Page 11 of The Matrimonial Advertisement

“Neville sees to the stables and the livestock,” Mr. Boothroyd said as he stripped off his hat and gloves.

“At present, he’ll also be seeing to our tea.” Mr. Thornhill lifted his own hat from his head and tossed it onto a nearby table. His coat and gloves followed suit.

There was no footman or butler to take their things. She removed her bonnet and gloves and handed them to Mr. Thornhill. “Are Neville and the coachman your only servants?”

“We have a woman who cooks and cleans.” He ushered her through the hall. “And we’re in hopes of obtaining a new housekeeper within the week, though how long she’ll stay is anyone’s guess.”

The main hall of Greyfriar’s Abbey was spacious but spare. Dim light filtered in through the high stone-framed windows to illuminate a console table, a few straight-backed wooden chairs, and a threadbare carpet. The most impressive feature, by far, was a single flight of stairs constructed of what looked to be new oak. It rose to a landing from whence it divided into two separate branches leading to opposite wings of the floors above.

Helena had no idea how large the interior of the Abbey really was, nor how many rooms were currently open and in use. What she did know, even in her limited experience, was that a house of even half this size could never be run successfully with only a cook, a coachman, and a slow-witted giant who served as both groom and footman.

“Perhaps Bess might help Neville with our tea?” she suggested.

Mr. Thornhill shook his head. “Your maid stays with you.”

He escorted her into a drafty wood-paneled room that bore some resemblance to a library. Half-filled bookcases lined the walls and mismatched tables were scattered about with maps and books lying open on them. A bank of windows draped with heavy wine-colored curtains looked out toward the sea.

Mr. Thornhill gestured for her to have a seat on one of the two faded chintz sofas that faced each other in front of a colossal stone fireplace. “Are you cold? Shall I build up the fire?”

“No, thank you. I’m quite comfortable.” She sat on the edge of the sofa cushion, settling her skirts all about her. In truth, the room was damp and rather chilly, but she didn’t want Mr. Thornhill to think she was difficult to please. Nor did she wish to give Mr. Boothroyd further cause for disapproval. He’d retreated to a desk in the corner, where he was presently hunched over a ledger. She had no doubt he was listening avidly, just as Bess was listening—with a great deal less subtlety—from her place beside Helena on the sofa.

She and Mr. Thornhill had no real privacy. Was that why he looked so ill at ease as he took a seat across from her?

“It’s all just as you described in your letters,” she remarked for lack of anything better to say.

“Yet still you came.”

“Did you think I wouldn’t?”

He pointedly did not answer her question, saying instead, “The Abbey won’t be what you’re accustomed to.”

Helena’s eyes fell briefly to her hands, pale and slim, folded one over the other in her lap. What she’d been accustomed to didn’t bear thinking of. “Why do you say so?”

Again, he didn’t answer her directly. He seemed to be brooding over something, for when she lifted her gaze she found him staring at her with a strangely somber expression.

“There aren’t many who can live happily in such a remote place,” he said. “The solitude can be…difficult to bear.”

She wondered if he was referring to himself. Perhaps he found the solitude difficult to bear. Perhaps that was why he’d placed a matrimonial advertisement. “I don’t mind it. Indeed, I expect the peace and quiet will suit me very well.”

“On occasion, it’s more than peace and quiet,” he warned. “It’s total isolation. There are problems that can arise—” He broke off, raking his fingers through his already disheveled black hair. “I don’t want you to think I have misled you.”

A troubled frown knit her brow. “Misled me? How?”

“There are risks that come with living in such a place as this. For one thing, it’s a treacherous journey from the nearest town. And that’s at the best of times. During the winter months, there are days when the road is completely impassible.” Mr. Thornhill paused, appearing to weigh his next words with care. “If someone were in urgent need of a doctor, there’s every chance they would die before he could be summoned from King’s Abbot to attend them.”

Helena did not immediately comprehend the significance of what he said. “Has such a thing ever happened before?”

“No. Not that I’m aware. But with a woman such as yourself—”

“I enjoy excellent health,” she assured him.

“I’m pleased to hear it. But that’s not quite what I meant.”

“What did you mean?”

“Only that the natural result—” Mr. Thornhill stopped mid-sentence, his attention arrested by Bess. She was tilting forward in her seat, lips half parted, as if he were about to reveal a scandalous secret. His eyes narrowed.

“I understand,” Helena said swiftly. “You’re concerned I’ll injure myself somehow and you won’t be able to summon a doctor in time.”