Page 50 of Desperate Proposals
His wife.
“No!” Leonora screamed, and rolled to the side, farther from Evelyn.
“But your pony—surely it will be here soon,” Evelyn said.
Or at least, Marcus thought she said. Unlike him, Evelyn seemed unwilling to raise her voice to be heard over Leonora’s sobs.
She looked to Mrs. Wolfenden, her face questioning. The widow replied with another elegantly useless shrug.
“How should I know? I left supervision of the packing to Wright,” Mrs. Wolfenden said, her voice shrill.
Evelyn, set back on her heels, leveled her sister-in-law with a look as close to a glare as Marcus had ever seen her make. Even so, it was awfully mild, considering the chaos of theenvironment. In the midst of it, Evelyn caught his gaze, and for a moment she held it, even as her niece went on.
Then she looked back to the girl. Evelyn reached out, haltingly, and placed a hand on the little one’s arm.
“Leonora… darling.”
The girl stilled momentarily, then jerked away and curled up into a tight little ball. Thankfully, her high-pitched screams gave way to a series of softer choking sobs.
Marcus stepped forward, embarrassed to leave this mess entirely to his wife, even as he hadn’t the foggiest notion of where to begin.
“Is there not… have you not engaged a nanny?” He looked from Evelyn to Mrs. Wolfenden.
“She quit last spring,” Mrs. Wolfenden said, with more than a hint of irritation. “Though I doubt that woman is what she’s after.”
Evelyn shook her head ever so slightly, then looked at him. “It’s her riding horse, Penny.”
“Ah,” Marcus said, as if that made all the sense in the world.
“She was under the impression that it would be here when she arrived. It’s a toy,” Evelyn further explained, as if Marcus himself had never been a child. “Similar to a rocking horse, but with wheels.”
“Ah,” he repeated witlessly, looking again from Evelyn to Mrs. Wolfenden.
Evelyn delicately held up one hand, her fingers worrying at one another. After a deep breath, she again extended a tentative arm toward Leonora, and placed her hand on the girl’s back.
Now that the little girl had replaced her shouting with more benign hiccups and sobs, Marcus could hear his wife as clear as day, could hear the apprehension in her voice as she spoke to her niece.
“All… all will be well. You’ll see.”
He nearly felt an electric shock at the sound of those familiar words. His father’s words, which he would use to console Marcus when the need arose. Giving him encouragement after his first term of disappointing marks at school. Or cheering him up after a nasty fall.
Reassuring him from his sickbed.
That unwanted ache, combining the happiness of the memory with the sharpness of his loss, overwhelmed him. He stared at Evelyn.
They were just words, weren’t they? She knew nothing of Lewis Hartley, of how his life had shaped Marcus. Or his death. Perhaps she’d uttered this exact comfort to her niece hundreds of times before. But Marcus knew it could not be. He knew, somehow, that he was witnessing his wife’s first overt attempt at soothing the child. For the nobility possessed neither the kindness nor the warmth of his father. They wouldn’t even allow their husbands the privilege of addressing them by their given names, for heaven’s sake.
Still Leonora sobbed on the floor. And still, somehow, Evelyn maintained her composure, one hand still resting on the girl’s back.
Marcus glanced at Mrs. Wolfenden, who yawned into a slim white hand.
“Right, then,” Marcus said to himself.
He left the room, walking quickly. His mother had wasted no time settling into a routine upon arriving, and at this hour he was counting on her being in her room, relaxing upon a chaise with Walter happily snoring away upon a silken, tasseled cushion alongside her.
Which is exactly how he found the pair of them.
“Marcus! Oh, but your knock is so violent! One would hope your gentle wife would have had a calming effect on you by now,” she groused, clutching at her chest for good measure.
