Page 33 of The Matrimonial Advertisement

“Truly. I almost left. And I would have done if Mr. Boothroyd hadn’t called me back.”

“Ah.” The humor in his voice faded. “I wondered what that was about.”

“You were watching me?”

“Naturally.”

“I thought you were reading your newspaper.” She gave him a speaking glance. “You might have introduced yourself.”

“Didn’t I?”

“And earlier, at the counter. I suppose you knew I was there in answer to your advertisement from the moment I entered the taproom.”

Justin drained his glass in one swallow. “Actually, I didn’t. Not until you asked to see Boothroyd.”

Helena remembered the way he’d glowered down at her before grudgingly showing her to the private parlor. She reached for her glass, raising it to her lips and taking a measured sip of champagne. “Were you disappointed?”

The words were no sooner out of her mouth than she wished she could call them back again. It was a stupid, girlish question. And a pointless one, too. Justin was a gentleman. He was her husband now as well. There was only one way he could answer her.

He looked into her eyes. “Deeply disappointed,” he said with unexpected gravity. “You see, I was expecting a slightly younger version of Mrs. Standish.”

Helena nearly choked on her champagne.

Justin grinned at her. “It serves you right for asking.”

She set down her glass and reached for her napkin. “You’re a perfect beast to tease me about it,” she said as she dabbed her mouth. “Any lady in my situation would wonder. Especially when the man she’s come to marry makes such an effort to frighten her off.”

“I was trying to be noble.”

“You were trying to send me running back to London.”

“More fool I.”

Heat suffused her face at the memory of his coarse words. She lowered her napkin. “What on earth possessed you to say what you did to me?”

Justin looked mildly abashed. “I didn’t plan to outrage your sensibilities.”

“Then why?”

“I was out of my depth. I knew at once that you were too good for me. To own the truth, I was expecting a younger version of Mrs. Standish.”

That made her laugh again. But Justin wasn’t smiling anymore. She could no longer tell if he was teasing or serious. “Poor Mrs. Standish,” she said. “We really shouldn’t make sport of her. Especially if she’s to be our housekeeper.”

“A commendable philosophy. You may feel less charitable in the days to come.”

“When does she start work?”

“She was at the Abbey when I left this morning.”

“Already?”

“Boothroyd was lecturing her on her duties, the first of which, you’ll be pleased to know, is a thorough cleaning of our bedroom.”

She stared at him. “Our bedroom?”

He set aside his glass. “I’ve shocked you. Forgive me. Is it too indelicate a subject?”

“No, no. It’s not that…” Her head was spinning. It occurred to her that she might have had too much to drink. “I beg your pardon, but are you saying that you and I…that we’re to share a single bedchamber between us?”