Page 61 of The Matrimonial Advertisement

“Of course I did.” His voice was gruff. He brought one arm around her waist to steady her. “Helena, I’m all over mud.”

“I don’t care.”

He held her for a long moment. She felt the rain splashing down on her back and shoulders and soaking into the rolled and braided coils of her hair. Her wide pagoda sleeves slid toward her elbows, the light muslin of her undersleeves growing damp on the collar of his coat. The front of her bodice was dampening as well.

She drew back from him at last, lowering from her tiptoes and releasing the death grip she had on his neck. She wiped the raindrops from her cheeks with her hands. She prayed he didn’t think she was weeping.

“What are you doing outside?” he asked again. “Where’s Neville?”

“In the stable. I’m going—I was going—to sit with him while he works.”

Justin gazed down at her, his expression hard to read. “And your hat and gloves?”

“At the Abbey.”

He dropped his portmanteau from his shoulder and removed his greatcoat. She held herself immobile as he draped it over her shoulders. It was lined with wool, still warm from his body heat, and so large it fairly swallowed her whole.

“Draw it up over your head,” he said. “Come. I’ve been dreaming of a warm fire and a cup of tea for the last two and a half miles.”

They returned to the Abbey, walking side by side up the drive. With each step, Helena felt a little more ridiculous about the exuberant greeting she’d given him. For all she knew, he’d already decided to annul their marriage.

Either that or have her committed.

The prospect sent a chill down her spine. She cast a sidelong glance at Justin’s face. He looked thoughtful. Grave. Like a man with a great deal on his mind.

She reminded herself of the words he’d uttered when he rescued her from the cliff’s ledge.

“You married me to keep you safe and that’s precisely what I intend to do.”

That night he’d meant it.

Did he still mean it?

He’d told her to trust him. And, except for leaving her without a word, she had no real reason not to. Not unless she counted the sins of other men against him. But that wouldn’t be fair, would it? Justin was not her uncle or Mr. Glyde or any one of the half dozen gentlemen in London who’d refused to help her. It would be unjust to tar him with the same brush.

They climbed the front steps of the Abbey in silence. He opened the door, allowing her to precede him into the hall. She removed his greatcoat from her shoulders and handed it back to him. “You’ll want to wash and change. I’ll have a tea tray brought to the library in half an hour. Unless you’d like more time?”

“I daresay we’ll need it.” His gaze dropped to the front of her gown. “I’m not the only one who must wash and change.”

She looked down at her bodice. “Oh dear.” It was worse than damp. It was streaked with mud all across the collar and bosom. She gave him a rueful grimace. “It serves me right for embracing you.” She attempted to inject humor into words, but her voice only succeeded in sounding hollow. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“Helena—”

“Mr. Thornhill?” Mr. Boothroyd emerged from the library. “I wasn’t aware you’d returned. And I see you’ve found her ladyship. Splendid.” He came across the hall to speak with Justin, full of questions about his visit to Mr. Finchley.

Helena stood listening for a moment, but she felt excluded. As if her very presence was superfluous to the conversation. She excused herself to go upstairs and change. Neither man made any objection. She wondered if they even noticed when she quietly slipped away.

Once in her bedroom, she stripped off her wet undersleeves and bodice and stepped out of her muddied skirts. She deposited the whole in the bathroom and, after washing up and repairing her hair, returned to her bedroom and quickly donned a clean dress. It was the last of the three she’d brought with her from London and the only one that wasn’t gray.

“Ashes of roses,” the modiste had called the dusky shade of pink.

It was silk like the others, with long, loose sleeves that fastened tight at the wrists and a plain bodice, confined at the waist by a ribbon belt of dark plum velvet. The same dark velvet edged the single deep flounce at the bottom of her skirts. It was a beautiful dress. The cut set off her figure and the color made her hair shine and her skin look rich as cream. But that wasn’t why she’d brought it. The simple fact was, it was one of the only gowns she owned that she could get into and out of without the assistance of a lady’s maid.

If she remained, perhaps she could offer the position of lady’s maid to Bess. Hadn’t the young maidservant said she knew something about removing stains from silk? It was a skill that would be particularly useful now, given the current state of Helena’s gowns.

But she didn’t know if she’d remain.

In order to find out, she’d have to go downstairs and confront the situation. Part of her—a rather large part, admittedly—would have preferred to crawl under a blanket and hide. The news from town could not be good.