Page 58 of Desperate Proposals
“Well.” Mr. Reed made a show of reaching inside his waistcoat pocket to extract a handkerchief and dab at his nose. “This marriage business. Surely it did not come about due to any sort of feeling, a… a… anaffectionbetween you and Miss Wolfenden.”
“Mrs. Hartley,” Marcus corrected.
“Yes, yes.” Mr. Reed waved one hand while repocketing the handkerchief with the other. “But you know. Awfully plain girl. Wool-headed. Never suspected she would marry, really—none of us did. And then that bit of haste to the altar. After all of what? One month?”
Marcus crossed his arms and leaned back, surveying this wretched toad of a man, allowing his disparaging remarks to echo about in his head.
What was he after?His undue interest in the Wolfendens seemed at odds with his opinion of Evelyn. Why, how the man had bowed and scraped to the baron at their wedding breakfast! One would assume the same deference would be afforded to Evelyn.
Suddenly it all came together.
Surely the man could not be wary of Marcus’s own machinations… could he? Marcus ruminated for a moment. And then, like a logical proof, with every little premise stacked neatly upon the last, the answer appeared to him, clear as a bell. For if Mr. Reed did have concern about it, that could only mean one thing.
“Plain?” Marcus arched a brow. “I should think not. Wool-headed, not by any means.”
“I did not think it would rile you so!” Mr. Reed guffawed, his eyes betraying a hint of excitement.
Marcus felt cold all over. That vile Sedley temper, the one he’d so carefully diverted into noble, charitable causes over the years, reared up inside him, hardening his heart and steeling his nerves.
“If you continue to insult my wife, Reed, you’ll find yourself quite unwelcome here.”
“Insult your—why, I never!” Mr. Reed sputtered in a strangled, panicky voice.
Marcus stood, deciding to go all in. He might as well draw the line in the sand right now. After all, if his suppositions were correct, he would soon have James Robert Reed as a bitter adversary anyway.
“And not just here, mind you. I shall make it my own personal crusade to make your poor manners known throughout the district.”
Mr. Reed also stood, looking as if he might burst from barely withheld rage.
“Poor manners?!” he exclaimed. “The gall! Some ladies are plain, and that’s the truth of it. Were you raised amongst womenfolk, so tender are your feelings? We are speaking as men, lad!”
“So tender are my feelings? For my wife, yes.” Marcus made a show of reaching for the hefty and handsome tassel of the bell pull that hung behind him.
“Throwing me out on my ear, are we, Hartley?”
“That is the idea, yes,” Marcus said coolly as he pulled the cord, then slid his hands into his pockets.
Mr. Reed gaped at him as if he could not believe his eyes. They stood like that, staring at one another, two men separated by a chasm of opinions and values.
And, as was his way, Marcus refused to yield.
After several uncomfortable moments, Mr. Reed glanced uneasily at the bell pull, then back to Marcus with a strained smile. And folded.
“Surely this is but a misunderstanding, Mr. Hartley. I am loath to find myself at odds with a fellow elected representative.”
“Town council member to member of Parliament,” Marcus said.
“Exactly,” the man responded, a glint of envy in his eye.
There it was.
It was the confirmation Marcus had been looking for, but it barely registered when he received it, he felt so irate. He’d trounce the troglodyte in the general, by hook or by crook. He’d better; he wouldn’t be able to live with himself otherwise.
Thankfully, a knock at the door heralded the footman’s arrival.
“Please, Mr. Reed, do not darken my doorstep until you have something charitable to say,” Marcus said in a disinterested tone as he gestured toward the study door.
The councilman fixed him with another cold stare, holding it for several seconds before turning around with a loudharrumph.
