A Practical Arrangement

by Nadja Notariani

  Evangeline's soft laughter halted their revelry, and they darted within the woven cocoon's safety. She sighed, turning to acknowledge his presence at last. “Mr. Masterson,” she tilted her head slightly in question.

  “Miss Grey,” he allowed, matching her gesture with a quirked lip. “Are you enjoying yourself?”

  She laughed then, an honest, unrestrained song it was. “Yes, sir, I am.”

  “When you've quite had enough, I'd like to walk with you,” he said easily.

  Her expression darkened, a frown forming.

  “Miss Grey, if you'll recall, I advised you against frowning,” he stated with a grin.

  “Oh, I recall it,” she replied. “Something about it not becoming me,” she added boldly. “Please do recall my response, Mr. Masterson, if you can remember so insignificant a conversation.”

  “Why do you refer to our conversation as insignificant?” he countered, taken aback at her choice of words.

  “Why would I refer to it as otherwise?”

  Thomas smiled. What a challenge this frank, fiery woman presented - such rousing exchanges of word and wit. He jumped at her question's open invitation. “Because my conversations with you, too few in number to satisfy, are far from insignificant. Intriguing seems a more fitting term.”

  Her frown deepened, and when next she spoke, her voice was eerily soft. “Mr. Masterson, this has gone far enough. You've had your fun. I'll return to the house now. Alone. Please, do not continue your amusement any longer at my expense.” Quiet reprimand at an end, she walked away.

  Thomas stood a moment, her words hitting him harshly. What a fool he was! His reputation had her convinced he merely toyed with her. Setting off after her, Thomas called, “Miss Grey!”

  She ignored him, marching toward home in a rush.

  “Evangeline, stop.” He threw her given name across the distance, knowing it would garner some reaction.

  She froze a split second before turning on her heel. That steady brown gaze betrayed her fury. “My Christian name upon your lips is an insult I cannot ignore, Mr. Masterson. I may be nothing more than a plain woman – and far too frank in my speech - but that gives you no license to make sport of me.” The hurt of her mother's words, her conflicting emotions toward Thomas, and her anger over her perceived weakness to his charms fueled her outburst, the candid description of self spilling out accidentally.

  He had gained her by then, and looking intently into her angry gaze, Thomas reached for her arms. “Stop,” he said firmly. “I only spoke your name to make you stop, Miss Grey.” Gently, his hands found her arms, her body going rigid at the contact. With wide eyes she stared mutely into his, unmoving. Thomas sensed her taciturn response was born of some fear, and he spoke with a gentleness he'd not believed himself capable of. “I do not make sport of you. Believe that if nothing else I say to you. I cannot apologize for my words, nor my actions, for I behaved in accordance with my inner feelings. I find you challenging and intelligent, and am left wholly in want of more when no longer in your company.”

  Shock registered, morphing into something darker Thomas could not name. She continued to stare, blinking as she processed what he'd said. Ragged breaths escaped her small frame, and a deep flush crept over her exposed skin. Evangeline opened her mouth, closed it, then turned, starting for home in a near run.

  Thomas followed, uncertain whether she was angry, fearful, or embarrassed. “Miss Grey, wait.”

  Glancing over her shoulder to gauge how close he followed behind, Evangeline stepped in a small hole, twisting her ankle. “Ohh!” she cried aloud, tumbling to the ground. She clutched the smarting limb, her mouth pressed into a pained grimace.

  Thomas knelt beside her. “Are you all right?”

  “Give me a moment,” she said shakily.

  He reached to check for any sign of a break, but Evangeline slapped at his hands. Catching her breath, she chided, “Mr. Masterson, your concern is commendable, but unnecessary.” Gingerly, she stood.

  Taking her elbow, he supported her as she tested a step unsuccessfully.

  “Ahh!” She hobbled a few more feet, her breathing harsh.

  “It is too far to continue this way,” Thomas stated, lifting her in his arms. “I'll carry you.”

  “What do you think you're doing?” she yelped, her body tensing. “Put me down!”

  Thomas chuckled. “Easy, Miss Grey. You are in no condition to walk. This is far easier – for us both.” Her rigid form complicated the matter. “Relax yourself.”

  She protested vehemently, “Unhand me this minute!”

  Thomas shook his head. “No.”

  Evangeline blazed with fury again. “You, sir, will set me down at once, or I shall...I shall scream!”

  Thomas set her down at once. She promptly lost her balance and toppled to her backside. “There, Miss Grey, you've been set down.” He studied the wide-eyed young woman with amusement. “Now, what seems to be the problem?”

  Beyond flustered, Evangeline stared up at him. Her eyes conveyed an emotion he'd not expected. Panic.

  “I...I,” she stammered.

  It was so unlike her. Unease sprouted in his gut. He knelt beside her. “Miss Grey, you're near frozen, soggy from the ground and quite unable to walk. I will not stand by and watch you catch your death because you refuse to be carried. Now,” he added firmly, “I'll know what the trouble is.”

  All pretense of anger left her, her expression wary and awkward as it had been at the table earlier. Tension emanated from her still, stiff body, and she stared into her lap. Softly, she replied, “I wasn't ready.”

  Confusion erupted in his thoughts. “Ready for what?” he asked gently.

  Her teeth began to chatter in earnest, but she sat, not speaking for a considerable span. Eyes averted, she breathed deeply, voice barely above a whisper. “For someone to touch me.”

  Thomas was undone.

  'For someone to touch me.'

  Not him. Someone.

  He lingered on the word. Anyone? Everyone? He lifted her chin, forcing her to meet his steady gaze. “I am going to lift you now, Miss Grey,” he informed softly.

  Brown eyes wide and wary, she nodded and held her breath.

  Scooping her into his arms, Thomas stood in a swift motion and carried her toward home. Slowly, she relaxed ever so slightly against him, yet remained subdued. Nearing the great house, he slowed considerably. The connection with her, her willingness to trust herself to him after her quiet revelation, his undeniable and growing regard, all these compelled him to prolong the experience. Realization dawned. He wanted her trust, desired to become the man who could touch her, whose touch she welcomed. Never before had he sought such an intimacy of the heart, of the mind. Stopping before the door, Thomas regarded the small woman in his arms.

  The scene was set, his plan accomplished with no manipulation on his part. All he need do was step inside the house with Miss Grey in his arms, and she would be his. His mind was made up. “Are you all right?” he asked softly.

  Never raising her eyes, she nodded. “Thank you,” she whispered.

  Thomas groaned, a grin taking him over. “Why, Miss Grey,” he teased quietly, “I believe you should denounce me, not thank me for what I am about to do.”

  “About to do?”

  “I'm going to carry you inside.”

  “But everyone may think...”

  “We have been a long time gone – and together – and now we return with you in my arms.”

  She snapped her gaze up, aghast, and he laughed softly. “Had I not riled you up so, you'd not have fallen, and would have no need to be carried. So, you see, I am fully at fault.”

  Her small smile dazzled him before she hid it behind her hand. He did not think her plain in that moment, but soft and lovely and gentle.

  “Ready?” he asked, brow raised.

  “As ready as one can be for...”

  “For what, Miss Grey?”

  She flushed.

  “For your
family to know I've touched you?”

  Evangeline blanched. “Yes,” she admitted meekly. “My mother will carry on and...and...”

  “And what?”

  “Oh, never mind. Best to have it over with,” she sighed. “Perhaps everyone will be busy and no one will notice.”

  “I'd like you to tell me,” Thomas encouraged, remaining outside a moment longer.

  “She'll likely begin saying...things, Mr. Masterson.” She was scarlet faced.

  “Things, Miss Grey?” He watched her burn brighter and chuckled softly. “Perhaps she will. I won't mind.”

  “I will,” she whispered.

  “Prim and proper, Miss Grey,” he husked near her ear, approaching the door. “Don't fret. I shall marry you at once to silence her and satisfy your frazzled sensibilities.”

  He stepped inside with those words, and Evangeline stiffened and gasped aloud. Thomas eyed her speculatively, smirking at her shock, daring her to reply, knowing she would not. A practical solution to his problem – and it had fallen, quite literally, into his hands.

  That secret, knowing smile curled his lips, leaving her shaken. Surely he jested. Evangeline could only watch in horrified silence as her mother rushed in, Verla Rhodes at her side, immediately spying her in Mr. Masterson's arms!

  Oh heavens!

  But what could be done? Why, oh why did it have to be Mrs. Rhodes? Evangeline felt ill.

  “What has occurred?” Opal wailed.

  Concern for Evangeline seemed short lived to Thomas, for she allowed no reply, but continued on.

  “I told you all that parading around in the outdoors would end in trouble! Just look at your dress! It's filthy.”

  Only after her sharp reprimand did her face register exactly where her daughter rested, in whose arms. Thomas enjoyed the shocked realization altering her countenance.

  “You were walking with Mr. Masterson? Alone?” she gasped.

  Mrs. Rhodes scoffed in disbelief, yet her eyes lit with the gleam of scandal to report.

  “Come,” Opal hurried to the stairs. “Bring her upstairs.”

  Thomas settled her in the chair, her questioning gaze on him the entire time since he carried her into the house. Meeting her eyes, Thomas smiled slow and telling.

  For you, Miss Grey.

  “Please inform me once she has been examined,” Thomas addressed Mrs. Grey, but his smoky gray eyes remained fixed on Evangeline. With a hint of a bow, he turned and left.

  “Evangeline!” Melody rushed in. “What happened?”

  Thank goodness her sister had arrived. “I am quite all right. I merely twisted my ankle while walking. Mr. Masterson helped me. In a few days it will be good as new.”

  Corinne entered, asking if she was needed.

  “Bring up water and soaking salts, please,” Melody requested.

  The maid nodded, curtsied and scurried out the door. Melody helped her to remove her boot, gasping at the purplish, swollen ankle. “Oh, Evangeline! It's terrible!”

  “It looks worse than it feels,” she assured her sister. “It doesn't pain me much except when I try to walk on it.”

  “How did it happen?”

  Evangeline explained, careful to exclude all that passed between her and Mr. Masterson. Her heart raced at her deception.

  Just listen to yourself – telling half-truths...

  Not that she'd ever admit to hearing the words Mr. Masterson had spoken to her. Her stomach fluttered at the reminder of them. The sensation irritated her immediately. Pure and simple nonsense, she balked. Evangeline Grey knew she was in danger. She'd liked his words, the deep, soft sounds coming from his mouth, the intensity of his chameleon eyes as they darkened and stormed, the restraint he'd shown when she saw the violent emotions swirling behind those eyes – emotion for her. That terrified her. Why did he have to say them? Why? They had been for her, had they not? She couldn't believe it contrived, didn't want to.

  And what he'd told her before entering the house! Her heart pounded. So heavy did it beat within her breast, Evangeline feared all would hear its chaotic rhythm. Would he dare act on those words? She could never want to be married to Mr. Thomas Masterson, could she? Nervous energy knit her stomach into a tight knot.

  “I think...I think I may be ill,” she breathed.

  Her mother thrust a basin into her lap. “Here, dear.” Her pursed lips softened, a peculiar expression passing over her features. “Mr. Masterson was most attentive to you, Evangeline.”

  “Oh! Not now, Mother, please!”

  “I only state the obvious,” Opal continued, ignoring her daughter's protest. “And with all that's occurred today...well, I dare say he ought to make his intentions known. Did he say anything to you to indicate he holds an affection for you? You, Evangeline, could not hope for a better match.”

  “Mother,” Melody gasped disapprovingly, “Mr. Masterson would be lucky to gain Evangeline!” She knelt beside her sister and smiled, eyes full of we-shall-talk-later promises. “How wonderful it would be, Evangeline. Mr. Masterson is quite handsome and quite wealthy as well. I am sure he will not leave you without an offer after today's events. Don't worry.” Melody's words hung between them, a barrier shielding the still unanswered question her mother had posed.

  She didn't wish to answer.

  “I am going to speak to your father,” her mother declared, sending Evangeline's stomach into a convulsive fit.

  “Whatever for?” she blanched, all color erased from her face in an instant.

  “You well know, Evangeline. Mr. Masterson handled you with a familiarity which cannot be ignored.”

  “Oh, please do not,” she pleaded. “He was helping me.”

  “Mr. Masterson is no fool. He knew exactly what would be supposed at entering our home with you in his arms.”

  “I fell, Mother. Surely a man should offer help in such an instance without fear of having to...to...”

  “What is wrong with you? This is the perfect opportunity for you, dearheart. You'd never have gained a man such as Thomas Masterson otherwise.”

  “Mother!” Melody gasped again, anger lacing her tone.

  Evangeline shivered. Tears stung her eyes, and no matter how she fought, they leaked down her cheeks in slow, crooked trails. What to even pray for? That Mr. Masterson not offer for her – and suffer the humiliation of his rejection, know he made a fool of her – or that he agree to marry her – and wonder evermore if he regretted his words and actions at being saddled with her. Plain Evangeline.

  She couldn't think. Neither choice gave her peace, for to learn he had been false with her would denounce her good sense, proving her a fool. Yet to become his wife – not knowing if his hand had been forced – would be equally unsettling.

  Dear God in heaven!

  What if he did agree to marry her? Full realization slammed into her, viscous and unrelenting as her mother's speech unfurled in her mind. No! She'd gladly bear humiliation. But her prayers were not to be uttered, for a single, sharp knock and opened door later, her father strode into her bedroom with the very subject of her confused and abhorrent thoughts. Mr. Thomas Masterson.

  “Mrs. Grey,” Albert addressed efficiently, “Mrs. Rhodes awaits you in the parlor. I'll speak to our daughter in private.”

  Opal nodded, hurrying from the room, Melody close behind. Thomas remained firmly planted beside Evangeline.

  “Tears?” Thomas questioned softly.

  Her mortification could get no worse. She hoped. “I...I am so sorry, Mr. Masterson. I...”

  “You have no need to be sorry,” he hushed, confusing her further.

  “Evangeline Grey,” her father announced, having closed the door behind the exiting ladies. “We've things to discuss.”

  Throat suddenly beyond dry, Evangeline awaited her father's displeasure. None was forthcoming. Instead, his gaze was gentle and merry.

  “Mr. Masterson and I have spoken, and he has made plain to me his wishes.”

  She held her breath, unable to spea
k.

  “You will marry as soon as arrangements can be made.”

  Thomas' hand covered her own, and he drew it from her lap. Dread and relief coursed simultaneously through her veins, and she was glad for the chair beneath her.

  “I'll hear you accept him,” Albert ordered, not harshly but without doubt brooking no refusal on her part.

  The matter was settled, her prayer answered before she uttered a single word. Clarity crashed upon her. If not Mr. Masterson, her father would choose another to be her husband. At least with him, she could be herself; he'd said he enjoyed her intelligence, had he not? She'd not admit her tender feelings for him despite the thought. Not ever.

  Resignation took root. “I accept,” she stated, keeping an impassive expression.

  “Very well,” her father beamed. “There! The matter is easily solved.” He turned his gaze to Thomas. “I'll leave you a few moments while I make the announcement downstairs.”

  Thomas nodded. “I'll bring her down momentarily.” Returning to his study of Evangeline, he brought her hand to his lips. “Are you all right?”

  Fresh tears spilled, embarrassing her further. “Mr. Masterson,” she apologized, “I never meant to put you in this position.”

  He laughed softly. “You put me in a perfect position, Miss Grey. If not for your tumble, I suspect you'd not have accepted my offer.”

  She wondered at his statement. “I won't forget your kindness in saying so.” Evangeline smiled faintly through her tears. “Nor the favor you've done by sparing my reputation.” She wanted to assure him she held no silly illusions of love. This was a practical arrangement, brought about by her own folly; she mustn't forget.

  “Miss Grey,” he spoke thickly, “it is you who do me favor. You've no idea.”

  That delving, probing, knowing smile – how she hated and adored it all at once. What to make of his reply? He was correct; she'd no idea.

  He leaned closer; she retreated, her shoulders coming firmly against the chair's tall back. Knowing her action would likely cause him insult was not deterrent enough to alter her reaction, but he continued forward, ignoring the obvious. She stilled, closing her eyes tightly, bracing for the impending amorous assault, no further retreat available.