The Matrimonial Advertisement

by Matthews, Mimi

  Justin didn’t know what to say. The future of their marriage was a subject that had been preying on his mind a great deal of late. Indeed, in the past several days, the entire affair had become far more complicated than it had seemed when first he and Helena had met in Devon.

  He still wanted her. Of course he did. He wanted all of her. Her laughter and her smiles. Her soft kisses and the tender caress of her hands. He wanted her heart and her soul—and her body. He wanted her so much that at times it was painful to look at her.

  The problem was, their relationship could no longer be reduced to what he wanted.

  But he didn’t wish to think about any of that. Not now. Not when she was in his arms.

  “One-two-three,” he murmured in her ear.

  She laughed softly. “I fear we passed the remedial long ago.”

  “Indeed. But one mustn’t ever forget the basics.” He executed another outrageous turn, taking immense pleasure in the way her eyes brightened and her lips curved into a smile.

  When the music came to an end, he led her from the floor. They were briefly caught in a sea of other guests saying their farewells and fetching their coats and wraps. But they didn’t linger. After taking leave of their hostess, they proceeded outside to the street. It was lined with gleaming black carriages, many of which had crests lacquered on the doors.

  Their own more humble vehicle was at the end of the block. There was no use hailing the coachman. The street was too congested for him to drive any closer. “We’ll have to walk to it,” Justin said.

  Helena tucked her gloved hand more securely in his arm as they started off down the street. They’d gone no more than a few steps when Justin felt the fine hairs on the back of his neck lift in warning. He turned around sharply, a flicker of foreboding bringing him to abrupt attention.

  “What’s wrong?” Helena asked.

  Justin looked up and down the street, but there was no sign of Mr. Glyde—or anyone else who appeared to be a villain. Even so, he had the distinct feeling they were being watched.

  “Nothing,” he said. But when they reached their carriage, he lost no time in bundling Helena inside. He climbed in after her, sitting beside her on the forward facing seat.

  Helena withdrew several pins from her coiffure. “The ballroom was uncommonly hot,” she said as she removed the floral wreath from her head. “Look. All of my flowers have wilted.”

  “I noticed. You were dropping petals from your skirts all through the reel.”

  “Was I? How embarrassing.” She set aside the wreath. “I suppose wax flowers would have been tidier. Then again, they wouldn’t have smelled half as well.”

  He stretched his arm along the back of the seat and, as had become their custom during carriage rides home, she settled closer to him, resting her head against his chest.

  “Ah well,” she sighed. “It was good while it lasted.”

  He draped his arm around her shoulders, even as her words sent a pang of despair straight through his vitals. She was speaking of the trimmings on her gown, but to him such sentiments took on a whole other meaning. Yes, it was good. And he fervently hoped it would last a very long while. But one must be realistic.

  They were reaching the end of things.

  That fact had been hammered home to him with each dance at this evening’s ball. In her rose-festooned silk gown, her dark tresses bound up in a wreath of flowers and her creamy skin on elegant display, Helena was as dazzling and unattainable as the Koh-i-Noor diamond. A rare and precious jewel of infinite value. And the fashionable glitter of London high society was her proper setting. Not the rural countryside. And certainly not a remote and dilapidated abbey in coastal Devon.

  “Do you know what I’d like to do tomorrow?” she asked.

  Justin turned his face into her hair. “What’s that, my dear?”

  “I’d like to do something—go somewhere—with Jenny and Mr. Finchley. It doesn’t seem fair that we should go out every night and Jenny should have to wait up for us, all alone in the parlor with only her needlework for company.”

  “What did she do to occupy herself before all this unpleasantness started?”

  “She wasn’t obliged to do anything. I was never out this much before. Certainly not every evening. And if I went to a ball or a supper party, I made certain Jenny was invited as well. She’s not a servant, you know.”

  “You pay her, don’t you?”

  “Yes, an annual sum, but that’s more an allowance than a wage. And it’s not nearly enough. When the bank releases my funds, I plan to set up an independence for her.”

  “You’d send her away from you?”

  Helena gave his evening coat a little tug. “Don’t be silly. I’d never send Jenny away. But she must be free to go if she wishes. It’s dreadful to depend on other people. No matter how kind they are, you always feel beholden. As if you’re an object of charity.”

  “I won’t argue with that.”

  “Is that how you felt? At the orphanage?”

  “Beholden? Good God, no. There was nothing to be beholden for. We were treated abominably. The entire establishment was corrupt, the children poorly clothed and barely fed. When I left there for my apprenticeship, I didn’t feel beholden to them. I felt as if—”

  “What?”

  “As if they’d taken something from me. As if they’d incurred a debt. When I left England, I was determined that one day they’d repay it.”

  “You’re speaking of vengeance.”

  “I’m speaking of justice.”

  Her fingers moved idly on his coat, smoothing a nonexistent wrinkle. “Was it you who closed down the orphanage?”

  “Me?” Justin gave a humorless laugh. “No. My sights were set firmly on Sir Oswald at the time. It was Finchley. And he didn’t just close it. He had the building razed to the ground.”

  Helena digested this bit of information in silence. “He’s so kind and good-humored,” she said at last. “As if nothing troubles him excepting matters of law.”

  “Finchley is amiable enough, I’ll grant you. But he has a diabolical mind and an unforgiving nature. He can hold onto a grudge longer than anyone I’ve ever known. It doesn’t pay to be on the wrong side of him.”

  “I’ll remember that.”

  “No need. You’re not likely to do anything to incur his wrath.”

  “Goodness, I should hope not.” She settled her cheek more comfortably against his chest. “Do you think he’ll agree to accompany us on an outing tomorrow?”

  “With Miss Holloway? Undoubtedly. What did you have in mind?”

  “An evening entertainment. Something lighthearted. We’ve accepted no invitations yet. We can do whatever we please.”

  “On a Saturday evening, you may take your choice of amusements. But if it’s to be the four of us…” Justin considered the options. “It’s closing day at Cremorne Gardens tomorrow. They’ll have jugglers and tightrope walkers and the like. Music and dancing, as well.”

  “I’ve never been,” Helena said. “My father believed places like Cremorne Gardens and Vauxhall were dens of vice.”

  “They are,” Justin said. “That’s half the fun.”

  Located on the northern bank of the Thames, Cremorne Gardens was comprised of twelve sprawling acres on which all manner of entertainments were made available to the public. There were military exhibitions and feats of dangerous daring, including high-wire acts and balloon ascents. Music and dancing were available on a raised platform, hot food and cold drinks were served in the banqueting hall, and a grand pavilion played host to horticultural exhibitions from all over the world.

  They entered the gardens through a pair of majestic black iron gates. Helena held onto Justin’s arm and Jenny was escorted by Mr. Finchley. It was a chilly evening and both she and Jenny wore mantles over their gowns.

  “What shall we d
o first?” Mr. Finchley asked.

  “Dancing,” Jenny said emphatically.

  The evening commenced in a whirlwind of activity. They danced and laughed and drank champagne. They watched a tightrope walker teetering across a wire cable strung up sixty feet from the ground—a display which made Helena gasp several times and bury her face in Justin’s sleeve. And then, at Mr. Finchley’s urging, they sought out one of the garden’s most popular attractions: the celebrated whist-playing dog.

  “The Learned Dog, Lily,” Jenny read aloud from a playbill. “What a hum!”

  But when a volunteer was drawn from the audience to act as Lily’s opponent at whist, the little brown and white spaniel truly did appear to play a creditable game.

  “As canny as a Bath dowager,” Mr. Finchley remarked.

  “Her owner is giving her cues,” Justin said. “Look.”

  “What cues?” Helena couldn’t discern any. Indeed, the mustachioed gentleman standing beside the little dog was hardly moving at all.

  “Admit it,” Mr. Finchley said when they finally drifted away. “The dog is a genius.”

  “If I had a genius dog,” Jenny retorted, “I’d train it up to do something more useful than play whist and dominoes.”

  Helena laughed. “We have two dogs at the Abbey. Paul and Jonesy. I can’t imagine they’d enjoy a card game. Unless there was a marrow bone involved.”

  Justin glanced down at her, a strange sort of smile playing at his lips. He didn’t say anything.

  His mood had been somewhat erratic of late.

  Most of the time, he behaved just as he had before. He was kind and protective, sometimes confiding in her, sometimes teasing her and making her laugh. But there were moments where he fell quiet. When his thoughts seemed to turn inward. Even worse, there were moments when he fell into a fit of the sullens. When he was terse and gruff, brooding over some problem, the substance of which he seemed quite unwilling to share.

  “Shall we visit the Ashburnham Pavilion?” he asked.

  They all agreed that they should and proceeded across the gardens to the immense cathedral-like structure that had lately played host to an exhibition of American plants. It was constructed of wood joined with iron bolts and boasted a roof of watertight canvas. More than two hundred glassless rectangular windows lined the upper part of the walls, leaving the pavilion open to the elements.

  “It’s so dark and empty,” Jenny said. “The exhibition must be closed.”

  Justin lifted his hand and rubbed the back of his neck. He then looked around them, his gaze drifting over the surrounding landscape. It was dotted with trees and shrubs and crisscrossed with paths on which small groups of people were walking, talking, and laughing.

  Helena felt his body go rigid at her side. “What’s wrong?” she asked. He’d behaved in just such a way outside Lady Wardlow’s house. “Do you see someone?”

  Mr. Finchley moved to Justin’s side. Helena saw the two of them exchange a weighted look. There was more understanding in that look—more history—than she could presently comprehend.

  “Justin?” she prompted.

  “Finchley is going to take you and Miss Holloway home,” he said abruptly.

  A shiver of fear traced its icy cold fingers down Helena’s spine. “Why? Is it Mr. Glyde? Is he here?”

  Mr. Finchley gently took Helena’s arm. “If you will, my lady.”

  She didn’t budge. “Justin, I—”

  “We’ll talk at the house.” He gave her a hard glance. “No questions, Helena. I need you to go with Finchley. Now.”

  “But—”

  “Now!” he barked.

  It was a battlefield command if she’d ever heard one. It made her jump nearly out of her skin. Drat him and his highhandedness! She lifted her chin a notch, drawing her dignity about herself as securely as she drew her velvet mantle. “As you wish.”

  Her heart pounded like a triphammer as she took Mr. Finchley’s arm.

  He offered his other arm to Jenny. “Straight to the carriage, ladies. No dawdling.”

  Helena glanced back at Justin over her shoulder, but he wasn’t looking at her. He was looking out at the darkened landscape again.

  “I didn’t see anything,” Jenny said. “Did you see anything? Did you?”

  “Not a thing,” Mr. Finchley replied as he hurried them to the garden gates. “But I’ve known Thornhill too long to ask questions when he gets that look in his eye.

  Justin stood, immobile, as Horace Glyde emerged from the stand of trees near Ashburnham Pavilion. He was wearing a dark cloth coat and a low-brimmed felt hat tipped low over his eyes.

  “How long have you been following us?” Justin asked. His blood was already boiling, but as he looked at the man who’d hunted Helena and hurt her, a white-hot rage ignited within him. It burned away the raw edges of his reason, leaving nothing behind but a primitive urge for swift and brutal violence.

  Glyde regarded him warily. “I’m not following you, guv. It’s Castleton’s niece I’m after.”

  Justin advanced on him. “She’s my wife. Did you truly think I’d let you take her?”

  Glyde showed no sign of retreating. He was an enormous brute. He’d likely never had to run away from a fight in the whole of his miserable life. “It’s not up to you, is it? It’s the law. Just like the magistrate said in Devon.”

  “If your actions are lawful, why are you skulking about Mayfair and Cremorne Gardens? Why don’t you show yourself in the light of day?”

  Glyde came forward. He stopped in front of the entrance to the pavilion, only an arm’s length away from Justin. “His lordship don’t want a scandal, sir. You know that.”

  “What I know is that you seem to enjoy terrorizing gently bred ladies.”

  “It’s nothing personal.”

  “It is to me.” Justin’s fists clenched reflexively at his sides. The ominous sound of his knuckles cracking made Glyde cast an uneasy glance downward.

  “Easy, guv,” he said. “No need to come to blows. It’s just a job.”

  “To hurt and abuse women?”

  “Not a woman. A lunatic. You’ve seen the papers. Castleton said—Oomph!” Glyde’s head snapped back on his thick neck as Justin landed a staggering punch square on his jaw.

  After that, Glyde abandoned any pretense of civility.

  He swung back at Justin, clipping him on the shoulder. Justin nearly lost his footing. Bloody hell. The man had fists the size of boulders. Justin hit him in the face again and then in the stomach. Glyde returned the punches blow for blow.

  They grappled with each other, stumbling through the door to the pavilion and clattering past a table of plants.

  It wasn’t a proper fight with perfectly executed hits. It was violent, disorganized, and bloody. Glyde split Justin’s lip and opened a cut above his eye. Justin vaguely registered knocking out a few of Glyde’s teeth and nearly strangling the man with his own neckcloth.

  But no matter how many punches and blows were exchanged, Glyde kept coming. He was big and brutal and seemingly unstoppable. Facts which only served to further stoke Justin’s rage.

  “You can’t win, guv,” Glyde panted, circling around him. “It’s not an even match.”

  Justin spat out a mouthful of blood on the pavilion floor. “The hell it isn’t.”

  “I’m no scrawny lad who’s taken the queen’s shilling. You can’t thrash me for impudence.”

  “Thrash you?” Justin’s voice vibrated with fury. “I’m going to murder you.”

  “You?” Glyde snorted. “Not likely.” He lunged forward, seizing Justin in an iron grasp. “I know how you gentlemen fight.”

  Justin caught hold of Glyde by the shirt. “Whoever said I was a gentleman?” he asked. And then he slammed the top of his forehead down onto the bridge of Glyde’s nose, shattering it in an audible crunch
of cartilage and bone.

  Glyde howled in pain as blood spurted from his nostrils. He clutched his face. “You bastard!” he cried. Or something very like it. Justin couldn’t quite make out his words.

  He hauled Glyde up by his coat before the man could crumple to the ground. “I have half a mind to find some cold water and force you under it for four or five hours,” he growled. “But given our present location, I suppose I’ll have to settle for beating you into unconsciousness.”

  An hour after arriving back at the house in Half Moon Street, a boy came to the door with a message for Mr. Finchley. Helena didn’t know what the message said. She only knew it had come from Justin.

  “Is he all right?” she asked desperately.

  Mr. Finchley thrust the folded note into the pocket of his coat. “Well enough to send for me.” He retrieved his hat and overcoat from Mr. Jarrow and went to the door. “I must leave right away.”

  Helena followed after him, Jenny close behind.

  “Lock up the house tight, Jarrow,” Mr. Finchley said.

  And then he was gone.

  “Well!” Jenny exclaimed. “He’s been no help at all.”

  Helena didn’t have the heart to be irritated with Mr. Finchley. She was too worried about Justin. He must have seen Mr. Glyde or her uncle. That was the only explanation.

  But what had happened next? She didn’t like to think. Justin was a big man, leanly muscled and broad of shoulder. Her uncle could never hope to best him if the two of them came to blows. However, Mr. Glyde—though nowhere near as tall as Justin—was the approximate size of a house.

  She wrung her hands as she climbed the stairs back up to the parlor. Jenny called for another pot of tea and then the two of them sat down together in front of the coal fire and waited.

  And waited.

  When the little clock on the mantel chimed two, Helena insisted that Jenny retire to bed. “There’s no point in both of us staying up until dawn.”