The Matrimonial Advertisement

by Matthews, Mimi

  “I’ve given up my rights over her, legal and otherwise. She’s free of me for good. I’ll not inflict my presence on her again.”

  “Might I inquire as to why?”

  Justin didn’t answer. Not directly. He strolled to the bank of windows and gazed out at the sea. “Are you happy here, Boothroyd?”

  “At the Abbey, sir? Why, yes. I’m quite content.”

  “You don’t stay merely out of a sense of responsibility?”

  Boothroyd considered for a moment. “I do feel a measure of responsibility, as any good steward would. For the Abbey…and for you.”

  Justin glanced at Boothroyd over his shoulder. “You don’t owe me anything. If you ever did, you’ve long since repaid it.” He resumed staring out the window. “You need only say the word and I’ll gladly arrange for your retirement somewhere on a generous pension.”

  “You’ve always been good to me, sir. But I’m not yet ready to be put out to pasture.”

  Justin’s mouth tilted briefly in a humorless smile. “I confess I’m relieved to hear it. I’ll need you here to see to things while I’m gone. Neville isn’t helpless, but he requires looking after. And then there’s the matter of the servants.”

  “Indeed, sir. The loss of Mrs. Standish is regrettable. Though one can’t entirely fault her. She took the position believing you would have a wife in residence. Serving in a bachelor household was not at all to her taste.”

  Justin could muster no sympathy for the woman. She’d left soon after he returned from London. Not that it mattered much anymore. “Find someone else if you can. Someone who doesn’t consider a houseful of men to be a threat to her virtue.”

  “I’ve begun to make inquiries, but there aren’t many who care to live in such a remote location.” Boothroyd hesitated before adding, “Now, if you were to reconcile with her ladyship, I daresay we may yet lure Mrs. Standish back to us.”

  Justin scowled. “Leave off, Boothroyd. I’ve done something noble. Permit me to suffer for it in my own way.”

  “By going back to India, of all places? After what happened to you there, I would have thought—”

  “Yes, well…perhaps it’s time to move on from all of that.”

  Boothroyd’s brows shot up nearly to his hairline.

  “We both of us have spent far too many years living in the past,” Justin said. “There’s been no room for anything else. No hope for something like a future.”

  “I’m sorry you feel that way, sir.”

  “Don’t be. It’s been a situation of my own making. No one forced me to return to Devon. To buy this house. At any time, I could have let the past go. But I wanted justice. There were times it was the only thing that got me through the night.”

  “You weren’t the only one wronged by Sir Oswald. I had reasons to want justice, as well.”

  “It was a long time ago. Too long. I’m tired of looking backward. As for what happened in Cawnpore… It was a tragedy. I don’t know if I can ever forgive myself for failing to protect those women. But I was happy there before the uprising. Or at least as happy as I can remember being before…”

  “Before her ladyship’s arrival?”

  Justin stared out at the sea. He had been happy with her. Happier than he’d ever been in his life. He had no expectation he would ever be so again. But perhaps, someday, he might find a small measure of contentment. Until then…

  “I need to put a continent between myself and Lady Helena,” he said.

  “And so, to India.”

  “There or somewhere else. One place is as good as another. Make the arrangements. I can take passage on the next steamer out of Marseilles, if it comes to that.” Justin turned from the window. “And now…” He collected his coat. “I’m going to the Inn in King’s Abbot, where I intend to drink myself into oblivion.”

  Helena stood in the doorway of the King’s Arms, feeling the most extraordinary sense of déjà vu. Not long ago she’d stood in this exact same place, wearing this exact same gray striped-silk traveling gown, and gazed out over the crowded taproom. It didn’t look so different now. The same men huddled about the tables. The same scent of ale, meat pies, and unwashed male skin lingered in the air. And, across the room, the same tall, brooding gentleman leaned against the counter, nursing his drink.

  Justin.

  Her heart gave a few hard, hopeful thumps.

  She navigated her way through the tables, her skirts brushing the legs of seated gentlemen as she passed them. The innkeeper, Mr. Blevins, was refilling someone’s tankard of ale. She caught his eye as she stepped into the empty space beside Justin at the counter. “I beg your pardon, sir. Might I bespeak the private parlor for an hour or two?”

  Justin’s entire frame went rigid.

  “Help yourself, my lady,” Mr. Blevins said.

  She turned her head to look at Justin and found him staring down at her with a look of such incredulity one might think she was an apparition who’d just materialized next to him out of the ether. His black hair was rumpled, as if he’d been raking his hands through it, and his cheeks were shadowed with stubble. He looked tired and despairing and heartbreakingly dear.

  “Hello,” she said.

  A frown darkened his brow. “What are you doing here?”

  “I came to see you, of course.”

  “All the way from London?” He stood up to his full height. “Has something happened with your uncle?”

  “No,” she said quickly. “As far as I know, he’ still in Hampshire. He’s made no attempt to contact me.”

  The look of worry receded from Justin’s face, only to be replaced with the same shuttered expression he’d worn on the day he’d rejected her so cruelly. “How did you know I’d be here?”

  Helena refused to be intimidated by the coldness in his voice. “Mr. Boothroyd told me.”

  “You’ve been to the Abbey?”

  “Naturally. We went there first.”

  “We?”

  “I’ll explain everything, but I’d rather not do it in full public view. Will you accompany me to the private parlor? We can speak there without an audience. Unless you’d rather—”

  “Come.” He took her by the arm and escorted her across the taproom. He wasn’t rough, but she nevertheless felt like a willful child being hauled back to the schoolroom by a stern tutor.

  The private parlor was just as she remembered. The same little table where she’d sat with Mr. Boothroyd and the same chairs round the fire where she’d once served Justin tea.

  He let go of her when they crossed the threshold. She heard him shut the door behind her, but she didn’t turn to face him until she’d removed her bonnet, gloves, and mantle and disposed of them on an empty chair.

  Justin stood by the door, watching her. “Explain yourself.”

  Helena had a brief moment of doubt. His face was so hard, his posture so unwelcoming. What if she’d been mistaken? What if—

  But she refused to believe it. She made herself walk slowly to the wooden table. She stopped behind one of the slatted chairs, her hands coming to rest on its back. “We sat here together that first day. Do you remember?”

  He folded his arms. “Helena, I thought I made myself clear in London.”

  Helena pressed on as if she hadn’t heard him. “I told you that I was very sorry you’d been burned. And you said…” She moistened her lips. “Do you remember what you said?”

  His jaw tensed. “Something crass. What difference does it make?”

  “Yes, it was very crass. Indeed, it was quite the most shocking thing anyone has ever said to me. Had I not been so desperate, I would have fled there and then.” Her hands tightened on the back of the chair. “Later, at the hotel, I asked why you’d said such a thing. Do you remember?”

  Justin looked away from her. “Helena—”

  “You said
that you knew I was too good for you. That you were trying to be noble.”

  “I don’t see the point of going over all of this—”

  “The point is,” she said, “I don’t need you to be noble. I only need you to be mine.”

  His gaze slid back to hers. The cold mask he wore was beginning to crack, deep emotion struggling to break through.

  A rush of elation almost stole her breath. She’d been right. He did care for her after all.

  She dropped her hands from the chair and took a step toward him. “Your bruises are healing nicely.”

  “It’s been several weeks.”

  “How well I know it.” Another step brought her closer. “Have you been reading the news from London?”

  He shook his head.

  “Mr. Pelham’s editorial has caused a bit of an uproar, just as Mr. Finchley predicted. The Times has run a series of their own on private asylums. Parliament has shown no inclination to act, as yet, but I have hopes they will. I’ve been contributing funds to the cause. It’s become a sort of charitable project of mine.”

  Justin didn’t say anything. He merely looked at her, emotion warring in his smoke-gray gaze, as she advanced upon him.

  “I’ve had to keep myself busy, you see. I’ve been so unhappy. Indeed, the day you left me in London, I wept for the first time in nearly a year. I thought my heart was broken.”

  At the mention of her tears, Justin’s mask cracked a little more.

  She stopped in front of him, so close that her skirts bunched against his legs. “I’ve been fretting about what I would say to you for the entirety of the journey here. But now that I see you—now that I’m standing here, looking at you once more—all I can think to tell you is that you may be as cold and indifferent to me as you please, but I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Helena…”

  “I won’t agree to dissolve our marriage, or to live apart from you. If you want to be rid of me, you shall have to sue for divorce. Though I warn you, it would be the scandal of the decade and likely ruin us both.”

  “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

  “I know my own mind, Justin. I’m not the same frightened creature I was when we met.”

  “I realize that,” he said with sudden gruffness. “You’re much stronger now. If you weren’t, I’d never have—” He broke off abruptly, pushing his fingers through his hair in visible frustration. He turned and went to the fireplace, his back to her. “You shouldn’t have come here.”

  “Nonsense. Greyfriar’s Abbey is my home now. Where else in the world should I be?”

  He muttered something under his breath. It sounded rather like an oath. She couldn’t quite make it out. And then he laughed. A short, bitter laugh. “Greyfriar’s Abbey. Do you know how many years I planned and schemed to own that cursed place? I wanted it, beyond all thought. Beyond all reason. I believed I deserved it. And I thought that by taking it, the emptiness within me would be…I don’t know. Filled or eradicated. Something.”

  She came to stand behind him.

  “And now it’s mine. That magnificent, miserable house, which has never once made me happy.” He stared into the cold fireplace for a long moment. “The wanting I felt for the Abbey is but a pale shadow of the wanting I feel for you.”

  Her pulse beat heavy at her throat. “Then why did you try to drive me away? Are you afraid I won’t make you happy either?”

  “How could I be happy when I know I’d be destroying the one thing—the one person—I care about most in all the world?” He turned to face her. And the mask was gone. Vanished. In its place was stark vulnerability. “I’ve not been a good man, Helena. I’ve been selfish in my need. Ruthless and unforgiving. But with you…” He shook his head. “I can’t be that man anymore.”

  “I love whatever kind of man you are.”

  He gave her an arrested look. “What did you say?”

  “I said that I love you, exactly as you are.” A warm blush flooded her cheeks. She couldn’t tell in what spirit he was receiving her declaration. He appeared dumbstruck, gazing down at her as if she’d just said something to him in an as-yet-undiscovered language. “I realized it in London,” she continued determinedly. “Indeed, I almost told you after that dreadful comedietta. It’s the last secret I’ve been keeping from you.” She set her hands against his chest. “I give it to you now with all my heart.”

  She loved him.

  Justin stared down at Helena’s face, his gaze tracing over every contour. The sweep of her mahogany brows, the creamy curve of her cheekbones, and the bow of her rose-colored lips. He must have misheard her. Perhaps he was drunk? Either that or hallucinating. Indeed, her very presence—here at the inn, garbed in the same dress she’d worn the day they’d met—had a dreamlike quality. As if she’d been conjured by his fevered imagination. She didn’t seem quite real. And yet…

  He could smell the delicate jasmine in her perfume and the light starch in her petticoats. Could feel the weight and warmth of her slim hands as they rested on his chest. He’d thought himself resigned to never seeing her again. To continuing his life without her. But one look—one touch—and the feelings rushed back again, stinging at his eyes and clenching in his chest.

  Good God, she loved him.

  He covered her hands with his own. “Helena…I don’t know what to say.”

  “That’s easy. Say that you love me, too.”

  He bowed his head, his forehead coming to rest against hers. “Of course I love you,” he said, his voice a husky growl. “Why in blazes do you think I let you go?”

  A choked laugh escaped her. It sounded a little like a sob. “What tortured logic is this?”

  “It’s your logic.”

  “Mine?”

  He tightened his grip on her hands. “You told me that if you loved someone, you’d sacrifice anything to make them happy.”

  “Is that what you’ve done? Made a sacrifice of your love for me?” She returned the warm clasp of his fingers. “My dear, how in the world could you ever think I’d be happy without you?”

  My dear. His heart turned over. But he couldn’t allow himself to be distracted. Not now. He had to maintain some semblance of control. “I’m no gentleman, Helena, and King’s Abbott is a fair way from the glitter of London. You deserve better. You should be with someone of your own kind.”

  “I’m not an exotic bird, Justin. I’m a woman.”

  “You’re a lady. And I’d be the most self-centered bastard alive to keep you here with me.”

  Helena drew back from him with a sigh. “I suspected it was something of that nature.”

  “Then you understand why I had to give you up.”

  “You’re not giving me up,” she said. “Or, rather, I’m not giving you up.”

  He searched her face, his heart thudding with something very like hope. “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying that self-sacrifice is all well and good, but unlike you, when it comes to our marriage, I intend to be selfish.” She rose up on the toes of her half boots, reaching to slide her arms around his neck. She looked him very steadily in the eye. “You’re mine, Justin Thornhill. It doesn’t matter where you came from or who your parents were. All that matters is that you belong to me…and I belong to you.”

  The last of his resolve crumbled to dust. “Yes,” he vowed. “Yes. Always.” And then he swept her up in his arms and kissed her.

  Helena clung to his neck as his mouth moved on hers, returning his kiss in full measure. She was sweet and soft—and fiercely passionate. She held nothing of herself back.

  And neither did he.

  He kissed her deeply. Thoroughly. Heedless of all propriety. She arched against him, warm and feminine. Her heavy skirts were crushed out of shape against his legs, the hard bones of her corset stiff and unyielding beneath the spread of his hand at her wais
t. His other hand cradled the back of her head. He vaguely registered the sound of metal pins pinging on the parlor floor as his fingers speared through her fashionably rolled coiffure.

  “You’re disarranging me awfully,” she breathed.

  “Shall I stop?”

  “No.” She pressed a soft kiss to his mouth. “Don’t dare.” And then another. “I’ve missed you so much.”

  He groaned. “Helena…I want you more than life.”

  “I’m yours,” she promised. “Forever.”

  He stared down into her eyes. “What a fool I’ve been.”

  “You have, rather.”

  “I never meant to hurt you.”

  “I know that.”

  “The day I left London…Those things I said to you…”

  “Please don’t refine on it. Not now.” She tugged at his neck. “I’d much prefer you kiss me again.”

  He gave a sudden huff of laughter. “You would, would you?” He bent his head and brushed his lips over hers with infinite tenderness. “Like this?”

  “Yes.”

  He put his other arm around her waist and slowly backed toward one of the large chairs near the fireplace. He stopped kissing her only long enough to lower himself into the seat and pull her down onto his lap. “Much better.” And then he kissed her again.

  When at last they broke apart, they were both flushed and breathless.

  “Goodness,” she said. “Someone might have walked in on us.”

  Justin glanced at the door. “They may still. Shall I let you up?”

  “No, thank you. I’m quite comfortable here.”

  He gathered her close. “You fit very well in my arms.”

  “Naturally. We’re perfect for each other.”

  “Fated to be together, isn’t that right? Which reminds me…” He briefly released her waist to fumble at the front of his coat. “I have something for you.”

  “For me? But how? You didn’t know I’d be here…” Her voice trailed away as he withdrew a piece of sea glass from his waistcoat pocket. It was a brilliant shade of glossy blue, shaped more like a precious stone than the remnant of a broken bottle worn down by the sand and the surf.