Page 29 of The Matrimonial Advertisement

“Do you truly want to know, miss?”

“Of course.”

Her words were all the permission Bess needed to disregard Mrs. Blevins’s warning. “Well, miss.” She continued her tale in a hushed voice. “Bill was down in the cove off the beach at Abbot’s Holcombe and—what do you think happened? He looks up and sees the ghost of Sir Oswald himself walking the Abbey cliffs!”

“Oh? I wasn’t aware Sir Oswald had died.”

“Years and years ago,” Bess said. “When Mr. Thornhill returned from India, like.”

A frisson of uneasiness tickled at Helena’s spine. She knew Justin had taken the Abbey from Sir Oswald in a somewhat unscrupulous manner, but he hadn’t mentioned anything about the man’s death. “I see.” She was silent for a long moment. “How did he die?

“He fell off the cliff, miss. The very ones where Bill seen his ghost. Everyone says as how…” Bess trailed off. “But Mr. Hargreaves says it was an accident. And he knew Sir Oswald and all.”

Helena licked lips that were suddenly dry. She was almost afraid to ask. “Who is Mr. Hargreaves?”

“The magistrate, miss. From the inquest.”

The inquest? Helena couldn’t credit it. If there had been such a scandal, surely she’d have heard about it before now. If not from Justin himself, then at least from Mr. Finchley.

Her stomach, already in knots at the thought of her impending nuptials, proceeded to knot itself even tighter.

Could it be she’d simply traded one untenable situation—one violent and dangerous man—for another? Was life with Justin Thornhill going to be no safer than the life she was leaving behind?

She refused to believe it.

Since her arrival in Devon, Justin had shown himself to be a gentleman in dozens of ways. And not only where she was concerned. He was kind to his servants and his dogs. He took care of Neville. And though he had, admittedly, been vulgar at their first meeting, no man of a crass and violent disposition could ever have touched her face with so much tenderness as he had on the beach yesterday. Or kissed her so softly, so gently, as he had earlier today in the private parlor.

But how could a woman ever know for certain? It was impossible. At some point, she must simply put her faith and her trust in a man. The prospect frightened Helena more than any ghost ever could.

“Will you go back?” Bess asked.

“What?”

“To London, miss. If you do, I can come with you. You’ll need a maid on the journey. And I’ve always wanted to see London and to work in a grand house.”

“How do you know I have a grand house?”

“Just by looking at you.” Bess flopped onto her back. “Your gowns. I never seen such fine fabric. And your hands. So white and soft. My aunt Agnes trained for a lady’s maid in Bath. She taught me how to lift an oil stain out of silk. If you take me with you to London, I can look after your clothes. I’m a fast learner, miss.”

Helena buried her face in the scratchy fabric of her pillow. Tears had sprung to her eyes several times during her flight from Grosvenor Square to Devon, but tonight, for the first time, she truly felt like weeping. “Thank you, Bess,” she said. “But I’m not going back to London. Not ever.”

They were married the following morning at the district registrar’s office in Abbot’s Holcombe. Helena wore a plain gray silk day dress with a dark cloth paletot trimmed in braid. It was a long way from the white ruffled wedding gowns she’d often admired in the pages of the Englishwomen’s Domestic Magazine, but it was not wholly unhandsome. Or so Bess had said when first she beheld her descending the stairs at the King’s Arms earlier that morning.

“You look like a queen, miss,” she’d declared.

Helena didn’t see how she could. She’d hardly managed to sleep a wink the previous night. She was exhausted and emotional and scared out of her wits. She very much feared something would happen at the last moment to prevent her marriage to Justin. Indeed, she expected it.

As she stood beside him at the registrar’s office, she couldn’t seem to stop trembling. Justin himself was outwardly calm, even if he did seem unnaturally still and grave. He’d dressed for the occasion in a somber black suit. The burns on his neck were hidden by the high collar of his white linen shirt and a severe black cravat. She could see the glimmer of a pocket watch chain at the front of his waistcoat.

She listened to his deep voice as he disavowed any impediment to their marriage. At the registrar’s prompting, she did the same. And then Justin was taking her left hand in his. She looked up at him with a start as he slid a plain gold band onto her finger. She was so dreadfully nervous she didn’t realize the registrar had pronounced them man and wife until Justin raised her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to her wedding band.

Helena felt the same mortifying rush of emotion she’d felt when he’d given her the piece of broken sea glass two days before. There was no reason for him to kiss her hand in such a gallant manner. Theirs was not a romantic union. Yet, he held her knuckles against his lips for a long moment, his eyes fixed steadily on hers.

Suddenly, she wanted nothing more than to tell him how tired she was and how much she’d been afraid. He was her husband now. Mr. Finchley had said he would protect her. That nothing would ever harm her if Justin Thornhill gave her his name.

But it wasn’t the time. Not here. And certainly not in front of Bess and Mr. Boothroyd.

She swallowed back her feelings of relief and, as Justin lowered her hand, she managed a weak smile. “Well,” she said.