Page 34 of The Matrimonial Advertisement

Understanding registered on Justin’s face. It was followed closely by another emotion which flickered for an instant and then disappeared. Helena thought it might have been disappointment. “Ah. I see.” He fell silent for what seemed an eternity. “Do you object to our sharing a bedroom?” he asked finally.

She looked down at her hands, now folded tightly in her lap. The long pagoda sleeves of her silk gown concealed the bruises on her arms and her cuffed muslin undersleeves covered the marks on her wrists, but they did nothing to mask the deep ache she felt from having endured so much rough handling. It was a painful reminder of the circumstances that had brought her to North Devon.

“No,” she said. “I don’t object.”

“But you would prefer a room of your own.”

Would she? She’d had a room of her own her entire life. It’s what she’d expected to have at the Abbey. A room she could go to when she wished to be alone. A door she could lock if she was feeling afraid.

After all, even a wife was afforded her privacy. A husband might visit her at night, but he didn’t impose his presence on her any longer than was necessary. It was how respectable married couples conducted themselves. Or so she’d always understood.

“I don’t know what I’d prefer,” she said. “I’ve never shared a room with anyone before.”

“Mr. and Mrs. Bray—the couple I was apprenticed to as a boy—shared a room for the whole of their married lives. I’d assumed…” Justin rubbed the side of his jaw with his hand. “But that was wrong of me, wasn’t it? I shouldn’t have assumed. I should have consulted you.” His frown deepened. “I take it your parents kept separate rooms?”

The unknowing question gripped at Helena’s heart like a vise. Her mother had died when she was just a girl, but she could well remember the small icy room, stripped of everything save an iron bedstead. It was an image that had populated many a childhood nightmare.

She moistened her lips. “They lived apart, yes. But you and I… We needn’t…”

“It will be however you wish,” he said. “I’ll not make unreasonable demands on you. You’ll not find me a brute.”

“I know that. You’ve been very kind to me. I’m more grateful than I can say.”

“Grateful,” he repeated.

“Yes. And so very much obliged to you.”

“I see.”

Helena sensed she’d said something wrong, but she hadn’t the least idea what. She wished she had someone to advise her. A sensible female to tell her what to say and what to do.

She needed Jenny.

Then again, Jenny was only two years older than she was and, for all her strident proclamations, knew as little about men and marriage as Helena did herself.

“Justin, I…” She struggled to formulate the words. “I don’t want to disappoint you.”

His expression softened. “You haven’t. You won’t.” He stretched his arm across the table, his palm up in invitation.

His hand was large, his fingers long and almost elegant. It was the sort of hand that could wield a sword or a pistol as easily as it could write a letter or caress a lady’s cheek. Helena’s pulse fluttered as she reached out to take it.

Justin’s fingers closed protectively around hers. His clasp was reassuringly warm, his skin tanned from the outdoors and calloused from hard work. Her own hand looked small and pale in comparison.

“There’s no manual for marriage by advertisement,” he said. “We shall have to feel our way along.” His thumb moved slowly over the curve of her knuckles. “But if we’re honest with each other, we stand far less risk of being unhappy.”

She swallowed. He wanted honesty. Of course he did. And she was going to tell him everything. She’d planned to do it tonight, when they were back at the Abbey. When she was safe in his home and there was no chance he could send her away. But now…

She bit her lip. “There’s so much I haven’t told you.”

“I know. I’ve been somewhat less than forthcoming myself.”

“Yes, but at least you tried to tell me about your past. I’ve made no effort at all to tell you about mine.” She searched his face. “Doesn’t that worry you?”

“Probably not as much as it should.”

“Why ever not?”

He shrugged. “Your dark secrets can be no worse than my own. Besides which, I trust Finchley with my life. He’d never have sent you to me if you were a murderer or a lunatic escaped from Bedlam.”