Page 96 of The Matrimonial Advertisement

“Or else what?” Justin’s voice was sharp with impatience.

“It’s possible that Castleton is being exceedingly careful. He may have a plan hatched with Glyde. Though other than straight out abduction, I can’t fathom what that plan might be.”

A shadow of worry crossed Helena’s face. “Do you think he’ll come here?”

“No. Not here. But he must be lurking about somewhere. I advise vigilance.”

Miss Holloway laid aside her cutlery. “Does this mean you won’t be attending the ball?”

Justin turned to Helena. She was a vision of fashionable elegance in a dark gray dress trimmed in ribbons of bright crimson. The bodice was snug, secured at the front by a row of tiny silk-covered buttons fastened from her waist to her throat.

Since their arrival in London, it seemed to him that every time he blinked, she was in a different dress. There were morning gowns and afternoon gowns, walking dresses, dinner dresses, and evening dresses for the theatre. Each of them was made of rich fabrics and trimmed in luxurious trimmings. He had no doubt but that the cost of even one such dress would have beggared a lesser man.

“It’s your decision,” he said. “We can go, if you wish. Or stay here, if you wish.”

Helena hesitated before answering. And then, “I wish to go,” she said quietly.

Miss Holloway didn’t appear surprised. “They’ll be waltzing there. Helena does so love to waltz. How long has it been, my dear?”

“A year,” Helena said. “Since Giles disappeared.”

“You’ll be dreadfully out of trim.” Miss Holloway looked at Mr. Finchley, her cheeks blossoming with color. “I have an idea. Why don’t we practice?”

“Here?” Finchley asked.

“We can move the furniture in the parlor. It won’t leave us much room to dance, but it should be enough.”

“I haven’t waltzed in an age,” Finchley confessed. “What about you, Thornhill?”

“An age and a half,” Justin said grimly. And he wasn’t too keen on remedial lessons.

“Well then.” Miss Holloway stood, obliging both Justin and Finchley to stand as well. “Shall we repair to the parlor?”

“What shall we do about music?” Helena asked as she rose from her chair.

“Hmm.” Jenny slanted a questioning glance at Finchley. “I don’t suppose Mrs. Jarrow plays the pianoforte?”

“No,” Finchley said with a low chuckle. “Emphatically, no.”

“Then I’ll play. I don’t need to dance, after all. It’s not as if I’ll be attending the ball.”

“Nonsense.” Helena placed her hand in the crook of Justin’s arm, allowing him to escort her from the dining room. “We’ll take turns at the pianoforte. The gentlemen won’t mind practicing the waltz with us both. Monsieur Claude always said you could only become skilled by dancing with multiple partners.”

“Monsieur Claude?” Justin almost hated to ask.

Helena smiled up at him. “The dancing master my father employed when I was a girl. He was a French émigré and an absolute tyrant.”

“Ah,” Justin said. “Of course he was.”

Despite Jenny’s insistence, it was Helena who took the first shift at the small pianoforte in the parlor. She would have had to be blind not to see how much Jenny wanted to dance with Mr. Finchley, and Helena hadn’t the least intention of making her friend wait for a turn in his arms.

Did Mr. Finchley know Jenny fancied him? Helena thought he might. Then again, even the most intelligent gentlemen could be a bit thick when it came to matters of the heart.

“Shall I turn the pages for you?” Justin asked, coming to stand beside her.

“It isn’t necessary.” Her hands moved deftly over the keys. “I’ve memorized most of this and can fudge the bits I haven’t.”

“That accomplished, are you?”