Page 89 of Desperate Proposals
The coachman blew out a sigh. “Don’t go getting pitched into the dust, ma’am.”
Evelyn raised an eyebrow. “As I already possess the appearance of one thrown from their mount, I doubt anyone shall be the wiser, should it come to pass.”
For a moment, Murphy was clearly doing his utmost not to grin. But all mirth quickly fled, and he shook his head.
“I don’t mean to be the one standing before Mr. Hartley, hat in hand, mind.”
Evelyn had no worries about that. Though she didn’t often ride these days, she’d been doing so since the day she was big enough for her own Fell pony.
The sound of hoofbeats prompted both of them to turn.
The stable boy had returned. He was leading—with some effort—a massive creature, a dappled gray Barb with a black mane. The horse reared back with a violent neigh. Murphy let out a low curse, and rushed forward to assist the boy in calming it.
The horse snorted several times, pawing at the ground with its hooves and shaking its head ferociously.
Evelyn did not blink. She had to intercept Mr. Hartley. She wanted to help him. She needed to help him, and her family. The thought of him making such a public scene was intolerable; word of such a display was bound to make its way outside the manor and haunt her for the rest of her days. But when Murphy handed her up onto the irritated equine and the stable boy ran off with the mounting block, eager to avoid Lloyd’s hooves, another thought took hold.
Of the night she and Mr. Hartley met, when he’d gotten his hackles up in defense of unwed mothers. Then the memory of him at her father’s table, at the far opposite end, bravely squaring off against him. And then of the wedding breakfast, when he’d praised her beauty and wit as he pointedly told Mr. Reed of his good fortune.
She was his wife, and her family was his as well. She would not allow him to face down all of Methering alone. Not this time.
It had not been the reunion he’d hoped for. At least, it wasn’t yet.
Marcus’s spirits had been high upon his arrival at the railway station. Murphy was there with the carriage, bearing the good news that Mrs. Wolfenden had not ridden out since he’d been in London, not even once. Evelyn had upheld her promise to keep her relations in line, and Marcus was glad for it.
And even gladder still once he’d had Murphy procure him a sad cake, chewy and stuffed with currants. Marcus had consumed the entire thing, even as he’d thought it perhaps too large.
Now, though, with Methering Manor appearing on the horizon, he was thankful for the prodigious size of the cake, for otherwise he’d be acutely miserable at the moment, famished as he journeyed to confront the baron’s corrupt butler and put an end to this unseemly affair once and for all.
At least he’d seen Evelyn, however briefly.
He asked Dolly to slow, as gently as he could. Marcus hadn’t meant to push her so hard, but time was of the essence. If he didn’t catch Mrs. Wolfenden at the manor, he would have nothing but mere conjecture to stand on. And Marcus absolutely did not wish to worry after Evelyn’s sister-in-law for one minute longer. He’d had enough of his own family’s antics over the years; he had no intention of his in-laws being regarded as the Sedleys had been.
And he wanted Evelyn to be happy, at ease. Christ, how he wanted her happy.
This fondness for her, this desire… he wasn’t a foolish man. He set his jaw, hands flexing upon the reins. He could see where this would lead.
Well, Marcus intended to meet it head-on, with all of his characteristic fervor. His passions had always consumed him, and he saw no use denying what had become plain as day the moment he’d read the close of her last letter.Each day I find myself aware of your absence. Far from being damned with faint praise, he was raised up beyond any heights he’d yet attained.
And if she did not love him, well. Then he would end his days in her service, torturing himself with her cool hauteur and detached companionship. Her flashes of sharp insight and wit. The way she lifted her chin in defiance at every setback, that she might look down upon everyone—even him.
A calm had settled upon him when he’d come to the realization. She was his wife, in every sense of the word, and he knew what that meant to him.
Which was why he now crossed the dry moat and, eschewing the ancient, imposing front gate, rode around to the back of the manor. Evelyn had done her best, of that Marcus had no doubt. But hehaddoubted this Wright fellow from the outset, when thebutler had practically sneered at his first arrival here. How long ago that now seemed.
Unfamiliar as he was with the manor, he began to have an uneasy feeling. This was an old stronghold built for war, not comfort; there might not be another entrance.
But thankfully, practicality had won the day at some point in the manor’s history. Marcus came upon a small back entrance, flanked by a tidy lean-to on one side and a bowing wooden bench on the other. He assumed that someone would have been alerted to his presence and would appear at the door. But when he dismounted, the scene was still quiet, empty. He frowned and quickly dealt with the reins so Dolly wouldn’t step on them while grazing.
He knocked. After several seconds the door flung open, revealing a sour-faced middle-aged woman in housekeeper trappings.
“Yes?” She scowled, looking him up and down. It took her a moment, but her hard expression finally relaxed as she recognized him. “Ah, Mr. Hartley.” She frowned once more, this time in confusion. “But what are you about? Did Wright not—” She cut herself off and set her features, less discreetly than she was likely hoping.
Interesting, that.
“Actually, Wright is exactly who I intend to speak with,” Marcus said with a forced lightness. He gestured to the door. “If I may?”
The housekeeper, whose name he could not recall, pursed her lips but nodded, stepping aside so he might enter.
