Page 22 of Desperate Proposals
“But perhaps you, Miss Wolfenden, enjoy speaking with me? Maybe against your better judgment?” Mr. Hartley grinned, with a wryness about his eyes. “For although I am a liberal zealot, I assure you that I do. Enjoy conversing with you, that is. At the very least…” He paused, before finishing sardonically, “it is not boring.”
Her mind reeled, but no words reached her mouth. Instead she froze, and found herself quite incapable of speech. After several moments, when she’d finally gathered her senses, she looked back to the green, though still she felt his eyes on her. And in that moment, with her now thoroughly overwhelmed, he pounced.
“And though your opinion of me might be low, allow me to now lay myself beforeyourdoor, however figuratively.”
She glanced at him just in time to see him adjust his neckcloth, then lift his hat to smooth down his dark hair. When he caught her eye, he smiled wide.
And Evelyn’s thoughts scattered, leaving only the newest one: Mr. Hartley was handsome. Howdarehe be handsome? Her body very nearly vibrated. With what? Anger? She did not know, having been so rarely in the throes of any emotion, but she knew she felt heat on her cheeks.
“What do—” she stuttered, but he didn’t wait for her to finish.
“I am, as you are aware, unwed. You are unwed. Your brother has passed, leaving you alone to worry for your situation and that of your female relations. A credit to your character, really, that you have borne that burden with such determination.” He nodded. “I, as you are aware, stood unopposed in the previous election, an occurrence that I doubt will repeat itself. It would surely boost my support in the next general were we to…” He halted, hands behind his back.
“I beg your pardon?” Evelyn said with an exhale.Boost his support?
Another round of applause rang out, more raucous this time, as if everyone appreciated her forestalling the obvious. A year ago she’d attended this very same musicale, sitting with a variety of widows and fellow spinsters, speaking of how vastly improved the music was. And now she found herself standing outside with a boorish political jackanapes who, shockingly, was about to offer for her.
Keeping her tone as icy as possible, she rebutted his unspoken question. “I should think not. Not even if you were a gentleman—”
“I am,” he cut in, with an annoying nonchalance.
“Not even if you were in any position to marry…” She hesitated slightly on the last word.
“Oh, I’m wealthy enough, as it turns out. I’ve my mother’s portion of the Sedley fortune. Boot blacking, you know. I don’t mind the asking, though. I’ve done my due diligence as well.”
“Or—” She paused. His words registered a bit belatedly, so ready had she been with her final declaration, which she’d now forgotten. “Just a moment, did you say boot blacking?”
“Yes. Sedley’s Satin Black Boot Polish. You’ve heard of it?” He kept his tone aloof, but she detected the hint of an edge to his voice.
“I’m… I cannot say. I’ll have to ask my father’s… I shall ask our butler.” Evelyn shook her head, wishing to clear it of thoughts of footwear and the starched, exacting Wright. “Besides, it does not change the fact that we are not… in accord,” she said delicately.
“Miss Wolfenden. I may very well be the last man on earth, as far as you’re concerned.” He offered a perfunctory grin, before his gaze hardened into a cold look of pure calculation. “Thirty years old and you’ve ventured to London all of, what, a handful of times?”
“Twice.”
“Everyone in your acquaintance must be elderly or already paired. Your brother died without an heir, and so shall your father. Your brother’s widow has no interest in taking steps to secure the future of her daughter, your brother’s child. Would you care for me to go on?”
“No.” She swallowed, then raised her chin. “No,” she repeated more forcefully. “You’ve made your point.”
They stood like that, staring one another down, each waiting for the other to fold. But she would never. She would not allow it.
Then again, his arguments were true, all of them. He was of an age with her, and well-groomed, aside from his shaggy hair. Andhandsome. Regrettably so. That fact seemed to have addled her mind.
If what he said about his income was to be believed… but they were practically strangers!
He did, though, have a home in Knockton. And that, to Evelyn, was no small matter.
The rumbling of the organ came from within the guildhall. A slight wind sent Mr. Hartley’s coat fluttering about his legs. Evelyn’s eyes stung; the breeze must have sent a speck of something into them. She fluttered her lashes, hoping to dislodge it.
Finally he spoke, his voice somehow even smoother and deeper than before. “Do send word, Miss Wolfenden.” He nodded in her direction, then sauntered past her, paying no mind to the fact that he nearly brushed against her skirts. She heard him halt not too far behind her. But she refused to turn, refused to show in any way the wavering of her resolve.
“I’ll be in Lancashire for a fortnight. If I don’t hear anything…” He paused, but still she would not turn, would not look him in the eye. “Well. I’ll consider my offer refused.”
Evelyn’s breath had sped up once more, and she made no response. She’d set out to save herself, hadn’t she? Well, here was her chance. On this unassuming afternoon, after months of toiling to no avail, an offer of marriage had landed neatly in her lap.
But… his house in London was so excruciatingly small, and done in poor taste. Just like his manners. She could never. But he had a home here. She’d need never visit the London one.
Before the sound of his footsteps had even faded in the distance, she knew.
