Page 80 of The Matrimonial Advertisement

They walked down the platform toward the first-class railway carriage. A group of ladies was huddled together nearby, talking loudly amongst themselves. As Justin and Helena passed, he saw one of them detach herself from the group.

“Can it be?” she exclaimed. “What a mercy. Look, Mama. It’s Thornhill. And that must be his new bride!”

For an instant, time stood still. Justin might have been an orphan boy, newly apprenticed, hearing the shrill voices of Mrs. Bray and her daughter as they heaped abuse on him.

But the two ladies who approached looked nothing like the ones in his memory.

Mrs. Bray’s hair had turned gray and her sturdy figure had gone to fat. She was clad in unrelieved black, a jet brooch pinned at her jiggling throat. Cecilia Bray was likewise garbed in black, her taffeta skirts stretched over an enormous wire crinoline. She was still possessed of the golden curls and pouting lips that had marked her as a village beauty in her youth; however, next to Helena, such paltry charms appeared decidedly second-rate.

There was no way to avoid introductions.

“Helena,” he said. “May I present Mrs. Bray and her daughter? I was apprenticed to Mrs. Bray’s husband for a time when I was a boy. Madam? Allow me to introduce—”

“Your wife,” Mrs. Bray interrupted. “We know all about your marriage, sir.” Her gimlet eyes fixed on Helena, examining her with undisguised curiosity. “You’re an earl’s daughter, are you? Don’t know how you ever met Thornhill.”

Miss Bray tittered. “Oh, Mama. Where are your manners?” She turned to Helena and, to Justin’s astonishment, dropped a deep curtsy. “I’m honored, your ladyship.”

Helena responded to the ludicrous gesture with a subtle inclination of her head. “Miss Bray.”

“Oh, no.” She tittered again. “I haven’t been Miss Bray in donkey’s years. I’m Mrs. Pettypiece now. My husband owns the draper’s shop in Abercrombie Street.” She slanted a cool glance at Justin, adding, “He’s ever so rich.”

Justin didn’t know any draper by the name of Pettypiece. He nevertheless felt a flash of pity for the man.

“If you haven’t yet been to the shops here in Abbot’s Holcombe, Cecilia will gladly accompany you,” Mrs. Bray said. “You’ll be lamenting the lack of society, living at the Abbey. You are living at the Abbey, aren’t you? A cold, dank place, far past its days of glory. Not a proper residence for a lady, as my daughter can tell you.”

Mrs. Pettypiece nodded vigorously. “The best people hereabouts live in Abbot’s Holcombe,” she informed Helena. “You may take my word for it. I was once friendly with a viscount’s daughter. Miss Elizabeth Parker. Do you know her, my lady? She moved in the very best circles.”

“I’ve not had the pleasure,” Helena said.

“Hmm.” Mrs. Pettypiece touched a finger to her chin. “Let me see… Who else am I acquainted with in the peerage?”

Justin’s eyes narrowed. Good God. Had the Bray women always been such toadeaters? “If you’ll forgive us, madam. We have a train to catch.”

“Are you traveling first class?” Mrs. Pettypiece inquired of Helena. “That is the first-class carriage, isn’t it?”

“First class.” Mrs. Bray clucked her tongue. “Thornhill always did put on airs. When I saw the announcement of his marriage—”

Justin’s attention snapped to Mrs. Bray. “What announcement?”

“It’s in this morning’s paper.” Mrs. Pettypiece gave a little laugh, her eyes averted from his face. “Didn’t you know?”

Justin exchanged a glance with Helena. “Finchley,” he said under his breath.

Helena nodded. “Perhaps we should procure a newspaper?”

She didn’t need to ask twice. After bidding a curt adieu to Mrs. Bray and her daughter, he and Helena walked back to the bookstand. He purchased a copy of the North Devon Post.

Helena leaned over his arm as he rifled through the pages. The announcements of births, marriages, and deaths were located at the back.

“Here it is.” He straightened the page, holding it up so they could both read it at the same time.

On the 27th September at the District Registrar’s Office in Abbot’s Holcombe, Burlington-street, Captain Justin Thornhill, of King’s Abbot, to Lady Helena Elaine Reynolds, daughter of the late Earl of Castleton, Hampshire.

Helena drew back with a short, anxious laugh. “You were right. Mr. Finchley is thorough.”

“He’s making sure everything appears aboveboard.” Justin’s brow furrowed as he read the marriage announcement over again. “See here? This is a reprint. The original announcement appeared in the Times three days ago.”

Helena’s hand tightened on his forearm. “My uncle takes the Times.”