Page 103 of The Matrimonial Advertisement

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 do 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.”