Page 105 of Desperate Proposals
The coachman’s mouth fell open.
“Please see Lloyd back home,” she said airily, as if she had not just asked the impossible. Heaven knew how the coachman would manage with such a horse behind the carriage. She really ought to have Marcus see to improving their stables.
“But, the train, ma’am.” His eyes darted over to the large clock standing before the railway station. “It’s set to depart.”
“Then I’d best be getting on, shan’t I?”
She spun about, her eyes searching. It had been months since she’d departed from here—determined, yet pathetically ignorant—on that fateful trip to London. She recalled the window where Wright had procured her ticket, but she had no time for that. Her breath was coming sharply now as she rushed along the side of the building, doing her best to peer through the windows of the first-class lounge as she went. Her spectacles were fogging up and she frowned, realizing how wilted she must look by now.
But it was no matter. The train had not yet left the station, though it was puffing away, signaling its imminent departure with the steam streaming from its undercarriage. Her heart skipped a beat. Not now, when she was so close! Tears pricked at her eyes.
Calm yourself, she chided, taking a deep breath. The air was putrid and smoky, which set her to coughing.
“Miss Wolfenden? Is that you? Why, it is! It is you!” A high-pitched voice cried out across the busy platform.
Evelyn’s head swiveled around, catching sight of a young girl—well, a woman, really—hanging on the arm of a much larger boy—or young man, she supposed—dragging him along as shehurried toward Evelyn. The girl looked familiar, but Evelyn didn’t immediately place her.
“I did not recognize you with the spectacles, I confess!” the girl shouted, her voice pitching up even further in excitement. “I never would have thought I’d see you here again, on the railway platform!”
“Oh, that’s right.” Recognition dawned on Evelyn. “Er, how do you do?”
It was the crying girl, the one heading to Wigan to start a new position, the one born and raised in Knockton, who had called Selina such a lovely lady. On this occasion, though, she was positively glowing, beaming as she alternated her gaze between the young lad on her arm and Evelyn at a dizzying rate.
“Very well! Though I was a touch melancholy when we last met, if you’ll recall,” she chirped, her grip on the young man’s arm visibly tightening.
Evelyn suppressed the urge to laugh. How tragically appropriate that they meet here once more, only this time with Evelyn as the weepy, disheveled mess.
“And am I to assume your position worked out well?”
“More than well, thank you. And my lad—er, that is, Billy here—he decided to come along with me after all!”
The young man doffed his cap to Evelyn, his face turning the brightest pink behind his freckles.
Evelyn nodded graciously.
“Been married these past three months now,” the girl said proudly.
At that Evelyn gasped.
“Why,” she said excitedly, before swallowing and continuing in a more metered cadence, “that is when I married as well.”
“You don’t say!” the girl squealed, smacking her young husband’s arm—quite forcefully, in fact. The young lad grimaced.
“But…” The train’s chugging was intensifying, and Evelyn felt a surge of alarm. “I’d meant to find him—here, that is. He’s off to London and I… I…”
She placed her hands upon her chest without thinking as her eyes darted about. Where might he be? Was he already on the train?
“Have you quarreled, miss—er, ma’am?”
“No! Not this time, at least!” Evelyn cried.
“Train’s been boarded, ma’am,” the girl’s husband finally piped up. “He’s likely on it now.”
“My word,” Evelyn breathed. She rushed toward the train, her heart racing. After a few steps, though, she paused, then spun on her heel. “I’m so sorry, but pray, what is your name?” she called back.
“Agnes, ma’am! Agnes Bullard!”
“It was lovely seeing you again, Mrs. Bullard,” Evelyn said hastily, with another quick nod. “Now if you’ll forgive me…”
