Page 119 of The Matrimonial Advertisement

I wish you happy.

“I don’t want to stay in that house,” Helena said.

“No, indeed,” Jenny agreed. “There are too many memories in Half Moon Street. But where shall we go?”

Helena linked her arm more firmly with Jenny’s as they walked together along a gravel path in Green Park. It was a bright, clear morning and not as chilly as it had been in the days before. “I shall ask Lady Wolverton,” she said. “She may know of a house nearer to Belgrave Square. Failing that…” She sighed, her gaze drifting over the stark, autumn landscape. “Perhaps we might take a long holiday somewhere?”

“Such as?”

“Somewhere warm. Somewhere far from here.”

“You want to run away again.”

“Nonsense. I simply don’t wish to be reminded at every turn what a fool I was over a man.”

Jenny gave her a brief look of commiseration. “I perfectly understand, my dear. But if every female in your circumstances was to leave the metropolis there’d scarcely be any women left in London. We all of us have made fools of ourselves over a gentleman at one time or another.”

Helena couldn’t prevent another sigh from escaping. It had been three weeks since Justin left her and her heart was still as heavy as it had been when she’d watched him walk out of the parlor—and out of her life forever.

“Did you care for him awfully?” Jenny asked.

“Dreadfully.”

“I wish there was a magic potion I could brew up to take away the hurt. Something to make you forget him.”

“Even if such a thing existed, I’m not certain I’d take it. I don’t want to forget him. The pain of it helps me to remember.”

“How maudlin!”

“It is rather.”

“You’re lovelorn, that’s the trouble. The only cure for that is time, and lots of it.”

Helena kicked at a stray pebble with the toe of her kid-leather half boot. “What do you suppose he’s doing now?”

Jenny’s lips tightened. “I hope he’s wet, muddy, and miserable in that Abbey of his,” she replied unkindly. “I hope his roof leaks, his wine turns to vinegar, and his cook boils all of his food to a mush. In short, I hope he rots. And Thomas Finchley may do the same.”

“I do wish you’d forgive Mr. Finchley. All he’s guilty of is supporting his friend. He and Justin are like brothers, you know.”

“Forgive him? Ha!”

“Well, at least don’t make a martyr of yourself on my account. I don’t expect you to give Mr. Finchley up.”

“I never had him,” Jenny said. “Which works out very well, since I’ve lately discovered that I do not want him.”

Helena sincerely wished she felt the same way about Justin. Unfortunately, his absence had done nothing to diminish her feelings. She wanted him as much now as she had when she’d first fallen in love with him.

“He knew all the time that Mr. Thornhill wished to dissolve your marriage,” Jenny continued in tones of disgust. “He was busily drawing up documents and giving legal advice, all the while he squired us about town.” She looked at Helena. “It was his idea that Mr. Thornhill slink away while we were at the museum.”

“Yes. Justin said as much.”

“I’m glad he didn’t heed his advice. Though I don’t know what’s worse. Receiving a farewell letter or being told to your face that—” Jenny broke off, her attention diverted. “Who is that, I wonder?”

Helena followed her gaze.

In the distance, two fashionably dressed ladies approached on the path, their maids trailing a discreet length behind. Helena didn’t recognize them. Not immediately. But as they drew closer, she saw it was the Viscountess Parkhurst and Lady Amelia Witherspoon. They acknowledged Helena with a polite bow.

“Lady Helena,” Viscountess Parkhurst said coolly.