Page 16 of Desperate Proposals
“My brother died. He left no heir. His widow and child… I suppose I feel a responsibility. A husband would be…” Her words died on her lips.
What in heaven’s name was she doing, divulging this information to a stranger? Never before had she felt so exposed. She crossed her arms over her chest, as if to keep any further secrets from escaping her.
Mr. Hartley moved around the chair and strolled toward her. Evelyn hadn’t recalled him looming so tall when she arrived on his doorstep. But she did not fear. As much as she found his manner distasteful, she could manage him quite easily. She was a Wolfenden, after all.
“Are you married, Mr. Hartley?”
“No.”
“Hm.” Evelyn nodded. “I supposed as much.”
“Why do you ask?”
“Oh, because you asked me, of course,” she said in genuine surprise, for turnabout was fair play, was it not? She continued, “And because it is quite interesting, an unmarried gentleman so invested in the plight of unwed mothers. Don’t you think?”
“Is it, though?” His voice raised, even as he affected a look of ease. His thick, straight brows rose as he continued, passion building in his voice with every word. “I would think anyone with a scrap of decency would have a care for the humane treatment of the powerless in our society. Children, mothers, women… prostitutes.”
Shock struck her as he uttered the last word. He stood an arm’s length in front of her, but Evelyn felt it far too close. All at once the room felt too warm, her breathing became too rapid.
“Anyone with a scrap of decency wouldn’t speak of such… things,” she managed.
“At the expense of a heart,” he blurted out. He immediately winced, then looked away once more, pinching his brow. “I’m sorry, Miss Wolfenden, so sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“Goodness.” Evelyn stepped back, clutching her belongings to her chest. “I certainly hope this is not indicative of the sort of hospitality you provide to others.”
“I apologize. I’m not…” He sighed, slouching as he crossed his arms. “I can offer you a room, certainly. Thankfully, I’ve one to spare. And I’ll send Ellis with you to the railway station in the morning, to see you on a train back to Knockton. Will that suffice?” He stopped, then looked up to her with quite a different expression than what he’d displayed before: open, earnest. Hopeful, perhaps?
“Yes,” Evelyn said, though her voice came out weaker than she expected.
“Right. Back to Knockton, then.” He sighed, sounding a man defeated. He looked up at her with an apologetic smile. “Don’t fret. All will be well. You’ll see.”
Evelyn gave him a curt nod. She found she did not like looking at him.
Just then a maid turned up to escort her to a room, and she gladly followed. The sooner she was done with this disaster of a day, the sooner she could put Mr. Hartley from her mind and turn her thoughts instead to marriageable men.
That was what she told herself, as she settled into a small bedroom with two narrow windows. Thankfully, the bed was serviceable, and she lay there in her shift, marveling at the misadventure that had brought her here. She, Evelyn Wolfenden, had journeyed to London! Alone! Wonders would never cease.
Rather than rue her failure with Rowland, she felt a surge of pride. For although her plans had gone awry, she’d proven hermettle, that she was someone who could find a way to provide for her family. She allowed herself a small smile in the dark.
For a moment Evelyn wished she had someone to share her achievement with. But her father would only ever argue with her, and Selina never listened to anyone these days. Most of Evelyn’s friends had married over the years, and their letters only ever contained half-hearted complaints about married life or tiresome conundrums related to gardening and furnishings. She would tell Wright, but Selina was already far too familiar with the family’s longtime butler, and Evelyn ought to set a better example than that.
It had never occurred to her before, but she seemed to be quite alone in the world.
Well, it did not matter. She would find a husband soon, surely. And perhaps then she would tell him of her bravery, of how much she had endured to find her way to the altar. Yes, of course. Slowly her body warmed, and Evelyn relaxed into a sleepy haze, enjoying vague thoughts of some faceless and nameless, yet respectable man.
But then the unfortunate image of Mr. Hartley came to mind. Scowling. Smirking at her behind his hand. Pinning her with his wolfish grin. Speaking of scandalous things with fire in his voice, then imbuing that voice with gentleness when assuring her that all would be well. What a bothersome man.
“I hope to never lay eyes on you again, sir,” Evelyn murmured to herself.
She rolled over and fell into a deep, exhausted sleep.
Chapter Five
Knockton, Lancashire, September 1873
It was time forMarcus to enact his plan. He had worked through it at length, weighing whether pursuing a potential union with Miss Wolfenden was the right course of action, or if he’d be better served forgetting the idea altogether and putting his effort into more practical matters.
During the course of this internal debate, though, yet another by-election had resulted in the loss of yet another seat for his party, and pragmatism—not panic, Marcus assured himself—won the day. Marcus decided that in order to retain his seat, he likely had to marry. Reform would not happen without support in Parliament, he reminded himself, like a nanny building up her charge to swallow a dose of cod liver oil.
