Page 136 of The Siren of Sussex

He glanced at her. His color was high. “You can’t honestly expect that I’d propose to you?”

Once, those words might have hurt her deeply. Now she felt only indignation. She didn’t want him anymore. That didn’t mean she’d countenance being insulted. “Why shouldn’t you, if you care for me?”

“Because my father wouldn’t approve. And because,” he added, “you’re not the kind of woman a gentleman would marry.”

She stared at him.

“You must realize that,” he said. “Why else are you here, parading about Hyde Park every afternoon in those riding habits of yours? You’ve all but put out your shingle.”

“You think I’m setting myself up as a courtesan?” Evelyn sat back in her seat. She didn’t know why she should be outraged at the suggestion. Ahmad had thought as much, too, when first she’d approached him about making her habits. But this was different. Ahmad respected women—all women. While Stephen meant to demean her. “And you thought you’d . . . what? Simply purchase my wares?”

“Don’t be vulgar.”

“The vulgarity is yours, not mine. What sort of gentleman suggests such an arrangement to a respectable lady? It’s an insult.”

“Respectable!” Stephen laughed. “Your family name will never be respectable. Your sister has lived with my brother outside of marriage. She’s still living with him in an unmarried state. You’re disgraced. You and all of your sisters. The sooner you face it—”

“Stop the carriage,” she said.

“Indeed, I will not. You need to calm down and think about this rationally. The only path for you going forward is if I—”

“I said stop the carriage. Right now.” When he didn’t heed her, she moved as if to stand.

“For pity’s sake!” He grabbed hold of her arm. “Do you want to kill yourself?”

“Stop the carriage and let me out.” Her voice was as hard as tempered steel.

At last, Stephen obeyed her. He pulled the gig alongside the edge of the street. “What do you mean to do, Evelyn? You don’t even know where we are.”

“I know exactly where I am,” she lied. “And may I say, sir, before I take my leave, that I wouldn’t marry you if you were the last man in the universe. You’re right. You were a child three years ago, and you’re still a child today. I suggest that, before you think about setting up a mistress, you consider growing up.”

She didn’t wait for him to assist her down. Taking her skirts up in one hand, she jumped out of the gig, landing hard on the dirty pavement.

Stephen cursed under his breath.

Ignoring him, she looked to her left and right, attempting to get her bearings. It wasn’t a part of town she recognized. The street was lined with shops and warehouses, more commercial in nature than fashionable. Carts passed by, pulled by heavy draft horses, and a costermonger peddled his wares at the top of his lungs.

“You’ve made your point,” Stephen said. “Don’t be stupid.”

“Goodbye, Stephen.” She set off down the street at a purposeful walk.

“Wait, blast it. I can’t chase you. I’ve no one to hold my horses. Evelyn. Evelyn!”

She kept walking, faster and faster, propelled more by anger than good sense. Stephen’s voice faded behind her, lost amid the shouts of street hawkers and lorry drivers. He’d follow her in the gig, she had no doubt.

And she didn’t wish to be followed.

At the first intersection, she turned right onto a street that was even busier than the one she’d just left. It was long, running as far as her eye could see. Wooden barrels cluttered the pavement. She maneuvered around them, ducking under the canvas awning of a shop. A brawny man was unloading a cart stopped in front of it.

He whistled at her as she passed. “Give us a smile, love.”

A jolt of fear hastened Evelyn’s step. She kept her eyes on the street, hoping to spot a hackney cab, or failing that, an omnibus.

Up ahead, two humbly dressed women with baskets over their arms examined the offerings at a fruit stall. One of them gave her an inquiring look.

Evelyn pasted on a smile. “I beg your pardon, ma’am. Is there an omnibus stop nearby?”

“Lost, are you?” the woman asked.