The Matrimonial Advertisement

by Mimi Matthews

  “I found it on the beach this morning when I was riding Hiran. I’ve never seen a piece so blue. For a moment, I thought it was a sapphire. A remnant of the monk’s buried treasure, perhaps.”

  “Oh, Justin. It’s beautiful.”

  “It made me think of you. Of the first day we walked together on the beach. Do you remember?”

  “How could I forget? I still have the piece of sea glass you gave me then. It’s in my jewel case.”

  “This one is yours, too.” He dropped it into the palm of her hand. “To add to your collection.”

  She examined it closely. “Such a fascinating thing, sea glass. It starts its journey so humbly. And then, with time—”

  “A great deal of time.”

  “How much?”

  “A decade or more, I’d guess.”

  “And then it’s transformed into something new. Something extraordinary.” She looked at him. “What would you have done with it if I hadn’t come back?”

  “I don’t know. I scarcely knew what I was going to do with myself.” He smoothed a stray lock of hair from her face. “Yet another reason I’m so very glad you’re here. I’m relying on you to tell me what happens next.”

  “Am I to decide?”

  “I suspect you have a plan.”

  “It’s not a very complicated one.” She ran the backs of her fingers along the edge of his jaw. “I didn’t come to Devon alone. Jenny is with me. I left her at the Abbey to supervise the servants.”

  “We haven’t many of those at the moment. Mrs. Standish deserted us three weeks ago.”

  “Mr. Boothroyd said as much. But it doesn’t matter. I’ve brought plenty of servants with me. A butler, three maids, and two footmen, to be precise. There were several more at my uncle’s townhouse who were anxious to get away, but I didn’t like to deprive him of his entire staff all at once.”

  Justin’s lips twitched. “You took his servants.”

  “He won’t miss them. Besides, we needed them more. We’re going to restore the Abbey to its former glory. I’m going to make it into a proper home for us.”

  “A thankless task.”

  “Not in the least. We’ll be grateful for it and so will Neville and Mr. Boothroyd, and our children, too, whenever they arrive.” She curved her hand around his neck. The warmth in her gaze made his stomach tremble. “A home, Justin. Yours and mine.”

  “Anywhere you are is my home.”

  Her eyes glistened. “What a perfectly lovely thing to say.”

  “It’s the truth. I’ve been in hell without you, Helena. Good God, today I actually contemplated returning to India.”

  She frowned. “Yes, I know. Mr. Boothroyd told me.”

  Justin’s brows lowered. “Did he?”

  “You must forgive him divulging your secrets. The poor gentleman. He was terribly worried for you—and ever so happy to see me. Even Jonesy and Paul looked relieved.” She twined her fingers through the hair at his nape. “My darling, you’ve been in a dreadful mood, haven’t you? Impossible to live with.”

  He nuzzled her cheek. “I daresay you’ll remedy that.”

  Helena laughed. “Do you know,” she said as she drew his mouth to hers for another soft kiss, “I do believe I shall.”

  Two Months Later

  Helena teetered precariously on the topmost step of the ladder, reaching to affix the final candle on the Christmas tree. It was an enormous pine, tall and full, with sappy branches that stretched out to tangle in her velvet skirts. A glittering tinsel star crowned its head. “I almost have it,” she said. “Almost…”

  Neville held the old wooden ladder steady. “Be careful.”

  “I’m being exceedingly careful. It’s this dratted candle that won’t cooperate. Do we have any more bits of wire? If you could look in the basket—”

  “I leave the hall for five minutes and this is what I find on my return.” Justin’s voice sounded from the doorway. He’d been helping them decorate, but when the afternoon post had arrived, he’d taken one look at it and abruptly retreated to the library.

  She glanced at him over her shoulder. “Is everything all right?”

  “No, it’s not all right.” Justin strode across the hall, taking Neville’s place at the base of the ladder. “Come down from there, my dear, before you break your neck.”

  She grasped her skirts in her hand, holding them out of the way as she began to climb down. She’d descended no more than two steps when Justin’s hands closed round her waist and lifted her the rest of the way to the floor.

  “I wasn’t in any danger,” she assured him.

  He gave her a stern look. “You should have waited for me.”

  “It’s the last tree candle, Justin,” Neville explained. “We’re putting it in the empty spot.”

  “There’s an empty spot?” Justin cast a dubious glance around the hall. “Where? We’ve covered every conceivable surface in the Abbey.”

  Helena couldn’t argue the point. In the past week, she’d become somewhat obsessed with decorating for the upcoming holiday. Every room was adorned with festive greenery, winterberries, and ribbon bows. Justin and Neville had never had a proper Christmas before and she was determined to deliver one to them with all the trimmings.

  “What was it that came in the post?” she asked. “Was it bad news?”

  “It was a letter from India.”

  Her pulse quickened. “About Giles?”

  “Come into the library with me for a moment. We can discuss things there. And Neville? Don’t dare climb up that ladder while we’re gone. It’s not fit for kindling.”

  His hand at the small of her back, Justin guided her into the library and shut the door behind them. They went to the window embrasure and sat down.

  “The letter was from Simon Harding,” he said. “You recall my mentioning him?”

  Helena nodded. Mr. Harding and his wife were friends of Justin’s from his early days in India. They were fairly well-connected, with contacts in both the British and native communities. At Justin’s request, Mr. Harding had agreed to do a little investigating. “Has he found out anything?”

  “It may be nothing. Then again…it could be significant. It involves the officer who witnessed your brother’s death. The one on whose evidence your uncle inherited the title.”

  “Colonel Anstruther?”

  “Harding says there may have been bad blood between Anstruther and your brother.” Justin paused. “It’s rather indelicate.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “It involves Anstruther’s wife. Apparently, she and your brother were rumored to be lovers.”

  Helena drew back in surprise. She’d known her brother enjoyed the company of beautiful women. He was a handsome fellow with a disposition to flirt. But adultery was quite something else. And with a fellow officer’s wife? “Giles would never have been so stupid. And even if he was, what could it possibly have to do with any of this?”

  “Probably nothing,” Justin said. “Then again…it may call Anstruther’s identification of your brother’s body into question.”

  A miniscule spark of hope kindled in Helena’s breast. “Is that what Mr. Harding thinks?”

  “He doesn’t give an opinion. But he says, if we like, he can arrange to speak with Anstruther. To ask him a few questions.”

  “I would like that,” she said. “Very much.”

  “In all likelihood it will only confirm what’s already been reported. That your brother died during the siege. But there’s a very small chance that Harding will learn something new. He has a sense for people. It’s one of the reasons he’s been so successful in business.”

  “How soon can he speak with Colonel Anstruther?”

  “Not until early spring. Anstruther’s retired to Delhi, and Harding won’t be back that way until April. Do you mind wait
ing?”

  “Not at all. I’m grateful he’s undertaken so much on my behalf.”

  “Harding’s a good man.”

  She moved to rise. “I must write him a letter, thanking him.”

  He caught her hand. “You needn’t do it right now. Indeed, you needn’t do anything.” His fingers twined through hers. “Leave the rest of the decorating to Miss Holloway and Neville. It feels an age since I’ve been alone with you.”

  “An age? Since this morning?” She smiled. “My darling, what a novel concept of time you have.”

  He bent his head and kissed her. Softly, softly. “How I adore your little endearments. They make me want to take you straight back to bed.”

  She laughed, even as a blush heated her cheeks. In the past two months, they’d spent endless hours in the great Elizabethan bed, learning each other. She knew the shape of him now. The warmth and weight of his body and the texture of his sun-bronzed skin. She knew the very beat of his heart. During their most intimate moments, it thumped in rhythm with her own.

  “I do love you,” she said.

  Justin gazed down at her. Intense emotion glimmered in the depths of his gray eyes. “I love you more.”

  She stroked his cheek. “Impossible.”

  His mouth hitched in a sudden half smile. “Shall we argue over it?”

  “I haven’t the strength. I’m exhausted from all this decorating.”

  “Didn’t I warn you it was too large an undertaking? Even with the servants—”

  “It makes no matter now. We’re almost finished. And you must admit how well everything looks. The holly and the ivy and the candles on the tree.” She scratched her fingertips through his afternoon stubble. “Just you wait, my love. I’m going to give you a Christmas season to remember.”

  He covered her hand with his. “You already have.”

  She melted a little at his words. It was all so new to him, being loved and cared for. She felt it every time she kissed or caressed him. Every time she lay tangled in his arms. He was drinking her in. Allowing her love for him to blot out the darkness of his past. “Are you disappointed that Mr. Finchley won’t be here for the holidays?”

  “He might come next month. After Miss Holloway’s left us.”

  Helena sighed. “I wish she wouldn’t go.”

  “She’s a creature of London.”

  “I suppose. She’s never been entirely happy in the country. And now I’ve settled some money on her, she’s anxious to return to London and start her life there.”

  “Does she know the terms of her independence?”

  Helena bit her lip. “No. I haven’t explained the details yet.”

  Justin quite pointedly said nothing. He didn’t approve of her meddling, but he loved her too much to forbid it.

  “Do you think she’ll be terribly unhappy with me?” Helena asked.

  “If I said yes, would you leave the pair of them alone?”

  “I’m not matchmaking. Truly I’m not. It’s only that…if left to her own devices, Jenny would never forgive him. She doesn’t tolerate any nonsense.”

  “There isn’t much nonsense about Finchley. But you must have realized by now that he’s not a typical attorney. He solves problems for his clients. He fixes things that need fixing.”

  “He’s secretive.”

  “Necessarily so. He’s often employed by powerful people. The actions he takes on their behalf aren’t always strictly legal.”

  Helena considered. “I don’t know if he’s right for Jenny, or she for him. But I won’t have the demise of their friendship on my conscience.”

  “It shouldn’t be. I’m the one who had Finchley draw up those annulment papers. At the time, I thought—”

  “I know what you thought.”

  He grimaced. “It was damned foolish of me.”

  “Now that we can agree on.” She stretched up to press a kiss to his mouth. His arms circled around her, drawing her close against his chest.

  “Are you happy, sweetheart?”

  “Mmm. More than happy. So much more.” Helena settled into his embrace. “You make me feel strong, Justin. Indeed, when I’m with you, I feel brave enough to face the world.”

  His lips brushed over her temple. She felt him smile. “We’ll face it together, love,” he said.

  And so they did.

  An Excerpt from A Holiday By Gaslight

  Turn the Page for a Sneak Peek of Mimi Matthews’ new Victorian Christmas Novella

  Available Christmas 2018

  London, England

  November, 1861

  An icy late November breeze rustled the bare branches of the trees along the Serpentine. Hyde Park was practically deserted at this time of morning. And no wonder. It was freezing cold, the gray skies heavy with the scent of impending rain. Sophie Appersett thrust her hands more firmly into the confines of the oversized mink muff she wore suspended from a silken cord round her neck. “So you see, Mr. Sharpe,” she said. “There’s no reason to continue as we are.”

  Edward Sharpe walked at her side in complete silence. His large, gloved hands were clasped behind his back, his deep blue eyes fixed straight ahead. His expression was somber. So somber that, when paired with his severe black suit, black topcoat, and black beaver hat, he might easily have been mistaken for a man on his way to a funeral.

  No one who saw him now would ever believe he was one of the wealthiest manufactory owners in Greater London. And they certainly wouldn’t credit him as being part owner of not one, but two separate railway concerns.

  Sophie cast him a sidelong glance. He was a handsome man, if one liked tall, dark males of the serious variety, but he was infuriatingly difficult to read. He never betrayed his feelings with a look or a word. And when it came to conversation, silence was, by far, his favorite subject. During their brief courtship, she’d been obliged to do most of the talking.

  In the last two months, she’d come to hate the sound of her own voice. It was always droning on and on, filling up the vast emptiness between them with magpie-like chatter. Forever talking, talking, talking, but never really saying anything.

  But she was saying something now. Something she should have said two and a half months ago. “We simply do not suit.”

  “No indeed, ma’am.” Mr. Sharpe’s voice was a deep, rich baritone. He had no discernible accent. Quite the opposite. He spoke in the cultured tones of a gentleman. Where he’d learned to do so, she hadn’t the slightest idea. His parents were London drapers. He’d never gone to Eton or Cambridge. Instead, he’d spent his youth delivering packages and stocking the shelves of their shop.

  And now he was one and thirty. Wealthy, powerful, and—according to her parents—imminently eligible.

  “He’s trying to gain entrée into polite society,” Mama had said when she and Papa had first broached the subject of an alliance. “It’s why he wants to court you, my dear.”

  “And he’ll never flaunt his common origins in your face,” Papa had added. “He’s too ashamed of them. Now he’s made his fortune, he wishes to forget his humble beginnings. And if he can forget them, Sophia, then so can you.”

  Sophie didn’t care about Mr. Sharpe’s humble beginnings. Quite the opposite. She’d often wished he would speak of them. She’d been curious about him and desired to know him better. But after two months…

  She sighed. “I haven’t told my parents yet. I know they’ll be dreadfully disappointed. They like you very much.”

  “I expect they do,” he said.

  She shot him a narrow glance. His face was set in lines as immoveable as granite, his broad shoulders taut beneath the expensive fabric of his topcoat. “You needn’t be unpleasant about it. They were no more mercenary than you.”

  “Mercenary,” he repeated. “Is that what I’ve been?”

  “It’s nothing to be
ashamed of. It’s how these things are done. It’s how they’ve always been done. Alliances contrived between wealthy merchant’s daughters and impoverished nobleman. Or—as in our situation—successful men of business and the daughters of impoverished country gentry.” A troubled frown clouded her brow. “I’m sorry it’s all come to nothing for you.”

  “Are you?”

  “Yes, but…Honestly, Mr. Sharpe, if you wish to gain admittance into society, you would do better to look higher than the Appersetts of Derbyshire. Find yourself an earl’s daughter. A lady who is accustomed to moving about in society. As for myself, I—”

  “Is there someone else?” he asked abruptly.

  Sophie’s gaze jerked to his. “What?”

  “Is there another man? Someone you prefer?”

  “Goodness no. If there were, I’d never have agreed to walk out with you.” She slowed her pace. They’d ventured too far from the entrance to the park. And she couldn’t stay much longer. She had to get back before her absence was remarked. “It’s only that we have nothing at all in common. After two months, surely you must see that.”

  He made no reply.

  Sophie worried her lower lip between her teeth. How much more was she required to say in order to put an end to their relationship? She had no experience with this sort of thing. No man had ever asked leave to court her before. And, she thought grimly, it was very possible that no man ever would again. “Perhaps I should have said something sooner.”

  “Why didn’t you?” he asked.

  She looked out across the choppy waters of the Serpentine. “I don’t know. I suppose I thought…” That he would warm to her. That he would come to care for her. Even to love her a little. She’d been ready to love him. It would have taken so little encouragement. A fond glance. A kind word. An affectionate touch. “But it doesn’t matter now, does it? We’ve come to the natural end of things.”

  “As you say.” Mr. Sharpe withdrew his gold pocket watch from his waistcoat to look at the time. It was a singularly dismissive gesture.