Page 122 of The Matrimonial Advertisement

“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?”