Page 22 of The Matrimonial Advertisement

Justin regarded her in silence for a moment. The sensitivity that had shone in his eyes only moments before slowly gave way to something hard and almost predatory. “I’m anxious. I don’t think I’ll be completely easy until you’re mine.”

Helena’s stomach performed a disconcerting somersault. She took another hasty swallow of her tea, her eyes still locked with his. “Nor I. Until you’re mine, that is.”

To her astonishment, a dull red flush appeared on Justin’s neck, visible just above the line of his cravat. He cleared his throat. “Have I told you— That is, I know I haven’t, but I had meant to— Your gown and your…” He motioned to her shawl. “Is that from India?”

“It is. It was a gift from my brother.”

“Yes, well, it looks very pretty,” he said. “You look very pretty.”

She lowered her teacup back to its saucer and returned them both to the tea tray. Her heart was thumping with uncommon force. “Thank you. But you needn’t feel compelled to say such things.”

“I don’t.”

“We’ve already agreed romance isn’t necessary in an arrangement such as ours.”

“What has romance to do with anything?”

Helena could think of no acceptable answer, so instead addressed herself to the tea tray. She refilled each of their cups and then offered Justin another cake. She chose one for herself, too, and then spent some little time cutting it—quite unnecessarily—into even quarters.

In the back of her mind, Jenny’s stern voice admonished her for being so shy and awkward. It wasn’t enough just to feed a guest, the voice said. One must engage them in polite conversation as well. Helena knew this. She’d spent years playing hostess, first for her father and then for her brother and uncle. All that was needed was an innocuous remark about the weather. Anything would do at this point.

“I thought it was rather cold last night,” she said finally.

Justin’s dark brows knit with immediate concern. “You weren’t warm enough?”

“Not at first, no. But later Mrs. Blevins brought up an extra blanket for me.” She paused to stir more sugar into her tea. “She said that nights at Greyfriar’s Abbey will be even colder.”

“You won’t need extra blankets to keep you warm at the Abbey.”

“Oh no,” she agreed, remembering Mr. Boothroyd’s concern about excess expenses. “Not at all. I’m perfectly capable of making do.”

Justin’s mouth tilted up in a bemused half smile. She worried he would say something more about economy and was relieved when he turned the subject. “I trust Bess stayed with you last night.”

“She did.” Helena spread a teaspoonful of Mrs. Blevins’s strawberry preserves onto a slice of cake. “Will you engage her as my companion for tonight as well?”

He nodded. “Do you mind it very much?”

“Not particularly,” she said, adding, “Bess has been telling me all about the history of the Abbey.”

Justin grimaced. “Which version of history would that be? The one with the evil monk? Or the one with the ghost and the buried treasure?”

“The one with the mad monk and the papists’ gold.”

“Good God. Is he mad now?”

“Bess says so.”

“And papists too? It grows more gothic by the second.”

Helena took a sip of her tea. “Do you know why there’s so much local superstition about the Abbey?”

“Not with any certainty. There’ve been rumors about ghostly monks and buried treasure for as long as I can remember. I believed them myself when I was a boy.”

“Is that why you and your friends climbed down the cliffs to sail there every week?”

He crumbled a piece of cake on his plate, seeming to consider his answer. “No. Not entirely. Though Finchley was always hopeful we’d find a hidden cache of gold.”

Her eyes widened. “Mr. Finchley?”