Page 14 of Desperate Proposals
“I fail to see how that has any relevance to my current situation,” Evelyn exclaimed, baffled. “But yes, if you must know, I am unwed.”
Mrs. Hartley’s eyes widened, and her mouth fell open.
Everyone seemed to be interested in her private business today, didn’t they? What gall! Perhaps it would have been better if Rowland had accepted her after all. If only she hadn’t waited years to revisit the idea of an arrangement. But before Evelyn could ask Mrs. Hartley if she was indeed well, the older lady turned to her son with a panicked look on her face, her hands clutching her wool work to her chest.
“Er, Mama. Perhaps it would be best if I speak with Miss Wolfenden about her,” he cleared his throat, “situationin private.”
He then leaned forward to whisper something in her ear, which only confirmed Evelyn’s low opinion of him and the rest of the middle class. Rude and uncouth. She would be glad to quit this overwarm house, this hateful city, this…unctuousgentleman, and return to Methering Manor, where people treated one another with dignity and it was always cold, even in summer.
And then she could go about finding a suitable husband who actually desired a wife, rather than just ships in bottles.
Mrs. Hartley stood, a placated sort of expression on her face, and wished Evelyn a good night. Her son escorted her to the door. She’d left her needlework in a basket on the table, and Evelyn wondered if the house even had a sitting room, it was so cramped and uncomfortable.
When Mr. Hartley returned, he paused for a moment, fingers fidgeting atop his chair. He had large hands, and Evelyn found herself noticing them as they tapped the top of the carved cartouche. Suddenly she felt strange. She lifted her gaze, meeting his eyes. Something had changed in his countenance—a sharpness as he considered her, weighing her as if it wereshe,not him, who was found wanting.
“Mr. Hartley, I’ll speak plainly,” she started, wanting this over with. “I find myself in a difficult situation.”
He looked at her intently, casually leaning forward on the chair back as if he were in some bawdy public house rather than his own home. Evelyn frowned. She’d expected him to inquire, to press her for more information.
“Do you mind?” she huffed. “It’s difficult enough to be in such a situation. I can’t think with you standing about like that.”
“By all means,” he said solicitously, sitting down with a grin.
He was certainly strange. Tall, perhaps of an age with her. Handsome in a Roman patrician sort of way, with the same severe brow as the bust of some ancient senator. But his hair wasunkempt—too shaggy, like that of an aimless boy. Evelyn set her hands in her lap. If she didn’t require his help, she did not think she would want to be in his company. His vivacious manner felt forced, and his constant badgering about whether or not she enjoyed the dumplings was, frankly, annoying.
And to add to all that, now she had to tell him her story. Very well. Evelyn lifted her chin, looking down on him now that he was at her level. She ought to say it plainly, even more so than she had with the woman at the great gate of Lambeth Palace. Perhaps she might shock him out of his inanity.
“I came to London to visit with the gentleman I would have married.” That wasn’t quite a lie. Evelyn congratulated herself on her craftiness. “He’s… had a change of heart, and now I find myself alone, friendless, and quite ignorant of the location of the railway station.”
She raised an eyebrow even as her heart jumped to a quicker pace. What an ordeal it was, to speak so candidly of oneself!
His face remained emotionless, unreadable. He didn’t appear even the slightest bit taken aback.
“I can assure you it’s been quite distressing, though I put on a good face,” she added.
He remained unmoved.
“You were to be married, you say?” Mr. Hartley laced his fingers together on top of the table and leaned forward, his features still stern.
“Well…”
“Had there been any promises?” When Evelyn chose to not respond, Mr. Hartley narrowed his eyes ever so slightly. “Intimacies?”
She gasped.
And yet he pressed on. “Perhaps… that is to say, are you in a certain…condition?”
Evelyn pushed back from the table and stood abruptly. Several responses came to mind, but she did not voice them, not to this scurrilous deceiver of a man. She stared him down defiantly, but he would not look away; he lacked even the decency for that, it seemed.
“Usually, those who seek my assistance have found themselves carrying a child outside the bonds of marriage,” he explained, his voice flat. “If you’ve been sent my way, it stands to reason that you might suffer similarly.”
“Oh.” Evelyn fell back to her chair.
She thought of the way the serving woman at the gates of the archbishop’s palace had stared at her stomach. The way she’d reminded her of the Lord’s mother, heavy with child as she traveled to Bethlehem. Suddenly Evelyn felt as witless and inept as Edmund, God rest his soul.
How could not she not have realized?
Mr. Hartley watched her. His eyes were steady and calm, a trustworthy blue.He does not deserve to possess such noble eyes, Evelyn thought, irate.
