The Matrimonial Advertisement

by Mimi Matthews

  There had been no other invitations. Not to parties or dinners or musicales. Mr. Pelham’s editorial was still the talk of London. And, though no one dared give her the cut direct while she was under the patronage of Lord Wolverton, no ladies had the courage to call on her in Half Moon Street. Indeed, she counted herself lucky to receive a subdued greeting from them in the street.

  “The scandal will pass,” Lord Wolverton promised. “As all scandals do.”

  In the meanwhile, she had to continue moving about in society with her spine straight and her head held high. Given time, she was confident she could weather the storm.

  She’d be even more confident with Justin at her side. Unfortunately, his bruised face was still not fit for public view. While she was out and about in fashionable London, he remained in Half Moon Street, dealing with correspondence and, occasionally, sending and receiving telegrams. Whenever she queried him, he said it was merely business, but Helena had never known him to be so distracted. Indeed, he scarcely looked at her anymore.

  Something between them had fundamentally changed. She could feel it as well as see it. The following Friday, she arrived back from a trip to the British Museum determined to confront him.

  Mr. Finchley had tried to prolong their outing. He’d kept them busy studying the antiquities in the Egyptian Room and admiring the marbles in the Elgin Saloon. Each time she professed her intention to return home, he’d found another reason to keep them there. And when, at last, she’d insisted they leave, he hadn’t appeared at all pleased. As their carriage pulled up in front of the little house in Half Moon Street, she finally understood why.

  A hansom cab was parked outside, the jarvey waiting patiently on his perch. Mr. Jarrow was loading Justin’s luggage into the cab.

  Helena didn’t wait for Mr. Finchley to hand her down from the carriage. She opened the door herself and stumbled out, her skirts nearly tangling in her legs. She didn’t stop to query Mr. Jarrow. Instead, she ran straight into the house. She was only vaguely aware that Jenny and Mr. Finchley had remained behind. The sound of Jenny’s voice—hot and fierce—floated after her.

  “How dared you,” she was saying to Mr. Finchley. “What sort of man are you?”

  Helena didn’t look back. Her heart was thumping at an extraordinary rate. The hall was empty of everyone save Mrs. Jarrow. Helena passed her without a word as she swiftly climbed up the stairs.

  She found Justin in the parlor. He was standing over the little walnut desk in the corner, applying a red wax seal to a letter. His back was to the door, but she knew that he heard her enter the room. He went still for a moment, his shoulders tensing beneath the lines of his black frock coat.

  “Where are you going?” she asked.

  He slowly turned to face her. His expression was shuttered, but there was no disguising the hard set of his jaw and the grim resolution lingering at the back of his gaze. “I must return to Devon.”

  “Did something happen to Neville? Or Mr. Boothroyd?”

  “No. They’re both well. But I’ve been away far too long. I must go back.”

  “Yes, of course. Only allow me two minutes to pack a valise.”

  “No.” There was steel in his voice. It stopped her where she stood.

  “It won’t take a moment.”

  “It doesn’t matter how long it takes. You’re not coming with me.”

  Helena stared at him in incomprehension. “You wish me to come later? After I’ve closed up the house?”

  “No.” A muscle flexed in his jaw. He turned back to the desk. “You’re not coming at all. I’m traveling back alone. I was meant to go this morning, while you were at the museum. Finchley thought it would be best for all concerned. But I couldn’t do it. Not without taking proper leave of you.”

  “I don’t understand. Are you returning to London directly? Is that it?” There was hope in her question, but the hope in her heart was rapidly disintegrating to dust. She went to him and touched his arm. “Won’t you look at me?”

  He grudgingly obliged her. But when his eyes met hers, her stomach sank with realization. His face was harder and more inscrutable than she’d ever seen it. He looked an absolute stranger. Cold and impatient. She knew then—she simply knew—that he was leaving her and never coming back.

  “I wrote you a letter,” he said. “It’s here along with the legal documents he’s drawn up.”

  “What legal documents? Is this about my inheritance?”

  “This has nothing to do with money. It has to do with this arrangement between us. This…marriage. It was a mistake. There’s a means to annul it. I’ve signed the necessary papers. Finchley can explain the details.”

  He offered her the letter and she took it, too numb with shock to do otherwise.

  “I won’t ask anything from you,” he went on in the same businesslike tone. “Indeed, it’s better we cease communication from this day forward. It will make it easier for the both of us to move on from all of this.”

  All of this. He meant their lives together. Their friendship. Their marriage.

  She looked up at him, searching his face for some sign of emotion. “Why are you doing this?”

  “I would think that’s abundantly clear.”

  “Not to me, it isn’t.”

  Justin gave a low growl of frustration. “Need I lay it out for you? We come from two different worlds. There’s no reconciling them. Not now. Not ever.”

  “What does any of that matter? When we’re back in Devon, at the Abbey—”

  “You’re not listening to me. I don’t want you with me at the Abbey. As of this moment, you are no longer part of my life. If ever we meet again—an event which I think highly unlikely—it will be as polite and indifferent strangers. Which is exactly as it should be, my lady.”

  Helena pressed a hand to her midriff. Her breath hurt. It felt as if he’d struck her. “You said you wanted me.” The mortifying words came out in the veriest whisper. Too faint to even inspire a blush in her cheeks.

  His gaze slid away from hers. “As any man with blood in his veins would. You’re a beautiful woman. There’s nothing more to it than that. Had you more experience of men, you’d understand.”

  “But you and I are friends, aren’t we? More than friends.” She was beginning to sound desperate. God help her, she was desperate. “It was to be my decision. When the danger was past, when I was free to make a choice.”

  “We have nothing at all in common, my lady. A friendship is no more possible between us than any other sort of relationship.” He inclined his head to her. “I wish you happy.”

  She caught his sleeve as he moved to leave. “You said you’d go to the ends of the earth for me.”

  “I have done. I went to Abbot’s Holcombe. I came to London. Places I had no inclination to visit.”

  “Then why did you? Why did you do any of this?”

  “Duty,” he said. “But that’s at an end now. Your uncle’s gone. Wolverton’s your ally. You’re safe and free to continue your life as it was before.” He gently removed her hand from his coat. “Goodbye, my lady.”

  Helena watched, eyes blurring with tears, as he crossed the parlor. “Wait!” she cried when he reached the door.

  Justin stopped but didn’t turn around.

  She took a step forward. “What about my brother? Will you still make inquiries?”

  He gave a curt nod of acknowledgment. “If I hear any news, I’ll convey it through Finchley.”

  And then he was gone.

  Helena sank blindly down into a chair. Her heart and lungs contracted in a misery of erratic beats and tortured breaths. It was a physical pain, unlike anything she’d ever experienced before.

  He didn’t love her. He didn’t care for her at all.

  A wrenching sob caught in her throat. She felt hot tears spill from her eyes. She bent her head, lettin
g them fall unchecked. Only when she finally raised her hands to dash them away did she realize she was still clutching his letter. She stared at it, uncomprehending.

  After a long moment, she wiped her eyes and opened it, but inside was nothing more than legal papers and a terse note from Justin saying only what he’d already said before.

  Our marriage was a mistake.

  I won’t ask anything from you.

  I wish you happy.

  “I don’t want to stay in that house,” Helena said.

  “No, indeed,” Jenny agreed. “There are too many memories in Half Moon Street. But where shall we go?”

  Helena linked her arm more firmly with Jenny’s as they walked together along a gravel path in Green Park. It was a bright, clear morning and not as chilly as it had been in the days before. “I shall ask Lady Wolverton,” she said. “She may know of a house nearer to Belgrave Square. Failing that…” She sighed, her gaze drifting over the stark, autumn landscape. “Perhaps we might take a long holiday somewhere?”

  “Such as?”

  “Somewhere warm. Somewhere far from here.”

  “You want to run away again.”

  “Nonsense. I simply don’t wish to be reminded at every turn what a fool I was over a man.”

  Jenny gave her a brief look of commiseration. “I perfectly understand, my dear. But if every female in your circumstances was to leave the metropolis there’d scarcely be any women left in London. We all of us have made fools of ourselves over a gentleman at one time or another.”

  Helena couldn’t prevent another sigh from escaping. It had been three weeks since Justin left her and her heart was still as heavy as it had been when she’d watched him walk out of the parlor—and out of her life forever.

  “Did you care for him awfully?” Jenny asked.

  “Dreadfully.”

  “I wish there was a magic potion I could brew up to take away the hurt. Something to make you forget him.”

  “Even if such a thing existed, I’m not certain I’d take it. I don’t want to forget him. The pain of it helps me to remember.”

  “How maudlin!”

  “It is rather.”

  “You’re lovelorn, that’s the trouble. The only cure for that is time, and lots of it.”

  Helena kicked at a stray pebble with the toe of her kid-leather half boot. “What do you suppose he’s doing now?”

  Jenny’s lips tightened. “I hope he’s wet, muddy, and miserable in that Abbey of his,” she replied unkindly. “I hope his roof leaks, his wine turns to vinegar, and his cook boils all of his food to a mush. In short, I hope he rots. And Thomas Finchley may do the same.”

  “I do wish you’d forgive Mr. Finchley. All he’s guilty of is supporting his friend. He and Justin are like brothers, you know.”

  “Forgive him? Ha!”

  “Well, at least don’t make a martyr of yourself on my account. I don’t expect you to give Mr. Finchley up.”

  “I never had him,” Jenny said. “Which works out very well, since I’ve lately discovered that I do not want him.”

  Helena sincerely wished she felt the same way about Justin. Unfortunately, his absence had done nothing to diminish her feelings. She wanted him as much now as she had when she’d first fallen in love with him.

  “He knew all the time that Mr. Thornhill wished to dissolve your marriage,” Jenny continued in tones of disgust. “He was busily drawing up documents and giving legal advice, all the while he squired us about town.” She looked at Helena. “It was his idea that Mr. Thornhill slink away while we were at the museum.”

  “Yes. Justin said as much.”

  “I’m glad he didn’t heed his advice. Though I don’t know what’s worse. Receiving a farewell letter or being told to your face that—” Jenny broke off, her attention diverted. “Who is that, I wonder?”

  Helena followed her gaze.

  In the distance, two fashionably dressed ladies approached on the path, their maids trailing a discreet length behind. Helena didn’t recognize them. Not immediately. But as they drew closer, she saw it was the Viscountess Parkhurst and Lady Amelia Witherspoon. They acknowledged Helena with a polite bow.

  “Lady Helena,” Viscountess Parkhurst said coolly.

  Helena inclined her head. “Lady Parkhurst. Lady Amelia.”

  The two ladies were no more than passing acquaintances. However, it was not lack of familiarity which made their exchange stilted and uncomfortable. The unfortunate fact was that, after three weeks, the scandal surrounding Mr. Pelham’s editorial had still not completely abated. Most of the ladies and gentlemen Helena encountered during her outings weren’t quite sure how to address her.

  “A fine morning for walking, isn’t it?” Lady Amelia inquired.

  “Yes,” Helena replied. “It’s quite pleasant.”

  “A riveting conversation,” Jenny remarked when the two ladies had moved on down the path.

  Helena smiled slightly. “They haven’t the vaguest idea what to say to me.”

  “They’re a pair of ninnies.”

  “I won’t complain. It could be much worse.” That it hadn’t been was largely due to the influence of Lord Wolverton. Taking their cue from his redoubtable countess, some of the older society ladies had lent Helena support. They’d invited her to tea or included her on their guest lists for dinners or recitals. Even more important, a few had willingly taken up the cause of reforms in private asylums. Nothing had been achieved as yet, but Helena had hopes.

  “Yet another reason you shouldn’t consider leaving London,” Jenny said. “No matter how much your heart is breaking.”

  Helena wondered what state Justin’s heart was in. “Do you know, all the time we were together, I truly thought he was growing to care for me, but the day he left—the things he said. He was so cold and so unfeeling. It was as if he was quite another person. As if he’d never felt any warmth or affection for me at all.”

  “Thornhill was always gruff and grim. In truth, my dear, I never understood what you saw in him. He was brave, I’ll admit, and I quite admire how he dealt with Mr. Glyde, but other than that…” Jenny shook her head. “No. In the long term, Thornhill wouldn’t have made a conformable husband. I say you’re well rid of him.”

  “This was different. It wasn’t mere gruffness. He was cold and cruel. He was never thus before. Never.” Helena’s brow furrowed. “Wait. That isn’t precisely true.”

  “See? Just as I told you. An unfeeling brute. Indeed, if he’s spoken to you in such a way more than once, you may be assured of his unpleasant disposition.”

  “Yes, he was cold with me once before, but it was—” Helena stopped suddenly. She dropped Jenny’s arm. “Oh, Jenny! Why did I not remember this sooner?”

  Jenny looked at her, her dark auburn brows raised in question.

  “The day he spoke so coldly to me,” Helena explained. “It was the first day we met. At the King’s Arms in Devonshire. He said something exceedingly vulgar.”

  “Did he?” Jenny sunk her voice. “What was it, pray?”

  Helena waved her hand. “It doesn’t matter. Besides, I’d blush to repeat it.” She turned and began walking briskly back the way they’d come. “I’ve been so blind. So stupid.”

  Jenny trotted after her. “Where are we going?”

  “To Half Moon Street,” Helena replied. “And then to Grosvenor Square.”

  “Grosvenor Square!” Jenny gaped. “Good lord, your uncle hasn’t returned from Hampshire already, has he?”

  “Not that I’m aware,” Helena said. “But it isn’t my uncle we’re going to see.”

  North Devon, England

  October, 1859

  Nobility wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. Justin had had ample proof of that in the weeks since he’d left Helena in London. He’d always heard that self-sacrifice was good for t
he soul. That virtue was its own reward, and so forth. But as he went about the daily business of his life in North Devon, all he felt was a crushing misery.

  He could find no pleasure in his business dealings. No satisfaction in repairs to the Abbey. Even his daily gallops on Hiran failed to lift his spirits out of the gloom. He’d come to the grim realization that there was nothing for him without her.

  Was this love? This aching desolation? As if an essential part of him had been ripped out, leaving behind a yawning emptiness that no amount of activity—or of drink—could ever hope to fill?

  Whatever it was, he had to find a way to master it. To reduce it to more manageable proportions. But there seemed no conceivable method to overcome his loss. He wanted Helena. Needed Helena. And if something didn’t change soon, there was a good chance he’d cast all his honorable intentions to the wind and make straight for London on the next train.

  “I’m contemplating returning to India,” he said to Boothroyd one morning as they reviewed his correspondence in the library. He was in his shirtsleeves, his face unshaven and his hair in wild disarray. He both looked and felt like hell.

  Boothroyd paused in the act of sharpening his quill. “India, sir? What’s brought this on?”

  “What do you think?”

  “Ah yes. I see. And I quite understand. But…if you’ll forgive me, sir…there are simpler solutions than traveling halfway round the world.”

  “Such as?”

  “You could find another wife.”

  Justin shot his steward a murderous glare.

  “Yes, yes,” Boothroyd said quickly, holding up his hand. “I meant no offense. But consider. Once your current marriage has been dissolved, we can place another advertisement and this time—”

  “Have a care, Boothroyd,” Justin said.

  “It was merely a suggestion, sir.”

  “If you knew her as I do, you’d never dare make it.”

  “As you say. Her ladyship was a singular female. Which brings me to my next suggestion.” Boothroyd laid aside his quill. “You could simply return to London, find her ladyship, and bring her back to the Abbey. You’re her lawful husband. It’s within your rights to do so.”