Page 17 of The Matrimonial Advertisement

He started. It was the second time she’d referred to him as kind. “For employing Neville? Hardly. He’s not really even a servant. He chooses to work. Insists upon it, in fact.”

“He doesn’t wish to be idle.”

“Neville’s stubborn. He always has been. But I won’t complain. I’m lucky to have him. Anyone would be. He does the work of five men, all without complaint.”

“As I observed.” She looked back at him, the lush curve of her mouth hinting at a smile. “Does he often serve tea to your guests?”

Justin grimaced. “No, thank God.” Their tea had been the flavorless, watery residue of leaves on their fourth washing. Why Neville hadn’t used fresh tea from the canister, he didn’t know. He had his suspicions, of course. Suspicions which rested squarely on Boothroyd’s shoulders. “Neville prefers being out of doors.”

“He did seem rather uncomfortable inside the Abbey. I thought it was because of me.”

“He’s unaccustomed to seeing women about the place.”

“Your cook is a woman.”

“Mrs. Whitlock is a sixty-year-old tartar with silver hair and a penchant for cheap gin. Next to you, she may as well be a different species.”

“And happy to be so, I have no doubt,” Helena said. “There are advantages to being a sixty-year-old woman.”

“Are there indeed.”

“Of course.” She proceeded to enumerate them with the ease of someone who’d given the matter a great deal of thought. “Freedom. Independence. The ability to go where she likes and do what she likes. The ability to be as eccentric as she wishes.”

As Justin listened, he couldn’t help wondering how highly Helena valued her own independence. Very highly, he suspected. She’d mentioned something to that effect in the first letter she’d written him. He could still remember her words, her small even script flowing across the page, so unmistakably feminine:

I never intended to marry, but reversals of fortune have made it impossible for me to remain independent.

Marriage, it seemed, was a last resort for her. And a not entirely agreeable one at that.

“The only type of woman with more independence than an elderly woman,” she continued, “is a widow.”

“Quite so,” he agreed. “Though may I advise—if you are aspiring to widowhood—you consider marrying a man older than two and thirty?”

She gave him a reproving look. “I’m aspiring to nothing of the sort. I’m merely stating a fact. About your cook, I might add.”

“Your cook, too, in the very near future.”

Her color heightened. “Yes.”

They continued to walk side by side at the edge of the water. In a few short minutes, they’d have to return to the house. He’d have to bundle her into the coach with her temporary maid and send her back to the King’s Arms. And then…

And then, he’d have to wait.

But for how long? A few days? A few weeks while the banns were called? The prospect was grim, but Helena couldn’t very well remain at the Abbey. Not with half the villagers already believing him to be a ruthless, opportunistic monster. Acquiring a wife was supposed to help his reputation, not sink it further into the mire.

“You still haven’t answered my question,” he said.

Helena glanced back at him, puzzled. “What question?”

“About the things you will miss in London.”

“Oh, that.” She was quiet for several seconds, seeming to reflect on the matter with uncommon solemnity. “There was a place I enjoyed very much once. Though I can hardly pine for it. It isn’t even there anymore.” She brushed a stray ribbon away from her mouth as she explained, “The summer before my brother first went away with his regiment, he took me to the Crystal Palace.”

“The Crystal Palace?” The dazzling structure of cast iron and plate glass had been erected in Hyde Park in 1851 to house the Great Exhibition. It had been a chance for Britain to showcase itself as a leader in industrial technology and design—as well as to display the art and inventions of other nations. “The Great Exhibition was eight years ago.”

“Yes, I know that, but…it’s the only happy memory I have of London.”

Justin considered this with a slightly furrowed brow. He couldn’t articulate what it was about her statement that unsettled him so. She didn’t sound sad or self-pitying, merely matter-of-fact, as if she were commenting on the weather.