Page 110 of The Matrimonial Advertisement

“After the night Mr. Glyde came to the Abbey, you never again attempted to kiss me. Or to try and persuade me to…” A blush suffused her face.

He groaned. “You think I don’t want you? You think it doesn’t kill me every time I see you—wanting to kiss you? To take you in my arms?”

Her blush deepened to scarlet. “Then why?”

Why? He’d asked himself that question hundreds of times in the past weeks. The answer was always the same. “What sort of blackguard would have relations with a woman who hasn’t chosen him of her own free will?”

Her brow furrowed. “Hypothetically? Any number of gentlemen.”

“No they wouldn’t. Not if they were worthy of the name.”

“You’re wrong. I know countless ladies who married gentlemen chosen by their fathers. Their own preference was never taken into account. And their husbands must have had relations with them because many now have children. Some of them two and three.”

“It’s not the same thing. When you came to me in Devon, it was out of desperation. If not for your uncle’s abuse, you’d never have answered a matrimonial advertisement. You’d have been free. Wealthy, titled, and free. I don’t believe you’d have married at all. And if you did, it would have been to a man like Wexford or one of those other lords or sirs.”

She gave a dismissive huff. “None of that matters now. The past can’t be changed. And the fact is, I did answer your advertisement. I did decide to marry you.”

“But you wouldn’t have done—”

“What difference does that make? We’re not living in the land of would have and should have. We’re living in the here and now. And here and now I’m married to you.”

“I won’t have you.”

Helena drew back as if he’d slapped her.

“Not physically,” he said. “Not until all of this is resolved.”

“I see.” She was still blushing mightily. Such topics weren’t meant to be discussed between men and women. Even if they were married. “Am I to have no say in this at all?”

“When this is over. When you’re free to choose what you truly want.”

“Very well,” she said. “But my feelings on the subject won’t change.”

Justin didn’t like to inquire what those feelings were. She hadn’t fully articulated them yet. Clearly, she’d wanted him to kiss her. That was something, wasn’t it? A physical attraction could be built upon. And, when coupled with a friendship, he supposed the two of them could be content, at least for a short while. If only…

If only he were a different man and the Abbey a different place. If only he could give her everything she deserved. Restore her life to what it might have been if things hadn’t gone so terribly wrong with her uncle and Mr. Glyde.

But he couldn’t do any of those things. It wasn’t in his power to make her happy. He realized that now. The truth of it had been driven home in the past weeks as he watched her move through fashionable society. She belonged here, with people of her own kind. People with grand titles who rode in lacquered carriages and danced in gilded ballrooms.

When this was all over, he was going to have to let her go. It was the only thing he could do. When you cared for someone, you made the sacrifice. They didn’t have to ask for it. You made it regardless. Even if it left you desolate. Even if it broke your heart.

After staying up the better part of the night, Helena slept until noon. The rest of the day, she spent with Jenny. They worked on their needlework in the parlor, sitting side by side on the plump chintz sofa. Helena needed something active to occupy her mind. She wasn’t going to force her company on Justin.

Not that he was seeking it out. He’d spent most of the afternoon answering letters from Mr. Boothroyd and other of his business associates. Indeed, he didn’t emerge from his room until nearly five o’clock, and only then in response to a note sent round by Mr. Finchley.

Helena looked up at him in nervous expectation as he broke the seal and unfolded the paper. He swiftly skimmed the contents. “Finchley says he’s heard from Mr. Pelham. The editorial will be printed on Monday.”

“Tomorrow?” Jenny glanced from Helena to Justin. “And what happens then?”

“We act as normal,” Justin said.

Helena set aside her needlework. Her hands had begun to tremble. Her stomach was trembling, too. “That might prove difficult.”

“Why should it?”

“People will naturally want to know why you look as if you’ve gone ten rounds with a prizefighter.”

Justin grimaced. He raised a hand to his face. “That bad, is it?”