Page 21 of The Matrimonial Advertisement

She stilled in her chair. “What is it?”

“Nothing.”

“I’ve amused you.”

“No, you’ve surprised me.” He lowered his teacup to his lap. “Your attentions feel…very wifely.”

Her cheeks warmed. “Surely not. I only want you to be comfortable. It’s the least I can do after you’ve ridden out in this weather on my account.”

“Not only yours. I’m to be married tomorrow, too, if you’ll remember.”

“Yes.” She prepared her own cup of tea, adding in a liberal amount of sugar. Jenny had always sworn by heavily sugared tea in times of crisis. It was all Helena could remember drinking in the weeks following the news of her brother’s disappearance. “But I’m the one who insisted on a hasty wedding. I daresay you would’ve preferred to wait for the banns to be called.”

“Three weeks? You credit me with a great deal of patience.”

“Not patience, no, but… Don’t you wish to marry in a church?”

He helped himself to a cake from the tray. “Do I strike you as a particularly pious man?”

“One needn’t be pious to marry in a church. Merely traditional.”

“I’m neither. Which is why a registrar’s office will suit me very well.”

She took a small sip of her tea. The scalding, sugary liquid burned a path down her throat. It warmed her all over, helping to soothe her frazzled nerves as reliably as it always did. “Even if it’s in Abbott’s Holcombe?”

“There’s not much choice. Not if we want to wed quickly.” He looked down into his teacup for a moment, a scowl briefly darkening his brow. “And it’s not all bad, really. There’s a fine hotel there and several very decent shops. You might want to visit a few of them while we’re in town.”

“Oh no. That won’t be necessary. I meant it yesterday when I said I wouldn’t be expensive.”

“And I meant it when I said you’d have whatever you require.”

She fingered the soft edge of her Indian shawl. It pooled around her in her chair, still half-draped over her arms. “I really don’t need anything. I brought enough with me for now. After we’re married, I can send for the rest of my things.”

“The rest of your things?” Justin looked at her over the edge of his teacup. “How much more is there?”

“A great deal more, stored away in London. It was far too much to bring with me on the train. There was scarcely any room in my carpetbag as it was. And I haven’t a maid to sponge and press my dresses. Everything is in a dreadful state.” Her words tumbled out in an anxious rush. She couldn’t seem to stop them. “I wanted to look my best, but I traveled by myself and I didn’t like to draw attention—”

“Helena,” he interrupted. “Helena, it’s all right.”

“I’m babbling, aren’t I?” She looked at him, feeling suddenly helpless. “I fear I’m overwhelmed.”

“I know. I’ll sort it.”

“You can’t.”

He gave her a quick, wry smile. “Try me.”

Helena ached to confide in him. To tell him everything. To rest all of her troubles squarely on his broad shoulders. He was willing to bear them, she could tell. He was gruff and forbidding, but he was kind and gentle, too. She saw that now quite clearly. It pricked her conscience that she must deceive him, but she’d fallen victim to seemingly sympathetic gentlemen too many times this past year to trust her instincts now. For all that Justin Thornhill appeared genuinely concerned, she knew in her heart she couldn’t fully trust him until they were married.

Which was perfectly fine, she told herself. In less than a day, they’d be man and wife. There would be plenty of time to confide in him then. A lifetime, in fact. Why, she might even grow to like him.

Though whether or not he would like her when this was all over was another question entirely.

She took another sip of her tea. “It isn’t any one thing. It’s feelings. Nerves.”

“All quite natural, I believe.”

Her brows lifted. “Are you nervous?”