Page 31 of The Matrimonial Advertisement

“It’s never been as popular as Torquay,” Justin said. “But in the summer, these streets are teeming.”

Helena could well believe it. What she’d seen of Abbot’s Holcombe thus far had put her in mind of fashionable resort towns like Bournemouth, Brighton, and Margate. She’d never visited such places herself, but they were often depicted in lady’s magazines. During the past months, she’d read a great deal about seaside fashions, the use of bathing machines, and the relative propriety of sea bathing at a public beach. She’d thought to prepare herself for her new life along the coast.

“Is it always so empty during the colder weather?” she asked.

“There are those who remain for their health. But they’re invalids, generally, and don’t venture outside when the temperature drops.” He guided her around an uneven piece of pavement. “The private hotels hereabouts do a steady business catering to the wealthy and idle who fancy themselves ill.”

“And this is where you grew up? Where you spent your childhood?”

He flashed her a wary look. “Not in this part of town, no. The orphanage is closer to the church. Or, rather, it was. It’s not there anymore.”

“Did it close down?”

“Something like that,” he said vaguely.

They walked along for some little time, down one street and then crossing over to another, before reaching the Stanhope Hotel. It was a handsome structure of pristine white stone with an entrance faced in carved Corinthian marble. As they approached the doors, a footman trotted forward to welcome them, ushering them into the warmth of the hotel’s luxurious, wood-paneled foyer.

The clerk at the front desk greeted them with upraised brows. “How may I assist you, sir?”

“I have a reservation,” Justin said. “For Thornhill.”

The clerk consulted a large book on the counter. “Ah yes. A room with a view.”

Helena’s eyes flew to Justin’s face. A room? But they were merely dining together, weren’t they? Simply sharing a meal to celebrate their wedding day. Unless…

Unless her new husband meant for them to share a bed.

The possibility sent a jolt of apprehension through her.

She watched as the clerk gave Justin the key to their room and wished them a pleasant stay. Her mouth opened in protest only to shut again almost at once. She wouldn’t make a spectacle of herself by questioning her new husband in front of an audience. Better to wait until they were alone.

“The dining room is filled with local tabbies and London gossips,” Justin explained. “Even at this time of year.” He led her across the marble-tiled lobby floor toward the main staircase, a grand affair lined with artwork and potted palms. “We’ll have more privacy if we dine in one of the rooms. We’ll be more comfortable there as well.” He paused. “Unless you object?”

Helena gathered her skirts in her hand as they climbed the carpeted steps. Husband or no, she didn’t think she was ready to be alone with Justin in a hotel room, but if the alternative was exposing herself to gossip that might find its way back to London…

“I don’t object,” she said.

A footman directed them to their room on the third floor. It had an elegantly appointed sitting room with a rich Oriental rug and furnishings of heavy mahogany. Pale green draperies framed a window that looked out toward the sea. Helena moved to stand in front of it, uncertain of what to say or do in such a situation.

She heard Justin thank the footman for his assistance. And then he shut and bolted the door.

“Our meal will be sent up in a quarter of an hour,” he said. “I took the liberty of ordering it yesterday when I made the reservation. Soup, roast chicken, and I don’t know what else. If you’d prefer some other dish—”

“No.” She turned to face him. He had removed his hat. His hair was rumpled and, for a fraction of a second, it seemed to her that he looked remarkably unsure of himself. “I’m not particular about food.”

“No favorites, then?”

Helena untied her bonnet strings from beneath her chin and lifted her bonnet from her head. She placed it on an overstuffed chair near the window. “I like freshly baked bread. But I expect it has more to do with the smell than the taste.”

“Ah.” He appeared as much at a loss as she was herself.

She tugged off her right glove and then her left. It caught briefly on the ridge of her wedding band—a sharp reminder of her new status. As if she needed a reminder! Good heavens. She was alone in a hotel room with a gentleman she’d only just met two days before.

“Is there somewhere I can wash my hands?” she asked.

“Through the bedroom,” Justin said.

Helena retreated into the adjoining room, averting her eyes from the mahogany four-poster bed as she made her way to the adjacent bath. She was pleased to find that it was plumbed for water. There was a claw-footed tub and a marble basin with brass taps for hot and cold. Beside the basin was a stack of fluffy white towels, several cakes of scented soap, and a small selection of glass vials containing perfumed oil for one’s bathwater.