Page 7 of Desperate Proposals
Rowland leaned back, curling into himself as suspicion crept onto his face. “Evelyn… please.”
She ignored him, looking instead to the largest bottle in the room, containing a wooden warship with myriad sails, but whose details she couldn’t quite make out, they all blurred together. She squinted, but it did little to bring the tiny craft into focus, so she turned back to Rowland, squaring her shoulders and taking a deep breath.
“I came to ask you if you might consider renewing your suit once more.”
“What?” Rowland squeaked out, digging his fingers into the edge of the sophisticated couch. “Are you,” he swallowed, “asking me toproposeto you again?!”
Evelyn held her posture ramrod straight. “Yes.”
“N—no,” he stuttered, then repeated more forcefully, “No!”
“No?No?!” she echoed, shocked.
“Of course not!”
“But you… you asked me first!”
“Eleven years ago!”
“But… you’re unmarried.” Now it was her turn to furrow her brow. “Your hairline has receded and your manner of dress is… peculiar. I don’t understand. You shouldwantto marry me.” He was the son of a viscount, she the daughter of a baron. This was the way of things. “We are…” She paused, then settled upon “well-suited.”
It didn’t sound all too convincing, even to herself. Evelyn had never been a hand at these sorts of things—flattery, cunning. She was far too straightforward for that.
Rowland stood up, then crossed the room to kneel before her, grasping her hand. Evelyn wanted to tug it away, but she checked herself. Perhaps he’d decided to go along with it and propose after all.
“Strong, admirable Evelyn. It’s true I would have married you then. Those were different times. I was a terrified boy, desperate to do right at every turn, to please everyone but myself. But now, all these years later, I’ve found my path, and my peace of mind.”
Dread slithered up her spine. Now she reclaimed her hand, clutching it against her chest. Recoiling against a horrid, hollow feeling she couldn’t name. Still Rowland remained before her, his eyes mournful.
“Would marriage not please you?” she whispered. “Or just marriage to me?”
Evelyn had always given little thought to her physical appearance, for it had never mattered to her whether others found her a great beauty. She knew she was not. But she had thought herself tolerable at the very least, if a little plump.
Rowland shook his head, smiling sadly underneath that awful mustache. “Just as you once vowed never to marry, for love did not please you, I have realized that I’m not inclined to…” He glanced away for a moment. When his eyes met hers again, they were as earnest and vulnerable as his voice. “I have no desire for the love found in the marriage bed.”
Evelyn laughed. It came out a tinny, horrible sound.
“Why, is that all? We need not share a bed! Not even that first night, if it would be so objectionable to you—”
“No, Evelyn. Perhaps years ago, but this…” He sighed, glancing around the room, taking in the shelves upon shelves of model ships forever moored in their glass prisons. “This is menow. I live a quiet life. I make my models. I want for nothing. Not even the companionship of a wife.”
Something within Evelyn snapped. So she rated no higher than a miniature frigate, did she? She stood up abruptly.
“I see.”
“Evelyn—” Rowland started, reaching for her, but she stepped away, flustered and fiddling with the ribbons of her bonnet.
Sense seemed to have abandoned her, leaving behind only the pounding of her heart and the burning of her cheeks. Suddenly her light linen travel costume felt overly constricting, as if she couldn’t breathe. Her head was awhirl, her eyes darting about. What was happening?
“I—I beg your leave. Good afternoon,” she gasped.
And then she left.
She thought she could still hear Rowland shouting her name as she rushed out onto the pavement, nearly knocking into a lamplighter in the process, who might have called after her as well. But she couldn’t be sure of anything. She needed to move. She needed to get as far away as she could from that house, that asinine sitting room, and the abject shame that had nearly just done her in.
She could not bear to think anymore, just walk. As quickly as possible.
How many minutes—or hours—passed, she could not say. But when finally her heart calmed and her breath steadied, evening had fallen. Evelyn felt a fool, losing her head like that. Shetsked out loud and shook her head.
