Page 70 of The Matrimonial Advertisement

If Justin was dressed for riding, he must have gone to the stable. With any luck he’d be there still.

With that in mind, she headed out the door and down the front steps, tying on her bonnet as she went. The air was crisp and cool on her face. There was no hint of moisture in it. Perhaps the rain had truly stopped?

An anxious tremor went through her. She envisioned Mr. Glyde waiting for the moment he could swoop in and take her. He’d bring the magistrate with him again, and this time there would be no thwarting him.

Justin had told her that, after visiting the Abbey that fateful, stormy evening, Mr. Glyde had returned to London on a night train. He’d probably gone straight to see her uncle. To make his report. She supposed he could have come back. Perhaps he was even now lingering about the village? Drinking at the King’s Arms. Biding his time until the roads dried out.

Or perhaps he was still in London, anticipating her return?

There were countless places for him to hide in the city. If she went back, she’d have to remain forever on her guard. At the slightest sign of weakness or inattention, Mr. Glyde would seize her and take her to Lowbridge House. She’d be locked away with no hope of regaining her freedom.

But she couldn’t think about that now. For one thing, she hadn’t even agreed to Justin’s scheme. There might yet be another way.

She tightened her shawl around her shoulders as she marched down the drive. There was activity at the stable. She could see the dogs lying in the stable yard, watching Mr. Danvers polish the carriage. Contrary to the disparaging report rendered by Mrs. Standish, he appeared very much awake and not at all the worse for drink.

He tipped his cap to her as she entered the stable.

Justin’s horse, Hiran, was tied in the aisle, his chestnut coat gleaming like a freshly minted penny. Justin was at his side, swinging a saddle onto his back. He was clad in Bedford cord breeches and black top boots, his white linen shirt worn open at the collar to reveal a shadowed glimpse of the burns on his neck.

He caught Helena’s gaze over the top of Hiran’s withers.

“Good morning,” she said brightly.

“You’re up early.”

“Not very.”

“No?” He settled the saddle in place and reached under Hiran’s belly to catch the girth. “Do all fine ladies rise at half seven?”

“This one does.” She walked to the other side of the aisle, watching as Justin tightened the girth. “Sometimes even earlier.”

“Shocking.”

She shrugged one shoulder. “I’ve never enjoyed lolling about in bed in the morning. There’s too much to be done.”

“I’d have thought that was what servants were for.”

“Servants can’t do their work without direction.”

Justin scratched Hiran on the shoulder, his expression thoughtful.

“Where do you ride?” she asked. “When you exercise him, I mean.”

“It depends. Usually I take him into King’s Abbot.”

“And today?”

“Today I thought I’d ride on the beach.” He moved to a nearby hook to retrieve Hiran’s bridle. “Do you ride?”

“Not since…” She faltered. “Not in a long while.”

“But you do know how?”

“Of course. I used to ride with Giles before he left for India. We’d go out in the early morning for a canter in Hyde Park. After he left, I sometimes rode there with a groom.”

Justin bridled Hiran. He had an expert hand, cradling the big horse’s face as he eased the bit into his mouth and slipped the bridle over his ears.

“Would you like to ride with me?” he asked.