Page 20 of The Matrimonial Advertisement

He was also clad in riding dress, she realized. A dark coat, drab cloth waistcoat, and light colored breeches clinging to his long, powerful legs. Every garment bore evidence of the inclement weather, from his mud-spattered boots to his damp and slightly wilted cravat.

She felt a flicker of guilt. “Did you ride to Abbot’s Holcombe? In this weather?”

He ran a self-conscious hand over his hair. “It wasn’t raining when I left.”

“And then you rode all the way here?”

“I promised I’d call on you this morning, didn’t I?”

Helena wondered if he always kept his promises, no matter how uncomfortable or inconvenient. “You did,” she said, moving toward the antiquated bell pull that hung beside the fireplace. She gave it a decisive tug. “And my manners have been appalling.”

His brows lifted. “Have they? I hadn’t noticed.”

“I’ve left you to stand here shivering while I—” She broke off at the sound of a soft scratch at the door. It heralded the appearance of Bess, who’d grudgingly resumed her duties at the inn earlier that morning after having spent the night on a cot in Helena’s room.

“Will you be wanting your tea now, miss?” she asked.

“If you please, Bess. And do send someone in to build up the fire.”

“Yes, miss.” Bess dropped a curtsy and then withdrew, shutting the door behind her.

Helena turned her attention back to Justin. “Won’t you sit down?”

“If you will.”

“Of course.” She gestured toward two armchairs near the hearth. He nodded and, after she’d seated herself, he did the same. “Oh!” She moved to stand once more. “I should’ve had Bess take your boots. Shall I summon her back?”

“Don’t trouble yourself. I’ll only muddy them again on the journey back to the Abbey.”

She wanted to tell him it wasn’t the mud that concerned her, but the damp. She’d certainly have done so if it had been her brother who’d just tramped in with sodden boots. But Justin Thornhill wasn’t her brother. To raise such an indelicate subject as his feet—wet or otherwise—seemed positively indecent.

“I wouldn’t like you to catch a chill,” she said instead.

A smile tugged briefly at the edge of Justin’s mouth. She had a sinking feeling he knew exactly what she’d been thinking. “I’m not so fragile as all that,” he said. “If I were, I wouldn’t last long here.”

“No. I suppose not.” She managed a weak smile in return, though smiling was the last thing in the world she felt like doing at the moment.

Tomorrow, if everything went according to plan, this man—this stranger—would be her husband. For better or worse, he’d be endowed by law with all of the rights that were a man’s privilege over his wife. And he could exercise those rights in any manner he chose. He could beat her if he wished or he could confine her. He could do almost anything short of killing her and no one would say him nay.

This was marriage, as she knew it. And this was what she’d be freely consenting to at the registrar’s office in Abbot’s Holcombe.

It was impossible to think of it without an accompanying wave of panic.

She swallowed. “I do hope it will have stopped raining by the time you return to the Abbey.”

“I expect it will.”

Further conversation was interrupted by another scratch at the door. It preceded the entry of a grizzled manservant who informed them he’d come to lay the fire. While he busied himself at the hearth, coaxing a flame from the kindling, Bess arrived with a tea tray.

“Mrs. Blevins says to tell you she made the little cakes fresh this morning,” she said, placing the tray on a low table near Helena’s chair. “Will you be wanting anything else, miss?”

“No, thank you, Bess. This will do quite nicely. Please convey our appreciation to Mrs. Blevins.”

“Yes, miss.” Bess offered another stilted curtsy before taking her leave, the manservant not far behind her. The door to the private parlor shut after them with a decisive click.

Helena arranged the teacups and began to pour. As the lone female in a family of men, she’d long been accustomed to presiding over the tea tray. However, in Justin’s presence, the familiar ritual felt clumsy and new. She could sense him watching her every movement.

If he noticed her discomfiture, he gave no sign of it. But when she was handing him his teacup, her bare fingers brushed his. He looked at her then and the oddest expression crossed his face.