Page 20 of Desperate Proposals
“In fact, Miss Wolfenden and I have met before, just once.”
Goodness. What must it be like, having so little sense? Evelyn, nevertheless, smiled in bland agreement, unwilling to endure the ordeal a contradiction would bring.
“Is that so?” Mr. Reed looked back and forth between the two, dubious. “Well, I suppose I shan’t pride myself on knowing all the goings-on, then. How long ago, er, and—”
“You know, I can’t recall?” Mr. Hartley brusquely cut off the man’s questions. “At something or other about town.” He waved his hand dismissively, his eyes never leaving Evelyn’s. He seemed intent upon something.
But what? Would he expect for her to fall over herself in gratitude, that he did not expose her? She would not.
“It is good to see you again, Mr. Hartley. Are you attending the musicale in a formal capacity?”
“Not today,” his companion answered for him. “He’s here strictly as a lover of music,” he explained enthusiastically, with a handsome smile and a clap on Mr. Hartley’s shoulder.
If it weren’t for the terribly middle-class air about him, Evelyn would have considered him further, handsome and well-built as he was. But marriage to a doctor? She might just as well be cast out of Methering Manor on the spot and thrown to the ruins of the dower house, which had been burned in one Baroness Methering’s fit of madness several generations prior.
“Then it’s a wonder you came at all,” Selina sighed alongside her.
“How is that?” The doctor’s smile faltered.
“Well. Some things are better left unspoken. I daresay you’ll reckon it out on your own, once it’s begun.” Her sister-in-law sighed dramatically once more, then produced a handkerchief. “If you would be so kind as to assist me inside, Mr. Reed?” she said, her voice thin and weak as she dabbed at her eyes. A force of habit, surely; Evelyn had never actually seen Selina cry, only heard her keening wails echoing down the halls from her bedroom.
“Ah, I think, er, allow me to accompany you as well,” bumbled the doctor, glancing back pointedly at Mr. Hartley.
Selina didn’t bother looking his way. “Very well.”
Before Evelyn could mark what was happening, they’d left her alone with Mr. Hartley. Others were slowly making their way toward the guildhall’s massive doors, their laughter petering out along with their conversation as they filtered inside. Evelyn watched Selina’s small form, distinguished by the long black streak of her weeping veil, mounting the steps alongside Mr. Reed, both of them just ahead of Dr. Collier.
“My condolences on the loss of your brother,” Mr. Hartley said, his tone perfectly solicitous. “And my apologies for my tardiness in extending them.”
She doubted he’d even known, so scarce about the area was he. Evelyn bristled.
“Thank you,” she said coldly, watching Selina until she had disappeared into the guildhall. Then she steeled herself for the agony of conversation to come, opening with an emotionless admission: “She only came out on my insistence, you know.”
Mr. Hartley offered a sympathetic sound, a low hum that sounded like a purr.
Evelyn sniffed. Why had she even bothered explaining? As if this man cared one whit for propriety when he couldn’t even be bothered to speak his response? She began searching the remaining crowd, hoping to spot any gentleman that might be better worth her while.
“Looking for someone?”
“I should say not.” She raised one eyebrow in an uncharacteristic outward show of scorn. It felt odd, this man watching her, weighing her actions. Especially since he knew far more about her than she’d have preferred.
“Allow me to explain myself, Mr. Hartley, since you seem so keen onunderstanding. I am not what you perceive me to be, or what my actions… that night… might suggest. I do not traipse about unfamiliar cities and knock on unfamiliar doors as a general rule.”
“Of course, of course. You see, I’m more than familiar with all of Knockton and its residents, including your family, as you must have surmised by now. Apologies for that subterfuge; I didn’t wish to cause you even more discomfort that evening.”
He spoke in such a conciliatory tone with that smooth, deep voice that Evelyn fell under its spell, and allowed herself to relax her shoulders. Perhaps he truly was merely an awkward brute of a politician.
“You did not. I scarcely knew who you were, if you’ll recall.”
His lip twitched, as if he meant to smile but thought better of it.
“The Wolfendens are a noble family, a cautious family.Autconstantia aut nihil. Steadfastness or nothing. Except when you must marry in haste.”
“Except when I—” she very nearly repeated, aghast. Thankfully she halted before speaking such an awful truth. He’d use her family’s own words in such a manner?
Suddenly there was a rush of applause from within the guildhall. Evelyn looked about. They were alone, save for a pair of distant figures wandering the village green. The applause died down, and the high, delicate notes of a sonata started up. The musicale had begun without her.
Just like everything else in life. Time marched steadily on; acquaintances married and started families, while brothers made poor decisions on a lark and left their families behind in precarious positions.
