Page 95 of The Matrimonial Advertisement

Was he beginning to fall in love with her, too?

Helena didn’t know. And she was afraid to ask. She felt deep down that to broach the subject again and be rejected would put an abrupt end to their present intimacy. The fragile bond they were forging together would be broken.

She didn’t dare risk it. Not yet. But she was trying so desperately to be brave. To push past her fears and regain some semblance of the strength and independence she’d once possessed.

Soon, she told herself. Soon, she’d open her heart to him. She’d offer him her love, freely and without expectation. What he chose to do with it would be entirely up to him.

“A ball?” Finchley asked. “Given by Lady Beatrice Wardlow? Naturally you should attend.”

Justin lowered his knife to his plate. “Indeed.” He glared across the dining table at Finchley, catching his eyes over the branch of flickering beeswax candles. This was not the answer he’d been expecting when he acquiesced to inviting his friend to dinner. “And how does it serve our cause to come face to face with Castleton in such a public setting?”

Finchley speared a piece of boiled mutton onto his fork. He’d arrived promptly at seven, suit freshly pressed, shoes polished, and hair combed back from his forehead and smoothed into place with Macassar oil. He wasn’t dandyish by any means, but he looked far more elegant than the rumpled and unshaven version of Tom Finchley that Justin had grown accustomed to over the years.

“Castleton won’t be there,” he said, after washing down his mutton with a swallow of wine. “Not if the editorial is out.”

Justin exchanged a swift glance with Helena. Her brows were knit in a worried line. “And if it hasn’t?”

“He still isn’t likely to show his face,” Finchley said. “Not if he knows you’ll be in attendance.”

“How on earth do you know so much about what he may or mayn’t do?” Miss Holloway asked.

“I have my methods.”

Miss Holloway wouldn’t be fobbed off. “Then I beg you would reveal them. I’ve been wont to think you’re a magician, but I know there must be a more rational explanation than that.”

Finchley’s mouth tilted briefly in a lopsided grin. It was almost boyish. “I have a spy in Castleton’s house.”

Miss Holloway gaped. “What? Who?”

“A footman. He took the place of a lad named Henry at the end of last month.”

“The Henry who went to Bridgehampton to visit his sick mother?”

“The Henry who is cooling his heels at a hotel in Margate, with a great deal of money in his pockets.”

Miss Holloway sat back in her seat. “My goodness. How devious you are, sir.” She laughed suddenly. “I suppose your spy is eavesdropping on Lord Castleton even as we speak.”

“He may be.” Finchley looked at Justin and Helena, his expression sobering. “Though it wasn’t entirely through his efforts that I learned Castleton would seek to avoid the pair of you.”

“How, then?” Helena asked.

“Common sense, mostly, coupled with what I know of human nature.” Finchley set down his wineglass. “Lord Castleton only put his hands on you on one occasion. The remainder of the physical harm you suffered was administered through his representatives, whether by Mr. Glyde, the physicians, or people affiliated with the asylum.”

“Castleton is a physical coward,” Justin said.

Finchley nodded. “Precisely. Add to that, he has an immense aversion to this scandal being publicized. If he were to attend the ball, he’s not likely to make a scene there.”

“But you said he wouldn’t attend,” Helena reminded him.

“I don’t believe he will. As Justin said, the man’s a physical coward. And you, my lady, will be in company with a fellow who’s anything but.” Finchley gave Justin a stern look. “Which reminds me, if by some small chance Castleton does show his face at the ball, you must make an earnest effort not to smash it in.”

“I can’t promise anything,” Justin said.

Finchley sighed. “At least try not to cause a scene. It won’t help, you know. We must persuade people that Castleton is the unreasonable one, not Lady Helena, and certainly not you.” He paused. “Which brings me to the subject of Mr. Glyde. The man appears to have gone to ground. Pelham is unable to find him. I’m unable to find him. It’s made me…uneasy.”

“What about your spy?” Justin asked. “Has he heard anything?”

“Not a thing. Which could mean that there’s nothing to hear. Or else…”