Page 78 of The Matrimonial Advertisement

There was no guarantee that Mr. Finchley’s scheme would work. In the end, the cost to her reputation—and to her peace of mind—might all be for nothing. She could be ostracized. Or worse. Her uncle could seize control of her again and have her locked away somewhere.

But what was the alternative? A lifetime of living in fear of her uncle and Mr. Glyde? Of peering out of windows? Never knowing from one day to the next whether or not she was safe.

Was such a life even worth living?

She resumed reading her book. Her nerves were all a-jangle, but she was determined to forget her problems, even if only for a while.

Several absorbing chapters later, she heard the library doors close behind Mr. Boothroyd. She marked her place in her book and set it aside as Justin came to stand in front of her.

His expression was guarded. “Are you enjoying your novel?”

“Very much,” she said. “I confess, I’ve read it before.”

“Of course you have.” He leaned his shoulder against the window frame. “You seem very comfortable here.”

“I hope I’m not disrupting your work.”

“Not at all. Though I do think it must be boring for you. Trapped here in this house, with nothing to do but read books you’ve already read.”

“I’m not bored.”

“Not even after listening to me drone on about the North Devon Railway?”

She smiled. “I like hearing your voice.”

At her admission, a faint flush of color appeared at Justin’s neck. She could see it, gradually creeping above the line of his turned-down shirt collar and sensibly tied black cravat.

He cleared his throat. “I hadn’t realized it was so affecting.”

His embarrassment only served to feed her own. She felt her cheeks warming. “You’ll tease me mercilessly now, won’t you?”

“I shall be sorely tempted.” He sat down next to her. The hem of her skirts brushed his thigh. He gave the rose-colored fabric a soft tug with his fingers. “This dress again.”

“It’s the only one that’s clean. Mrs. Standish is washing the two others I brought with me. She’s going to treat the ordinary stains with gin.”

“Have we any?”

“She isn’t certain. She says Mrs. Whitlock may have drunk it all.”

“True enough.” His eyes found hers. There was no humor in them. “Helena…About those things I told you on the beach…”

“Yes?”

“I beg your pardon for speaking so candidly. It was badly done of me.”

“Don’t be silly. I asked you about your past. I want to know. Naturally, I didn’t mind your telling me.”

“You disappeared afterward.”

“Because I needed time to think,” she said. “Which I have done.”

“And?”

“It wasn’t easy for you to share all of that with me, was it? The truth about Sir Oswald and your mother and your friends from the orphanage.”

“There are certainly more pleasant topics.”

She uncurled her legs from beneath her and shook out her skirts. “Yes, well…it’s made me think about our situation. About my situation. Which is selfish, really. Except that our lives are now so inextricably tied together.” She took a breath. “What I’m trying to say is I’ve decided that, yes, I will go to London with you. I’ll speak to the gentleman at the paper.”