Page 80 of Desperate Proposals
Suddenly her heart kicked up. Why?
Scanning the crowd, Evelyn hoped she would notice someone she was acquainted with. She recognized several of the men, but none whose association was close enough that she dared approach.
“Surely, this Mr. Hartley is less an agent of ours than of Mr. Gladstone!”
The mention of her husband’s name brought forth several raucous boos.
Shocked, her hand flew to her chest, as if to physically defend herself. Then Murphy was at her side with a gentle hand on her elbow, guiding her back to the carriage.
“Pay him no mind, ma’am. Just a soft lad, he is,” the coachman said, his voice low so the others in the crowd might not overhear.
“Wait,” Evelyn urged, waving him off. “I must listen!”
“Begging your pardon, ma’am, but I doubt Mr. Hartley wants you involved in such rubbish as electioneering.”
Evelyn clenched her jaw, recalling her conversation with Mrs. Charlton and Mrs. Ferguson, the two seasoned politician’s wives who’d regarded her as patiently as if she were a bumbling child. Asking her about causes, weighing her responses. The ease with which they spoke that evening in Birmingham had intimidated Evelyn. How she wished to be more like them. To be bolder, smarter, wittier.
Although, her husband did fancy her a wit.
“Why, he’s no Knockton man, our Mr. Hartley,” the speaker continued scornfully.
The crowd chuckled and groused amongst themselves.
Evelyn felt a fury light within her.How dare they!
Reason abandoned her; she charged forward, her back held straight and proud as she pushed through the crowd. She registered Murphy chasing at her heel, hissing at those assembled to make way for the lady, but she would neither stop nor slow. If her skirts smacked into some dunderhead who stoodin her way, so be it. If she had to use her elbows to make it through the throng, then she would do so.
“I beg your pardon,” she called out, her voice as loud and hard as she could make it. “I will not tolerate such slander of my husband in my presence!”
A hush fell upon the group. Men glanced over their shoulders, visibly starting when they saw her. The remaining observers parted in front of her without a word.
At the center of the crowd stood the dull, unremarkable Mr. James Robert Reed, a bright blue rosette pinned upon his lapel.
Evelyn halted.
“Mr. Reed?” she exclaimed, stunned.
“Mrs. Hartley…” he stuttered. He reached for his hat but stopped short, then brought his hands back in front of his belly and began worrying at the buttons of his waistcoat. “Ah… how lovely to see you out and about.”
Well. At least he had the decency to be ashamed.
A titter rippled through the crowd as the men whispered to one another.
“Pray, repeat once more the charges you’d make against my husband, Mr. Hartley, with him not here to defend himself.” Evelyn’s voice was cool.
Mr. Reed’s face quickly turned dark red, an unfortunate color for human flesh which Evelyn recognized from when Mr. Hartley had put Mr. Reed in his place for belittling her intelligence at their wedding breakfast. He stammered, hands wringing and eyes dancing about, as if he hoped someone else might appear and save him from a public dressing-down.
“Mrs. Hartley… politics are not the realm of kind and gentle ladies such as yourself,” he tried feebly. “You ought to return home, and take your leisure—”
“Mr. Reed,” she interrupted, practically spitting his name, “I was born a Wolfenden. Wolfendens have resided in Knocktonfor centuries. When something concerns Knockton, it concerns me.”
She heard a few muttered agreements from somewhere in the crowd, and felt emboldened by each one.
With an appraising eye, she turned about slowly, lifting her chin higher.
“My husband, Mr. Hartley, may not have been fortunate enough to call Lancashire home his entire life. But trust me when I say that he holds it as dear as he holds me,” she said, her voice strong.
Why, she was even convincing herself—her heart constricted at the thought of his blue eyes and their gentle gaze. Of the dark hair that always fell haphazardly over his face. And yes, of his hands gripping her waist, their reflections locked on each other as he had his way with her. Feeling heat begin to build within her, she decided she’d better change her tack.
