Page 19 of The Matrimonial Advertisement

Justin felt a sudden rush of tenderness for her. Had she not already rebuffed him once, he would have been quite tempted to take her in his arms. As it was, he couldn’t refrain from reaching out and, very gently, brushing her cheek with his knuckles. He heard her inhale an unsteady breath.

“I’m not a pauper, Helena. I’ll be able to give you more than sea glass. But I want you to have no illusions. I’m not a wealthy man. Nor was I raised a gentleman. That I have seen something of the world and know how to go about in society, I owe to Her Majesty’s Army not to any accident of birth.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I want you to know what kind of man I am.”

“I already know what kind of man you are. Mr. Finchley told me. If I’d had any objections, I would never have written to you.”

Justin frowned. In the very near future, he intended to have a few words with Tom Finchley. “He won’t have told you everything. He’ll have left the worst to me.”

He saw the question in her eyes, the unmistakable flash of uncertainty, but she didn’t ask him to explain. She didn’t ask him anything. Her lack of curiosity puzzled him exceedingly.

“Helena,” he said, “you must understand.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It does matter. The circumstances of my birth—the way in which I purchased the Abbey—even my capture in India. There’s been talk, most of it quite unpleasant. Gossips from here to Abbot’s Holcombe will be at great pains to apprise you of every sordid detail.”

She grew a little paler, but she didn’t shy away from him. Nor did she remain silent. Instead, she asked him a question. The same question he’d asked of her earlier at the King’s Arms. “Have you broken the law?”

“No.” And it was the truth, no matter what the village gossips said about how he’d acquired the Abbey.

Helena visibly swallowed. “And have you… Have you ever hurt a woman?”

His expression hardened at the very suggestion, his reply prompt and fierce. “No,” he swore to her. “Upon my honor.”

“Then I don’t care about the rest.” She began to turn away, but he cupped the side of her face with gentle force, compelling her to hold his gaze.

“And what about afterward?” he asked. “A week from now. A month from now. What happens when you realize you hate it here? What happens when you realize you hate me? Once we marry, it will be too late for you to change your mind. You will be bound to me for the rest of your life.”

“I know that. And I won’t change my mind. Only…” She clutched the piece of sea glass against the swell of her bosom. “Please, let us marry quickly.”

Justin’s heart began to pound with a dizzying strength. “How quickly?”

“As soon as possible,” she said. “I don’t want to return to London. I want to stay here. At the Abbey. I want us to marry and start our life together.”

He regarded her in silence for a moment, his large gloved hand still cradling her cheek with exquisite care. She was trembling beneath his touch, delicate little shivers that he could feel against his palm, that he could hear in her every indrawn breath.

“Please, Justin,” she whispered.

He understood then that Boothroyd was right to be concerned for his state of mind—and for the state of his bank account, too—for as he stared down at Helena Reynolds, Justin was struck with a bone-deep determination to move mountains for her. To do anything in the world to make her happy, so long as she would consent to be his and his alone.

“Very well,” he said. “If that is what you truly wish, who am I to stand in your way?”

Aquick wedding was not entirely possible, as Justin explained the following morning at the inn. “You’ll have to spend another night here, I’m afraid,” he said. Helena watched as he divested himself of his hat, gloves, and rain-soaked greatcoat. His hair was wet, an errant black lock falling over his forehead. “The superintendent registrar requires we wait one full day before he’ll issue a license.”

It wasn’t the best of news. She’d already been obliged to stay one night at The King’s Arms. One long, awful night spent peering out the window of her room, waiting for someone who didn’t come. She’d hardly managed to sleep a wink.

“Though he did agree to marry us tomorrow morning any time before eleven,” Justin added. “If that will suit you.”

Helena wrapped the heavy folds of her Indian shawl more firmly about her shoulders and began to pace the length of the private parlor. No, she wanted to cry. It didn’t suit her at all. But there was no point in arguing. Justin had already made it quite clear she couldn’t stay at the Abbey before they were married. It would harm her reputation, he’d said yesterday. The villagers would talk.

“I suppose it must,” she said, “since it seems I have little choice in the matter.”

“No,” Justin acknowledged after a long silence.

She chewed the edge of her lip, lost in thought, as she walked to the end of the room and back again. When she next cast a glance at Justin, she saw he was still standing in front of the cold hearth, observing her agitated pacing with a curiously rapt expression.