Page 64 of The Matrimonial Advertisement

“So,” Helena said, stirring a generous helping of sugar into her tea, “after reading that letter, my uncle would have all but had your direction.”

“That’s the size of it.”

“He would have sent Mr. Glyde after me straightaway.” Her expression was meditative. “And what about Jenny? You say he didn’t hurt her—”

“He didn’t. Not physically. He turned her off without a reference. He gave her half an hour to collect her things and then had a footman escort her from the premises. She had no money and no one with whom she could take shelter.”

“Which is why she went to see Mr. Finchley,” Helena concluded.

Justin’s lips tilted in a wry smile. “You know her well.”

She shrugged. “It’s what I would have done.”

A sharp twinge of emotion caught him unaware. He recognized it at once for what it was. He’d experienced the exact same sensation when Finchley had prattled on about Helena’s beauty.

Jealousy.

It was damned disconcerting. He had no earthly reason to be jealous of Finchley, nor of any man. Nevertheless…

“You think a great deal of him,” he said.

“Of Mr. Finchley? Yes, I suppose I do.”

“Why? You scarcely know him.”

“No, but he was kind to me when I needed it most. I shan’t ever forget it.”

Justin’s fingers tightened reflexively on the handle of his teacup. He forced them to loosen, imposing relaxation on himself as he raised the dainty porcelain cup to his lips and took a deep drink. The brew was strong—unlike the tea they’d shared on her first visit to the Abbey. “Ah yes, kindness.” He returned his cup and saucer to the tea tray. “One of your primary requirements in a husband, as I recall.”

A dull flush rose in Helena’s cheeks. “Where is Jenny now? What has Mr. Finchley done with her?”

“He’s procured a little house for her near Piccadilly.”

Helena’s mouth fell open. “He’s done what?”

“It’s all perfectly respectable,” Justin assured her.

Or so he’d been led to believe.

Then again, Finchley had been in residence when Justin had come calling in Half Moon Street. And he had admitted to spending time alone with Miss Holloway without benefit of a chaperone.

“She needed somewhere safe to stay,” he explained, as much for his own peace of mind as for Helena’s. “A place where your uncle and his hired villains wouldn’t think to look for her. And Finchley could hardly offer her board and lodging with him, could he?”

Helena was suitably appalled. “I should hope not!”

“He’s been careful not to compromise her.”

“I’m certain he has, but…” She pressed her fingertips to her forehead, as if to stave off an impending headache. “Oh, but this is all my fault. If not for me, Jenny would never have been put in such a predicament.”

“It’s not as bad as it seems.”

“Isn’t it?”

“No,” he said. “Not by half.”

She raised her eyes to his, a glimmer of hope shining in their hazel depths.

His pulse kicked up a notch, his blood responding to the warmth in her gaze with an equal warmth of its own. He cleared his throat. “For one thing, I’ve taken over the lease from Finchley. And before you object, I would remind you that Miss Holloway is, in some degree, your cousin, which makes her my relation by marriage. It’s perfectly appropriate for a gentleman to look after an indigent relation, is it not?”