Page 66 of Desperate Proposals
She climbed into the carriage, the sound of her hammering heart filling her ears. Suddenly she realized her husband was alongside her, a hand upon her arm, shaking her gently.
“Evelyn? Are you well?” His voice was soft and full of concern.
She gathered herself up, sitting ramrod straight despite the shaking of the conveyance.
“You’d have them send my spectacles to London? I had supposed we would remain in Knockton. At least for the winter.”
Realization dawned on his face. He quickly shuttered, leaning away from her, his expression now empty and cold as his hand fell away.
Evelyn felt the lack of it acutely, and placed her own hand atop her arm where his had been, trying to hold onto his warmth.
“The doctor you mentioned, Collier, he’s been handling some business for me. Actually, the same business that brought you to my door—offering monetary assistance to women who seek it.” He paused, offering her a sad smile.
When she didn’t respond, he cleared his throat and continued.
“It’s a terrible burden to place upon him; I need to make sure all is well and scrounge up an alternative. I assumed…” His words trailed off on a hopeful note that sounded more wistful the longer it hung there between them.
“You assumed incorrectly,” she sniffed, folding her hands in her lap. “I was perfectly clear that I wish to remain in Lancashire as much as I’m able. And besides, what would Mrs. Henham think? Why, we’ve only begun planning!”
“For the tree celebration?” he said, his words thick with derision.
Evelyn sighed and quickly shut her eyes, bracing herself against the irritation spreading over her like a hot and unpleasant rash. No one had ever managed to get under her skin like this. But he seemed to be doing so with frustrating regularity.
“Yes, of course for the goat willow.” She turned to him, pinning him with a withering glare. “And perhaps, if you would deign to spend time amongst your constituents rather than run off to be a man about town, then you, too, would recognize its import.”
Mr. Hartley’s eyes darkened, his jaw set. Evelyn, confused by the rush of excitement that washed over her at the sight, turned to look out the window.
“Is that what you think I do? Gad about like some popinjay, amusing myself with politics because my Papa won’t cough up my allowance unless I apply myself to something?”
Well. That was rather specific. Evelyn glanced back to survey his mood. It was a poor decision, for he looked as furious and determined as he had in the reflection of her dressing table mirror. She caught her breath.
“I think—” she started, but he cut her off.
“Think me appallingly middle-class, do you?”
“No, I…” That hit a bit close to home. Her ears burned.
“Think I ought to give it up, then? Forget all this sentimental reform nonsense? Think women ought to be punished for the sins of men, that their children ought to suffer in baby farms or perish in the gutter?”
“Of course not,” she blurted, pushed to the brink, her heart racing. “I asked you, if you’ll recall, what lines I ought to take regarding your political endeavors and you… you rebuffed me!”
Mr. Hartley leaned back, studying her, his blue eyes full of censure.
Evelyn looked away, for surely she did not merit such an insult. And from her husband! An intense ache took hold in her chest, not unlike what she’d felt when Wright had informed her of Edmund’s passing. Suddenly she felt plain, insipid. With a harrowing jolt of panic, she realized she wasn’t up to snuff for the life before her.
And tomorrow night she’d face her first test: a ball chock-a-block with seasoned politicians and their wives.
She stared out the window, watching a young mother lead her daughter through the throng of pedestrians. The little girl had to run to keep up, never relinquishing her hold even as her mother pressed on. Suddenly the image blurred.
Horrified, Evelyn blinked her eyes several times, forcing back the unwanted emotion. How ridiculous she was being! All maudlin because the husband she’d agreed upon would ask her to uphold her end of their bargain? She’d been born to a storied house with a reputation for being far above this kind of simpering. Surely she could do better.
The carriage came to a halt.
“I apologize for my temper,” Mr. Hartley said suddenly, his voice laced with contrition. “Sometimes I forget…” he began, before allowing the words to fade away.
“Pay it no mind,” Evelyn replied before he could offer up a better apology.
It was bad enough that she’d allowed his physicality to interfere with her judgment. She did not need for his honeyed words in that seductive voice to weaken her further.
