Page 19 of Desperate Proposals
Collier sounded unconvinced. Marcus tried to put his friend’s skepticism out of mind.
“And how is your daughter getting on, Mrs. Wolfenden? What was her name? Little Lucretia?”
Selina looked back to Mr. Reed, the chair of the town council, before allowing her gaze to drift downward. It wasn’t clear whether she hadn’t heard the gentleman’s inquiry or merely dismissed it out of hand.
“Leonora,” Evelyn cut in, giving her sister-in-law the most censorious look she dared. Of course it was wasted, with Selina staring vacantly into the distance. “My niece, Leonora, is holding up admirably well.”
She absolutely was not, that was for certain. Only the other day she’d pulled down not one, but three sets of drapes in the library before a footman caught her attempting to vanquish a fourth.
“Ah, that is good to hear. Daughters are a blessing. Absolute angels.”
Evelyn smiled sweetly. She couldn’t help but picture Leonora standing atop the staircase that morning, hands fisted at her sides, screaming at the top of her lungs because Evelyn had thegall to inform her that she must eat something besides just plum cake for breakfast.
“Why, just the other day my dear wife was telling me of a droll observation my third youngest had made. She’s just about seven… or is it eight? Hmm.” Mr. Reed paused, pressing his lips together as he worked it out. “Now, just a tick. My eldest was born in fifty-nine, so that means…”
Evelyn nodded, recalling that the man had brought his entire brood to the parish council picnic that summer. Six children—three girls in starched white, two boys with marbles spilling out of their pockets, and a howling infant. All had been caked in mud by the end of the day—save the infant—with Mrs. Reed and the nanny hoarse from all the shouting, and Mrs. Reed looking utterly exhausted and bedraggled. As if she’d spent the day out in the fields, threshing the wheat, rather than minding her children from a folding-chair. Mr. Reed, of course, had spent the event socializing with the other gentlemen. That night Evelyn had seriously considered reverting to her prior conviction that she would never take a husband.
But the next morning she’d renewed her vow to herself, needing the security a husband would bring. She would simply tell him that one or two children were all she was willing to conceive, and after that she would banish him from her bedroom. There. Quite easily solved.Marriage could be quite simple, she told herself,when both parties entered into it knowing exactly what the arrangements were to be.
If only acquiring a husband had been as easy as settling upon her expectations of him.
The picnic had been an absolute disaster on that front. Evelyn had spent nearly the entire outing making pleasant conversation with a Mr. Prosser, guest of the Oldfields, only to find he’d a standing engagement with a young lady two counties over. Which was perhaps a good turn, truth be told,as he possessed some questionable facial hair that Evelyn had found rather distracting. Aside from the picnic, she’d attended several dinners and two balls, and paid her usual visit to the Goodens. It was more socializing than she’d ever done, even more than when she’d been a girl just out of the schoolroom. But every marriageable man whose path she crossed was either spoken for or had no interest in a spinster of advanced age and questionable fecundity. There had been a few shy, reserved widowers she might have pursued, but in every case it turned out they were either entirely intimidated by her, resided someplace dreadful and inadequate, or had appalling views on personal hygiene. Evelyn might have been desperate enough anyway, but her father was still in relatively good health; certainly she could still afford to hold reasonable standards. The future was indeed unnerving, a sword of Damocles hanging over her head, but the sword had not fallen.
Not yet.
Even still, it seemed she’d run out of options in her small sphere, exhausting not just her modest circle of acquaintances, but their circles as well. If Evelyn could not make it to the altar soon, she might have to return to London next spring. The prospect was sobering.
“… yes, six. Six years old, is Kitty. I knew I’d come to it, eventually.” Mr. Reed chortled, and patted his belly in jubilation. “How old is little Lucr—er, Leonora, Mrs. Wolfenden?”
Evelyn looked anxiously to her sister-in-law. She would prefer that Selina pick up Mr. Reed’s conversation, so she might excuse herself to circle about and see if anyone was entertaining new guests at the moment.
Unfortunately, Selina was frowning, still watching something beyond Mr. Reed.
“Those gentlemen approaching—I do not know them.”
Evelyn followed Selina’s gaze. Walking their way were two tall men. She squinted, but they were still too far away to make them out. As they neared, though, an odd feeling settled in her gut, though she held herself as if it hadn’t. The larger man she did not know, but the other she most certainly did.
Mr. Marcus Hartley.
Bother. The summer had passed with her having seen neither hide nor hair of him, but he was back in his home district .
Mr. Reed turned to look over his shoulder. “Ah,” he said, looking back to Evelyn and Selina with a pleasant smile. “Mr. Hartley. Our very own MP. At long last.”
Evelyn had asked Wright if he was familiar with the name when she’d returned home that day at the end of June. She’d been somewhat shocked that she’d not known him, considering her father had entertained Mr. Hartley’s predecessor on occasion. At least it explained why his name had felt so strangely familiar. Mr. Hartley was their representative in the House of Commons. So it wasn’t that he was terribly rude; he was simply a politician.
And her neighbor.
“Ah, Mr. Reed. Wonderful to see you.”
His voice startled her. She’d all but forgotten its rich, velvety timbre. Now that she knew his occupation, it seemed fitting.
Mr. Hartley quickly shed one of his gloves and shook Mr. Reed’s hand.So forward, Evelyn silently admonished. He then inclined his head toward the larger gentleman alongside him. “This is my dear friend, Dr. Matthew Collier. He’s very keen on music.”
“Well met, well met, Dr. Collier. Such an admirable collection of individuals performing today, and, well, anyone ought to agree, one of the most enjoyable of entertainments, music.” Mr. Reed nodded toward the guildhall before producing a handkerchief from his pocket and wiping at his palms. “May Iintroduce you to Mrs. Wolfenden and Miss Wolfenden? A nobler family in Knockton you will not find.”
Mr. Hartley leveled his gaze upon her. Something passed wordlessly between them—a shared memory. Would Mr. Hartley admit their acquaintance and, heaven forbid, the circumstances behind it? The polite move, of course, would be to say nothing. Which was why she was almost certain he would not curb his tongue.
Waiting as he greeted Selina, Evelyn remained still.
