Page 59 of The Matrimonial Advertisement

Mr. Boothroyd lowered his teacup back to its saucer with an audible clink. “I was employed by the Abbey’s previous owner.”

She stared at him, stunned. “Do you mean to say you worked for Sir Oswald Bannister?”

“I was his private secretary.” Mr. Boothroyd’s face betrayed a flicker of distaste. “In which capacity I resided here at the Abbey for nearly a decade. The study, as you call it, has the dubious distinction of having once been my office.”

She waited for him to say more, but he didn’t appear inclined to elaborate. “Really, Mr. Boothroyd,” she said in exasperation. “Must I pry the details out of you?”

“The story is not mine to tell, ma’am. If Mr. Thornhill wishes to relate it to you at some point in the future, I daresay he will. Until then, I must respect his wishes.”

“He’s asked you not tell me?”

Mr. Boothroyd shifted in his seat. “Not in so many words. But Mr. Thornhill is a private man. I’ve already exposed him enough by placing that unfortunate matrimonial advertisement. I’ll not compound my sin by spreading gossip about him.”

Helena was sure she hadn’t heard him correctly. “Forgive me. Are you saying it was you who placed the advertisement?”

“It was, my lady.” He raised his cup to his lips, taking a casual sip of his tea. “Mr. Thornhill was not at all pleased.”

Her eyes met his. He looked steadily back at her. They were no longer simply having tea, she realized. They were two adversaries, engaged in a polite battle of wills.

“Didn’t he wish to marry?” she asked.

“No, indeed. However, he soon came to agree that there were benefits to having a wife. The right lady would make his life easier, both at the Abbey and within the community. She would help to relieve the weight of his burdens.”

She returned her teacup and saucer to the tea tray. “If I remain here at the Abbey—”

“If you remain?”

“—I shall, of course, address myself to alleviating some of those burdens.”

“You are one of them, my lady,” Mr. Boothroyd said.

Helena stilled, her breath stopping in her chest. So, it was not to be mere innuendo, then. He wished to confront the situation head-on.

An hour ago, she might have welcomed a little plain speaking. Now, however, she found she didn’t have the stomach for it.

“Yes. Yes, I know.” She tightened her fingers in the soft cashmere folds of her shawl. “I never meant—”

To lie? To scheme? To take advantage of Justin’s kindness?

No, she hadn’t meant anything. She’d thought only of herself. Of escaping from her uncle. Of finding a decent, honest gentleman who’d give her the protection of his name.

In doing so, she’d been worse than selfish. She’d been cruel. If she had any doubt of that, all she need do is recall the look on Justin’s face as he sat at her bedside, his elbows resting on his knees and his head bent under the weight of her betrayal.

But she wouldn’t make excuses. Not to Justin’s steward of all people. She had some pride left, after all.

“My lady?”

She rose from her seat on the sofa. Mr. Boothroyd swiftly stood as well. “I’m going for a walk outside.”

His brows shot up. “In this weather?”

“It’s only a drizzle.”

“You would do better to remain in the house.”

“Undoubtedly.” She smoothed the skirts of her gray silk gown and wrapped her shawl more firmly about her shoulders. “I shall walk to the stables to see Neville. Surely that’s within the bounds of my confinement.”

Mr. Boothroyd’s lips pressed together in a line. “I don’t think it wise of you to caper about out of doors. If you were to have another fall…”