Page 86 of Desperate Proposals
Selina was nowhere tobe found.
After searching both Selina’s and Leonora’s bedrooms, Evelyn rushed downstairs. With more force than she’d ever opened a door before, Evelyn clattered into the drawing room.
“My word! You gave me a start!” Her mother-in-law placed a hand upon her chest. She eyed Evelyn up and down, taking note of her dishevelment. “And what have you been about?”
“I took a tumble. Into the hedgerow. Clumsy me,” Evelyn lied.
Mrs. Hartley surveyed her again before looking back to Leonora, who was seated alongside her. The two of them had an album open upon their laps, with scraps of paper scattered across a table before them. Leonora was calm, seemingly unperturbed by Evelyn’s harried entrance.
“I beg your pardon,” Evelyn started, her eyes darting about the room for signs of Selina. “I was looking for Mrs. Wolfenden.”
“Mrs. Wolfenden,” Mrs. Hartley scoffed. She glanced sidelong at the little girl beside her, and her tone softened, if just slightly. “She’s abed, I’m afraid. Complained of a headache after lunch.”
Evelyn felt a rush of panic. Selina absolutely was not abed. Evelyn had just knocked thrice upon her door before going in and finding it deserted.
“She said she did not want to play collages,” Leonora protested in a tiny, yet sharp voice.
Evelyn’s eyes fell to the scissors in her niece’s hands.
Mrs. Hartley placed a hand over the scissors, then gently extracted them from Leonora’s ferocious little fingers, gracing her with a gentle smile to keep her calm. It was no mean feat; Evelyn’s hair had been on the receiving end of that grip before.
“Now, now, Granny Hartley is here. I said we’d make some assemblages, and we have, haven’t we, dear?”
“I…” Evelyn stuttered, trying to think of something she might say, were she unaware of Selina’s appalling deception. “I am glad. I hope she might join us for dinner, if she fares better.”
Neither Mrs. Hartley nor Leonora even glanced her way as she bade them goodbye.
Once the door had shut, Evelyn took a deep breath, her head on a swivel. She must find Selina. She had succeeded in defending her husband—temporarily, at least—by chastening the horrible Mr. Reed in front of an audience, but she could not manage to keep her brother’s widow in line to protect the family’s reputation? She pictured Mr. Reed posturing on the village green, rosette fastened to his lapel, and shuddered at the thought of what he might do with knowledge of Selina’s actions.
She frowned, considering what to do. Then she realized there was one place that could immediately confirm her suspicions—the stables.
Evelyn’s heart thudded in her chest as she rushed from the main house toward the outbuildings. There had to be an explanation for this. Selina had sworn that she would not ride out to Methering Manor again. Surely she would find her within; surely Selina would not ruin everything that Evelyn had done forthem—securing a husband to keep them, to provide them with some semblance of a future.
Why, she would even be cheered to catch Selina mucking out a stall; it didn’t matter what, as long as she was here. For if she’d gone to Methering…
There were voices coming from within, and Evelyn strode confidently through the open door, her head held high even as she looked a fright. For if Selina did happen to be there, by Jove, she would give her a piece of her mind.
“Evelyn?”
She stopped mid-step, shocked to hear that voice. “Mr. Hartley?”
He was not as she recalled. Which was ridiculous, as he’d only been gone a little over a fortnight. But it was true, all the same. His hair was no longer sloppy; rather, it appeared rogueish, devil-may-care. He seemed taller, stronger… perhaps it was that he stood in his shirtsleeves, which were rolled up to the elbows, his thick forearms accentuating how wide his hands were. How masculine.
Her panic over Selina’s disappearance sputtered, and spun out into another kind of rush, something heady and warm.
“You’re home,” she murmured.
Something in his expression changed; his gaze hardened. He came to her, taking her hands in his.
“I just arrived,” he said in that low, rumbling purr that danced along her back.
“You just arrived,” she repeated, her gaze falling to his mouth.
“When I received your letter, I—”
Whatever he was about to say was forestalled by the clearing of a throat behind him.
Evelyn stiffened and looked up to find Murphy standing before them. He was still in his hat and greatcoat, whip still inhand. She pulled back from Mr. Hartley and folded her hands primly before her.
