your mother and your friends from the orphanage.”

  “There are certainly more pleasant topics.”

  She uncurled her legs from beneath her and shook out her skirts. “Yes, well…it’s made me think about our situation. About my situation. Which is selfish, really. Except that our lives are now so inextricably tied together.” She took a breath. “What I’m trying to say is I’ve decided that, yes, I will go to London with you. I’ll speak to the gentleman at the paper.”

  Justin fell silent for a moment. His expression was solemn, his gray gaze holding hers with greater than usual intensity. “What changed your mind?”

  “When I hear how thoroughly you’ve persevered, how brave you’ve been, it makes me feel brave, too. I’m not brave, though, am I? I’m scared to death of going back. But I’ll do it. Only…I’ll probably cling on your arm even worse than I did when we were riding on Hiran.”

  He took her hand in his, engulfing it in the strong clasp of his fingers. Butterflies fluttered in her stomach as he raised it to his lips and pressed a kiss to her knuckles.

  “What was that for?” she asked.

  “For trusting me. In spite of it all.”

  She pressed his hand. “I do trust you, Justin. With all my heart.”

  Over the next two days, as the roads dried out, preparations for their journey to London began in earnest. Financial arrangements were made, clothes were laundered and packed, and Boothroyd and Neville were both given instructions on managing things in Justin’s absence.

  The morning of their departure, Danvers brought the carriage round to the front of the Abbey. “We’ll drive to the railway station in Abbot’s Holcombe,” Justin explained as he handed Helena up into the cab. He climbed in after her, settling in the opposite seat. “It’s a shorter distance than driving all the way to Barnstaple.”

  Helena looked out the window. She didn’t appear to be fully attending what he was saying. Her face was pale, her gloved hands twisted together in her lap.

  Danvers gave the horses the office to start. The antiquated carriage rolled forward with a shudder.

  “We can wire Finchley to let him know we’re on our way,” Justin went on. “No doubt he’s already found us a house to let for the duration of our stay.”

  “Was he that certain I would agree to come?”

  “Finchley always plans for every eventuality. He’s much like Boothroyd in that respect.”

  Helena fell quiet for a moment. Her expression was shadowed. “A house in a fashionable street will be expensive. And we don’t yet know if the bank will release any of my funds.”

  “Let me worry about expenses.”

  She gave him a pained glance. “There will be so many of them.”

  Justin well knew it. Boothroyd had been subtly reminding him of that fact for the past several days. “It doesn’t signify. Finchley and I have everything well in hand.”

  Or so Justin hoped.

  He knew precious little about fashionable society. He knew even less about the law. In truth, he half expected a dozen of the earl’s solicitors to greet them on their arrival in London and produce legal documents that not only dissolved his marriage to Helena, but gave them the authority to take her away. He could too easily imagine what it would feel like to stand there watching, powerless to help her.

  He’d been in that position before.

  But this wasn’t Cawnpore. It was England. And Finchley did know the law. He was confident in the plan he’d proposed. Boothroyd had given the plan his vote of approval as well. All Justin had to do was execute it. What could possibly go wrong?

  Everything, he thought grimly.

  But it wouldn’t do to dwell on worst-case scenarios. Not when Helena’s nerves were already taut as a bowstring.

  He made an effort to turn the conversation to more trivial topics, keeping up a constant—and quite uncharacteristic—patter until they arrived at the station in Abbot’s Holcombe.

  After disembarking from the carriage, they stopped at the booking office to purchase two first-class tickets. True to her word, Helena clung fast to his arm. She was frightened and trying hard not to show it.

  “We’ve a half hour until the train arrives,” Justin said. “Would you like to stop at the bookstall? They have penny novels. You could get one for the journey.”

  She
shook her head. “I couldn’t read a word. I’m far too nervous.”

  He covered her gloved hand with his, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

  The train arrived at ten past eleven in a cacophony of screeching metal, smoke, and steam. A crowd of passengers disembarked, ladies and gentleman of every description rushing this way and that. It was nowhere near as crowded as King’s Cross or Waterloo Station in London, but it was far busier than Justin had anticipated. For once, he was grateful for his imposing height. He easily caught the attention of one of the porters and summoned him to load their luggage onto the train.

  “That’s our carriage, just there,” he murmured to Helena. “We can board in a moment. You’ll feel more at ease when we’ve taken our seats.”

  They walked down the platform toward the first-class railway carriage. A group of ladies was huddled together nearby, talking loudly amongst themselves. As Justin and Helena passed, he saw one of them detach herself from the group.

  “Can it be?” she exclaimed. “What a mercy. Look, Mama. It’s Thornhill. And that must be his new bride!”

  For an instant, time stood still. Justin might have been an orphan boy, newly apprenticed, hearing the shrill voices of Mrs. Bray and her daughter as they heaped abuse on him.

  But the two ladies who approached looked nothing like the ones in his memory.

  Mrs. Bray’s hair had turned gray and her sturdy figure had gone to fat. She was clad in unrelieved black, a jet brooch pinned at her jiggling throat. Cecilia Bray was likewise garbed in black, her taffeta skirts stretched over an enormous wire crinoline. She was still possessed of the golden curls and pouting lips that had marked her as a village beauty in her youth; however, next to Helena, such paltry charms appeared decidedly second-rate.

  There was no way to avoid introductions.

  “Helena,” he said. “May I present Mrs. Bray and her daughter? I was apprenticed to Mrs. Bray’s husband for a time when I was a boy. Madam? Allow me to introduce—”

  “Your wife,” Mrs. Bray interrupted. “We know all about your marriage, sir.” Her gimlet eyes fixed on Helena, examining her with undisguised curiosity. “You’re an earl’s daughter, are you? Don’t know how you ever met Thornhill.”

  Miss Bray tittered. “Oh, Mama. Where are your manners?” She turned to Helena and, to Justin’s astonishment, dropped a deep curtsy. “I’m honored, your ladyship.”

  Helena responded to the ludicrous gesture with a subtle inclination of her head. “Miss Bray.”

  “Oh, no.” She tittered again. “I haven’t been Miss Bray in donkey’s years. I’m Mrs. Pettypiece now. My husband owns the draper’s shop in Abercrombie Street.” She slanted a cool glance at Justin, adding, “He’s ever so rich.”

  Justin didn’t know any draper by the name of Pettypiece. He nevertheless felt a flash of pity for the man.

  “If you haven’t yet been to the shops here in Abbot’s Holcombe, Cecilia will gladly accompany you,” Mrs. Bray said. “You’ll be lamenting the lack of society, living at the Abbey. You are living at the Abbey, aren’t you? A cold, dank place, far past its days of glory. Not a proper residence for a lady, as my daughter can tell you.”

  Mrs. Pettypiece nodded vigorously. “The best people hereabouts live in Abbot’s Holcombe,” she informed Helena. “You may take my word for it. I was once friendly with a viscount’s daughter. Miss Elizabeth Parker. Do you know her, my lady? She moved in the very best circles.”

  “I’ve not had the pleasure,” Helena said.

  “Hmm.” Mrs. Pettypiece touched a finger to her chin. “Let me see… Who else am I acquainted with in the peerage?”

  Justin’s eyes narrowed. Good God. Had the Bray women always been such toadeaters? “If you’ll forgive us, madam. We have a train to catch.”

  “Are you traveling first class?” Mrs. Pettypiece inquired of Helena. “That is the first-class carriage, isn’t it?”

  “First class.” Mrs. Bray clucked her tongue. “Thornhill always did put on airs. When I saw the announcement of his marriage—”

  Justin’s attention snapped to Mrs. Bray. “What announcement?”

  “It’s in this morning’s paper.” Mrs. Pettypiece gave a little laugh, her eyes averted from his face. “Didn’t you know?”

  Justin exchanged a glance with Helena. “Finchley,” he said under his breath.

  Helena nodded. “Perhaps we should procure a newspaper?”

  She didn’t need to ask twice. After bidding a curt adieu to Mrs. Bray and her daughter, he and Helena walked back to the bookstand. He purchased a copy of the North Devon Post.

  Helena leaned over his arm as he rifled through the pages. The announcements of births, marriages, and deaths were located at the back.

  “Here it is.” He straightened the page, holding it up so they could both read it at the same time.

  On the 27th September at the District Registrar’s Office in Abbot’s Holcombe, Burlington-street, Captain Justin Thornhill, of King’s Abbot, to Lady Helena Elaine Reynolds, daughter of the late Earl of Castleton, Hampshire.

  Helena drew back with a short, anxious laugh. “You were right. Mr. Finchley is thorough.”

  “He’s making sure everything appears aboveboard.” Justin’s brow furrowed as he read the marriage announcement over again. “See here? This is a reprint. The original announcement appeared in the Times three days ago.”

  Helena’s hand tightened on his forearm. “My uncle takes the Times.”

  “It won’t have been news to him. He’d have already heard of our marriage from Mr. Glyde.”

  Helena looked troubled, but there was no time to discuss the matter. The stationmaster was already calling out the first warning for the London train. At the sound of his shout, they began making their way toward the first-class railway carriage.

  Mrs. Bray and her daughter were still standing on the platform. Justin tipped his hat to them as they passed.

  He’d always imagined that if he encountered them again, he’d feel the same storm of emotion he’d felt as a child. The same sense of helpless rage at the injustice of his situation. Now, in their presence, he was obliged to acknowledge a hard truth.

  The old hurt at how they’d treated him was gone. Even the longing he’d had as a boy, the deep desire to be included in their family, had faded away to nothing. They were just two silly females. Strangers, really. And yet…

  The anger still remained.

  He was reluctant to let it go. He’d nursed old grievances for far too long. They’d been his guiding light since his childhood. His impetus for bettering himself, for accumulating his modest fortune. Without them, he had a sense that he’d become unmoored. Lost in a great pit of nothingness.

  “What a peculiar pair of women,” Helena said once they’d settled across from each other on the train.

  Their compartment was paneled in rich, dark wood. The floor was carpeted and there were parcel racks installed above the upholstered seats. It was a level of luxury reserved for first-class carriages, and only then for those on newer trains.

  “By peculiar, I assume you mean odious,” he said.

  “I’d certainly never say that.” A suppressed laugh vibrated in her voice. The sound of it made Justin smile.

  He liked to think he could make her laugh. He didn’t much care how he accomplished it. “You don’t have to. I’ll say it.”

  Helena untied her bonnetstrings. “Have they always been so unpleasant?”

  “I confess, they seemed more so in my youth.” Justin dropped his tall beaver hat on the seat cushion beside him. “They never looked at me, did you notice? Not if they could help it.”

  “They seemed rather fascinated with my honorific.”

  “They were. But it wasn’t only that.” Justin ran a hand over his rumpled hair. At his right side, elegant fabric shades with tassel pulls were drawn up to reveal newly
washed windows. He could see his reflection within the glass. The sight of it made him grimace. “It’s the burn scars.”

  “Nonsense,” Helena said. “One hardly notices them.”

  She removed her bonnet. Her hair was parted in the center, the bulk of it drawn back into an oversized roll at her nape. A few curling strands had worked loose at her temples and cheek. She smoothed them back into her coiffure with an expert hand.

  His own hand clenched at his side. She was achingly lovely; imbuing even the most commonplace tasks with an elegance and femininity that made his heart beat faster.

  “You noticed them,” he said. “The day we met in King’s Abbot.”

  She made a dismissive sound. “For precisely five seconds. Such things fade away when you get to know a person.”

  “Do they?”

  “In my experience.” She straightened her skirts. “Do the scars bother you so much?”

  “Sometimes, when they pull or ache. But the appearance of them…no. I never much cared how they looked until the day you arrived.”

  Her brows lifted. “What on earth have I to do with it?”

  “I feared they would put you off.”

  She gave him a look of gentle reproof. “You were afraid you repulsed me. That’s what you said at the inn.”

  Good God, had he? “It feels like a lifetime ago.”

  She rested her hands in her lap. She was still wearing her gloves. They were made of fine kidskin, secured at her wrists with delicate, pearl-sized buttons. “I nearly told you the truth that day, did you know that? About my uncle and Mr. Glyde.”

  “I wish you would have.”

  “And if I had…would you still have married me?”

  Justin stilled. Her question hung in the air between them for several uncomfortable seconds. He couldn’t bring himself to lie to her. “I don’t know,” he admitted.