Page 39 of The Matrimonial Advertisement

But that wasn’t going to happen now. She was safe at the Abbey. The rain made her safer still. With any luck, the cliff road would be impassible by the time she retired. And then tonight, for the first time in a long while, she would be able to fall asleep without fear.

“We weren’t expecting you back this evening, sir,” Mr. Boothroyd said.

Justin stripped off his gloves. “A minor change of plans.”

Mr. Boothroyd pursed his lips. He looked her way, disapproval etched into his face. “Mrs. Thornhill. You’ll be wanting to freshen up, I suppose. Neville? Show your mistress to her—”

“I’ll see to my wife.” Justin offered her his arm. “If you’ll allow me?”

She tucked her hand in the crook of his elbow. He said not a word as he escorted her up the staircase to the second floor. He’d been equally quiet in the coach. At the hotel he said he’d do anything to make her happy, but it hadn’t been long into their journey before he’d fallen into what could only be described as a sullen silence. She was certain he was displeased with her.

Lord knew he had ample cause.

Between her reaction to the prospect of their sharing a bedchamber and her unwillingness to remain at the hotel for the night, she no doubt appeared to be every bit as spoiled and flighty as the frivolous creature Mr. Boothroyd had accused her of being at their first meeting.

“This way.” Justin turned left at the top of the stairs, leading her down a wide hall papered in patterned-yellow silk. Their path was lit by evenly spaced wall sconces flickering with gaslight.

“I had no notion the Abbey was fitted for gas,” she said.

“Only in the corridors and the drawing room.”

She shot him an inquiring look. “Is that dictated by design?”

“It’s dictated by the limitations of my pocketbook,” he said grimly. “To bring a house of this antiquity up to snuff takes an inordinate amount of time and money. The modernizations have had to be gradual. I’m afraid they don’t extend throughout the house just yet.” He stopped in front of a wood-paneled door and opened it. “Your room, ma’am.”

Helena entered ahead of him into a spacious bedchamber. It smelled of lemon polish, starched linens, and washing soda. At its heart was a magnificent carved Elizabethan bed with a half tester of red damask. She glanced back at Justin.

He cleared his throat. “From the sixteenth century. But the carpets are new. As are the wall hangings. And just in here”—he led her through another open door—“is the bath.”

Given the Abbey’s age, she’d expected nothing better in terms of plumbing than a water closet and a tin tub. But what lay before her was a thoroughly modern room, with black-and-white tiled marble flooring and mahogany paneling stretching halfway up the walls. There was a tall cabinet, a washbasin and beveled mirror, and an enameled tub with a rolled rim that looked large enough to accommodate a person twice her size.

Justin stepped forward and twisted a brass spigot. Water gushed out into the tub.

“Running water,” Helena said softly. “Oh, how marvelous.”

He turned off the tap. “You can have a bath if you like.”

“I would like that. Above all things.” She wandered back into the bedchamber. Justin followed. A queer sort of electricity seemed to pulse between them. She moistened her lips. “Was this to be our room?”

“It is our room. I’ll simply be sleeping elsewhere for the time being.”

“Where?”

“In the adjoining chamber.”

Her conscience twinged. “It should be me who sleeps elsewhere. Not you.”

“I think not.”

“It would only be fair.”

“For me to force my new wife to sleep in the second best bedroom?” His brows lifted. “What sort of man do you think me?”

“One who is very much put upon.”

“Helena, I was a soldier. Shall I tell you some of the places I’ve slept during the course of my career? A slightly shabby bedroom is a paradise, I assure you.”

“Yes, but this room has clearly been refurbished. You’ve taken a lot of trouble—”