Page 39 of Desperate Proposals
“Of course, of course.” By now Mr. Reed seemed to have regained his social footing, his head bobbing up and down.
But Evelyn was no longer interested in Mr. Reed. She looked back to Mr. Hartley’s hand upon hers.
The halls of the manor had always stood strong, and so would she. They claimed her as one of their own. She drew in a breath, willing the heat within her to dissipate.
Mr. Reed was now prattling on to Mr. Hartley, something about political cartoons in the local paper. She did not care. She looked up and regarded her husband. Mr. Hartley wore a smug half-smile as he listened, his dark hair neatly combed back for once.
Now he, too, was one of their own.
For that was what this day meant. Evelyn had accepted him before God, before the large glass window that at one time, hundreds of years before, had depicted Saint Milburga. She released the smallest of sighs. Frustrating and common though he was, Marcus Hartley was now her husband. She would stand alongside him. She would be a dependable wife.
“Mr. Reed,” she finally broke in, ready to be done with him and whatever further insinuations he might care to make, “my husband and I thank you for your well wishes. Please give Mrs. Reed my regards. Though I do believe Mrs. Henham is waiting to say her piece.” She nodded in the direction of the elderly lady hovering a few paces behind Mr. Reed.
Mr. Reed nodded, muttered “Of course,” then made an awkward goodbye and departed, walking sheepishly back to his table of fellow council members.
A bit belatedly, Evelyn realized that she’d heard Mr. Reed discuss politics with her father on at least one prior occasion.
And if she recalled correctly, he was much more of her father’s mindset than her husband’s.
She smiled as Mrs. Henham approached, trying to shake the feeling of unease that had come over her. Should she have paid closer attention to Mr. Hartley and Mr. Reed’s conversation? Mr. Hartley had seemed more restrained with him than he’d been with the other guests. Evelyn felt her spirits fall. She had todo better; she ought to exercise her mind if she was to live up to Mr. Hartley’s praise.
As if he could read her thoughts, Mr. Hartley gently squeezed her hand. And strangely enough, she felt calm once more.
She had claimed him as her own. And he, it seemed, had done the same.
Chapter Ten
Evelyn did her bestto keep Methering Manor in her sights as they rode away in Mr. Hartley’s carriage, her face a hair’s breadth from the glass pane as the vehicle rattled away along the road. Eventually, the proud structure that had stood for centuries, enduring not only military attacks but the relentless decay of time, finally disappeared beyond the gentle hills of the moorland.
Distressed, she sat back and closed her eyes, not wishing to alarm her husband, sitting opposite her alongside her new mother-in-law, who chatted merrily away.
Evelyn thought of the copse of beech trees beyond the gardens, and how gorgeous they looked in their autumn raiment, all reds and oranges. She recalled the sounds of the household staff tidying up after the breakfast, with Wright stoically overseeing the activities from the head of the great hall. She thought of her bedroom, tucked away in the east wing, with its pretty tapestry depicting a maid and a unicorn. She thought of Selina and Leonora, still snug in their beds, for they would not join her at Platt Lodge until tomorrow. Wistfully she recalled the manorghost, some groom or page that had dared to seduce a baroness past, leading to his untimely end by the baron’s sword. Although she’d heard tales of him haunting the buttery, recognizable by his doleful stare and his antiquated round cap, she had never seen him herself.
Now she never would.
She opened her eyes. Methering Manor was out of sight, but she was still in Lancashire, in Knockton. And that was what truly mattered.
When they arrived at Platt Lodge, she did her best to look upon it with an open heart, though from a distance she couldn’t make anything out beyond the broad strokes. It was neat and somewhat modern, a plastered box with three tidy rows of six windows apiece. No towers, no moat, no gatehouse. No timeworn stone walls covered in lichen, just a soulless iron gate. There had once been a rugged old hunting lodge here, but it was brought down to erect this structure a few generations back. Or so Wright had informed her.
But there was no use in speculating about the past; what was here now would have to do. Evelyn exited the coach with her chin held high and took Mr. Hartley’s offered hand.
He leaned closer to her, speaking in a low voice. “I understand it’s not home. But I hope it will be comfortable for you.”
She nodded, the richness of his voice reverberating deep in her body. Evelyn wondered when she would become used to it. She would have repaid his kindness with a small smile, but his mother had apparently overheard his private comment and sought to add her own.
“Comfortable?” Mrs. Hartley snorted. “I should hope so, with the way Marcus keeps the London house. Why, in my younger days, when Mr. Hartley brought me back there as a bride, it might’ve been a mean piece but at least it was properly run,” she harrumphed, before offering Evelyn a sympathetic smile.
“Mama.” A frown crossed Mr. Hartley’s face. “Let’s get you inside. It’s been a tiring course of events for you. And,” he said as he looked down at the dog in her arms and grimaced, “for Walter as well.”
“Mr. Hartley brought you there as a bride?” Evelyn looked at her mother-in-law, recalling the ugly and cramped London house she’d taken refuge in earlier that year.
“Oh yes, dear. It was quite a comedown for me, you see. At least the neighborhood is respectable enough. And to think, I’d been the belle of the season, had turned down several proposals for a simple solicitor— Marcus! Do not pull a face, for you know it is true!” She shook her head, perturbed.
But neither Mr. Hartley nor Evelyn responded, so she discarded the conversation and went along to greet the staff with a pleasant enough comportment.
It seemed Mrs. Hartley’s temper danced about as unpredictably as a leaf caught in the wind. Evelyn felt a bit at sea; her new mother-in-law was another impassioned individual she would need to accustom herself to.
Mr. Hartley looked at her apologetically and offered his arm again.
