Page 40 of Desperate Proposals
“Agitation is her normal state; pray, do not worry.”
“I am fine,” Evelyn said, taking his arm. She meant it, truly, but something deep inside did not feel as settled as she’d have liked.
After greeting the staff—thankfully all from local families and falling over themselves to offer her their best bow or curtsy—they removed to their quarters to tidy up for an early supper.
Although the wedding breakfast had been sumptuous, Evelyn found herself famished. She ate heartily, pleased to find the cook here an improvement over the one at Mr. Hartley’s London residence.
Now sitting in her large, modern room, Evelyn stared at herself in the looking glass as Dutton brushed out her hair. She didn’t know what she should do; she expected to fulfill her duties as Mr. Hartley’s wife, but she’d been informed that this was to be her bedroom. Would he visit? Were the rooms adjoined, or could there perhaps be a concealed staircase?
She frowned. If only her mother were still alive to instruct her in these matters. Selina hadn’t even bothered, though Evelyn would have rather died than endure such a lecture from her brother’s widow.
Her eyes drifted to Dutton, the stout and stern-faced maid who’d reluctantly followed her here, rather than remain at Methering in a lesser capacity.
“Do you think Mr. Hartley will…” Evelyn let her eyes fall back to her own reflection, suddenly feeling very aware of herself. “Ought he come to my room, or is it expected for the bride to send for her husband?”
Dutton’s hand froze, the brush poised inches above Evelyn’s hair. After a pause she chuckled, then resumed. “Oh, miss—er, missus, I beg your pardon, still not used to all that. If he wants you, he’ll come to you.”
Evelyn set her mouth in a thin line. “I see.”
When Dutton had finished, Evelyn got up and wandered about the room, unsure of what to do. Should she settle in bed? Read a book? She eventually sat upon a fashionable chaise, no doubt a new piece. As soon as she had lowered herself onto it, she was startled by a knock at the door, but it was only an apologetic housemaid, there to turn the lamps down. She did so with efficiency and left, and Evelyn was alone once more—the new mistress in her new home, perched upon her new chair.
Until now, the entire evening had felt bizarrely commonplace and unremarkable. For a day that marked the beginning of her new life, it had felt strangely similar to any other day,even though her wedding had taken place that morning. She supposed that must be how things tended to go when one married for purposes other than love.
But now, the waiting was unsettling her, and her mind darted about as she wondered why Mr. Hartley had not come.
She frowned, then turned to look across the room at the mirror once again as she smoothed her plait with one hand. She couldn’t see herself very well from this distance, but she knew well enough what was there. Maybe she ought to eat less; her figure was far thicker than Selina’s dainty form. Perhaps Mr. Hartley did not prefer it? Or should she instruct Dutton to attempt something different with her hair?
Another knock, sharp and hurried, was the only warning she received before the door swung open again and Mr. Hartley blustered in, his dark hair falling in his face. He slammed it shut behind him.
“I’m sorry, so sorry, I didn’t mean to keep you…” He paused just inside the threshold, hands working at untying his cravat.
Why, he wasn’t even in his nightclothes!
Evelyn’s heart sped up, and she turned away, not wishing him to see her apprehension.
“Oh, I hadn’t noticed,” she fibbed, her eyes falling upon what she knew to be a clock on one of the bedside tables, though she could not for the life of her read the time; the thin, fuzzy lines she knew were hands swam about her vision no matter how she squinted.
“It’s only… Walter, my mother’s blasted dog, you know. The hateful creature ran off after some animal when a footman took the wretched thing out for his evening ablutions.”
He sighed, deep and heavy. She could hear his footfalls as he walked about, the rustle of fabric as he shed his jacket.
Her heart would not slow. Slightly worried, she surreptitiously placed a hand to her chest.
“I don’t know why I ever got her the damn thing. He’s been nothing but a nuisance from the first.”
“And has, er, Walter been found?”
Evelyn dared a glance over her shoulder. Mr. Hartley stood there in his shirtsleeves, removing his cufflinks. She wanted to look away, but did not wish to appear flustered, so she held still, her back straight even as her heart raced.
“Yes,” he scoffed, and blew out another sigh. “The little bast—I beg your pardon—the little monster had somehow gone round the back and reentered through the kitchens with the help of an unaware scullery maid. Mind you, we did not discover this until Mama was nearly in conniptions, and a great deal of manpower had been exhausted.” He looked up at her with an apologetic grin. “Including mine.” He pocketed his cufflinks.
Evelyn searched for something kind to say.
“She is very fond of the spaniel.”
She was taken aback to hear herself utter something so wishy-washy. But she felt a very strong urge to please him just now.
“And you? Shall I gift you a dog as well?” He crossed the room to join her, hands in pockets, looking all too comfortable as he sat down alongside her.
