Page 33 of Desperate Proposals
It was dark in the entrance hall, even with all the flambeaus lit. Evelyn had never given them much thought before, but now they lent the scene a dreamlike quality, their ghostly shadows dancing about as the flames flickered.
“I shall speak with our butler this evening; he will provide a list of cartwrights. Of course, if his lordship agrees to it, we may borrow our—” She stopped herself. It did not seem appropriate, referring to the manor’s coach as hers anymore.
Mr. Hartley shook his head. “Do not concern yourself with such matters; they will be resolved in due time.”
She couldn’t help but notice that his hands were, annoyingly, still in his pockets.
“But I must concern myself.” Evelyn blinked, recalling the mean accommodation he’d provided her that night in London. She could not trust him to see it all sorted. “We cannot live on good feelings and optimism, Mr. Hartley. It is deeds by which a man is known, not his intentions.”
He considered her for a moment, then smiled. “No. Of course not.”
Evelyn looked away toward the manor’s massive entrance, clutching her hands before her. She wished the groom would be quicker in bringing his horse about. She was not used to being intimate like this, alone in the dark. They’d traversed this very hall earlier that evening as she gave him a tour of the manor, but it hadn’t felt unordinary then.
Not like this, where the silence felt heavier, full of portent.
“You have no objection, then, to marrying so soon?” Mr. Hartley’s voice was gentler than she’d supposed a man could be. With such a deep tone to it, one might mistake it for some sweet nothing rather than a practical inquiry.
“Not at all.” Evelyn straightened her neck as much as possible, attempting to pull her shoulders further back as well. “Of course, with such a late date, one hopes that we escape the notice of the wind and the rain. But it would not be wise to wait for a greater chance of pleasant weather.”
“Yes. Best to get on with it, then.”
They fell silent. Mr. Hartley began pacing about the hall.
Goodness, whatever was taking so long?She’d barely finished the thought before she shamed herself for daring to entertain it. After all, she would soon be with Mr. Hartley for the majority of her time. She’d even share his bed.
Then she was struck by another, more appalling, thought: How would he regard her in her underthings? And without? Aflush warmed her cheeks; she resisted the urge to put her hands upon them and thanked the heavens for the near darkness they stood in. Evelyn was not usually prone to such missish airs and worries; she’d known of the business between men and women since she was a young lady. And she’d always been pleased enough with her face, confident in her body’s abilities. Why, she’d even considered engaging in such business with Rowland, foppish dress and bottled ships and all.
She cast a sidelong glance at Mr. Hartley. He was far more handsome than Rowland.
He had a kind tilt to his thick brows, and a strong, masculine jaw. And she very much enjoyed his voice, she’d decided, even if it always seemed to elicit a physical response in her. Still, he was of London, and of the lunatic liberals, as her father called them. Not to mention his strange way of thinking and his lack of consideration for niceties. Evelyn pressed her lips together, thinking.
Life was meant to be led by a set of rules, within clearly painted lines. Some people heeded those boundaries, and others did not. Mr. Hartley was clearly one of the latter. But something about the way he smiled, the way he spoke to her as if he were truly interested in hearing her recite her typical perfunctory responses… well. Evelyn did not know. Perhaps he was not exactly as he seemed.
She was not sure she liked it.
Suddenly the sound of hoofbeats and tack clanking about outside alerted them both to the end of their awkward interlude, and it occurred to Evelyn that other couples would be loath to leave one another on the night of their engagement.
She certainly didn’t wish for him to stay; his presence felt so disconcerting. And yet…
Something within her felt disappointment at seeing him go. How puzzling. She supposed she should not be surprised,considering this was all new to her. And something she’d never anticipated for herself.
“Mr. Hartley?”
He returned to her side, his brows raised expectantly.
“Yes?”
“I wonder if you had anything that might illuminate me about the lines to take. In regard to politicking.”
He chuckled.
She did not appreciate that, but bit her tongue.
“Which lines to take? You mean, what I’m after? What the liberals are after?”
“Yes. It is only appropriate that I support my husband, after all.”
“Would you have me try to force my viewpoints on you?” Mr. Hartley sighed good-naturedly. “No, that is something I will not do.”
