Page 58 of The Matrimonial Advertisement

It also meant no one could leave.

She was in two minds about that fact. Part of her wanted to run. To take the next coach departing from King’s Abbot and flee to Cornwall, Taunton, or Exeter. Anywhere, really, as long as the town was large enough for her to disappear in.

The other part of her desperately wanted to wait for Justin.

Trust me, he’d said in his hastily scrawled note.

There was no reason she should. After learning the truth about her, he’d left. Gone to see Mr. Finchley in London. Did he wish to annul their marriage? Or was he seeking legal counsel on the matter of her sanity?

Hadn’t he seen, just from talking to her, that she was perfectly sane? She might have been wet and numb with shock, but she thought she’d explained things to him in a calm and reasonable manner. Perhaps he simply didn’t believe her.

The prospect did nothing to improve her mood.

She hated feeling helpless. In the past she’d combatted the sensation by coming up with a plan. To be sure, toward the end, she and Jenny had made endless plans. None had ever come to fruition of course. None but the last—and, considering Justin’s absence, even that was debatable. But still, such plans had always given Helena hope.

She didn’t have a plan now. She was completely at sea. There was nothing to do but wait.

Perhaps that waiting would have been easier if she could be left alone with her worries. However, even when Neville was obliged to tend to his duties outside of the house, she was not permitted to be on her own. Instead, she was relegated to Mr. Boothroyd’s care. He was in the library with her now, albeit an entire room away. His gray head was bent over his desk. She could hear the scratch of his quill as he made notations in his ledger.

She turned from the window with a sigh. “Shall I order tea?”

“What’s that, my lady?” Mr. Boothroyd asked.

Her conscience flickered. And so did her temper. He’d been addressing her as my lady at every opportunity. As if she needed to be reminded of her dishonesty. “I asked if you would care for some refreshment.”

Mr. Boothroyd looked up, his pen poised in his hand. “Is it midday already?” He glanced at the clock. “Yes, yes, a spot of tea would not be amiss.”

Helena rang the bell for Mrs. Standish. The housekeeper might not like serving breakfast trays and tea trays, but there was no one else to do the job at present.

She arrived a short time later, a dirty apron over her dress and a cobweb-strewn cap on her head. She’d been cleaning out a study down the hall—a room that appeared to have been sealed off since the dawn of time. “You’ll be wanting your tea, I expect,” she said crossly.

“Yes, thank you Mrs. Standish.”

Mrs. Standish departed the library as quickly as she’d come into it.

Helena sat down on one of the sofas near the fireplace. “Won’t you join me?” she asked Mr. Boothroyd.

He looked at the blaze in the hearth for a moment. And then he rose from his desk and moved to take a seat on the faded sofa across from her.

“It can’t be comfortable to sit at that desk day and night,” she said.

“I’m accustomed to it.”

“When Mrs. Standish has properly cleaned the study, perhaps you might use it for your work? It’s smaller than the library and has a fireplace of its own. I daresay you’d be warmer there.”

Mr. Boothroyd smoothed a hand over the front of his rumpled waistcoat. “Possibly.”

He was no more effusive when their tea arrived.

Helena poured out a cup for him. “Mr. Boothroyd,” she said, making yet another attempt at civil conversation. “I understand you’ve worked for Mr. Thornhill since he purchased the Abbey.”

“That’s correct.” Mr. Boothroyd took a sip of his tea. “It’s going on three years now.”

She poured a cup for herself, adding in a liberal dose of sugar. “And before that?”

“Before Mr. Thornhill bought Greyfriar’s Abbey?” Mr. Boothroyd’s brow furrowed. “Why, I was here, my lady.”

“Here?” Helena looked up at him, confused.