CHAPTER ONE #2
Mr. Boothroyd continued to sift through his papers.
Helena wondered if he was even listening to her.
“Ah. Here it is,” he said at last. “Your initial reply to the advertisement.” He withdrew a letter covered in small, even handwriting which she recognized as her own.
“As well as a letter from Mr. Finchley in London with whom you met on the fifteenth.” He perused a second missive with a frown.
“Is anything the matter?” she asked.
“Indeed. It says here that you are five and twenty.” Mr. Boothroyd lowered the letter. “You do not look five and twenty, Miss Reynolds.”
“I assure you that I am, sir.” She began to work at the ribbons of her gray silk traveling bonnet.
After untying the knot with unsteady fingers, she lifted it from her head, twined the ribbons round it, and placed it atop her carpetbag.
When she raised her eyes, she found Mr. Boothroyd staring at her.
“I always look much younger in a bonnet. But, as you can see now, I’m—”
“Young and beautiful,” he muttered with disapproval.
She blushed, glancing nervously at the gentleman by the fire. He did not seem to be listening, thank goodness. Even so, she leaned forward in her chair, dropping her voice. “Does Mr. Thornhill not want a pretty wife?”
“This isn’t London, Miss Reynolds. Mr. Thornhill’s house is isolated.
Lonely. He seeks a wife who can bear the solitude.
Who can manage his home and see to his comforts.
A sturdy, capable sort of woman. Which is precisely why the advertisement specified a preference for a widow or spinster of more mature years. ”
“Yes, but I—”
“What Mr. Thornhill doesn’t want,” he continued, “is a starry-eyed girl who dreams of balls and gowns and handsome suitors. A marriage with such a frivolous creature would be a recipe for disaster.”
Helena bristled. “That isn’t fair, sir.”
“Excuse me?”
“I’m no starry-eyed girl. I never was. And with respect, Mr. Boothroyd, you haven’t the slightest notion of my dreams. If I wanted balls and gowns or…or frivolous things…I’d never have answered Mr. Thornhill’s advertisement.”
“What exactly do you seek out of this arrangement, Miss Reynolds?”
She clasped her hands tightly in her lap to stop their trembling. “Security,” she answered honestly. “And perhaps…a little kindness.”
“You couldn’t find a gentleman who met these two requirements in London?”
“I don’t wish to be in London. Indeed, I wish to be as far from London as possible.”
“You friends and family…?”
“I’m alone in the world, sir.”
“I see.”
Helena doubted that very much. “Mr. Boothroyd, if you’ve already decided someone else is better suited—”
“There is no one else, Miss Reynolds. At present, you’re the only lady Mr. Finchley has recommended.”
“But the woman who was here before—”
“Mrs. Standish?” Mr. Boothroyd removed his spectacles. “She was applying for the position of housekeeper at the Abbey.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Regrettably, we have an ongoing issue with retaining adequate staff. It’s something you should be aware of if you intend to take up residence.”
She exhaled slowly. “A housekeeper. Of course. How silly of me. Mr. Thornhill mentioned the difficulties you were having with servants in one of his letters.”
“I’m afraid it’s proven quite a challenge.” Mr. Boothroyd settled his spectacles back on his nose. “Not only is the house isolated, it has something of a local reputation. Perhaps you’ve heard…?”
“A little. But Mr. Finchley told me it was nothing more than ignorant superstition.”
“Quite so. However, in this part of the world, Miss Reynolds, you’ll find ignorance is in ready supply.”
Helena was unconcerned. “I should like to see the Abbey for myself.”
“Yes, yes. All in good time.”
“And I should like to meet Mr. Thornhill.”
“Undoubtedly.” Mr. Boothroyd shuffled through his papers again.
To her surprise, a rising color crept into the elderly man’s face.
“There are just one or two more points at issue, Miss Reynolds.” He cleared his throat.
“You’re aware, I presume… That is, I do hope Mr. Finchley explained…
this marriage is to be a real marriage in every sense of the word. ”
She looked at him, brows knit in confusion. “What other kind of marriage would it be?”
“And you’re agreeable?”
“Of course.”
He made no attempt to disguise his skepticism. “There are many ladies who would find such an arrangement singularly lacking in romance.”
Helena didn’t doubt it. She’d have balked at the prospect herself once. But much had changed in the past year—and in the past months, especially. Any girlish fantasies she’d harbored about true love were dead. In their place was a rather ruthless pragmatism.
“I don’t seek romance, Mr. Boothroyd. Only kindness. And Mr. Finchley said that Mr. Thornhill was a kind man.”
Mr. Boothroyd appeared to be surprised by this. “Did he indeed,” he murmured. “What else did he tell you, pray?”