“More or less.” He shoved aside the urge to wince. “Mostly more.”
“Placing demands on Evie is the most likely way to ensure the least amount of cooperation. Demanding marriage from Evie is doubly—”
“I’m aware of it,” McAlistair cut in. “What I need to know is if I have leave to make things right with her.”
“Leave?”
The urge to wince now required a harder shove. “I am asking for permission to court your cousin.”
“But not to marry her?” Whit asked in a cool tone.
“I’d like to do things in the proper order this time.”
“Bit bloody late for that. The proper order now is marriage. And you’ll offer it, properly, as you put it, today.”
“She deserves a courtship—” He cut himself off as the meaning behind Whit’s words filtered through the rising temper. “You really want us to marry.”
“Have I left that in doubt?”
“I was uncertain you would agree to the match.”
“Why wouldn’t I? You love her and will treat her well, there seems to exist the possibility she loves you in return, and—” Whit’s expression caught somewhere between sympathetic and amused—“to be honest, I can’t make any promises where her treatment of you is concerned. I suspect she’ll drive you half mad at least once a week.”
A small bloom of hope settled in his chest. He tried not to let it grow. “You know what I’ve been.”
Whit nodded once. “Yes, and I know what you are now.”
“It could hurt your family, to have your cousin attached to the Hermit of Haldon Hall.”
“I don’t think so. You’re not the first man from a good family to become a hermit.”
“Name one,” McAlistair dared.
“Mr. John Harris.” Whit sat back in his chair. “He has spent the better part of the last century in a cave after his parents refused to allow him to marry the woman he loved. Brought his manservant along, if I’m not mistaken.”
“You made that up.”
Whit shook his head.
“His manservant.” The hope grew until it manifested in a smile. “Really?”
“Mr. Harris was good enough to give him his own cave.”
“I’ll be damned.”
“Not if you convince Evie to marry you,” Whit said darkly. “Otherwise, yes.”
Still smiling, McAlistair nodded and rose from his chair.
“You should speak to my mother about this,” Whit added. “She’s in the parlor.”
McAlistair felt a moment of raw panic. “Lady Thurston? You want me to confess all to Lady Thurston?”
Whit made a face. “I would consider it a personal favor if you were to refrain from confessing all to my mother. She’s not one for the vapors, but that conversation just might do it.” He picked up a pen from his desk and tapped it thoughtfully. “I think she would find it touching if you sought her approval of the match.”
“Of course.” He should have thought of that himself.
Whit stopped tapping the pen to give him a pointed look. “I think Evie would as well.”
“Yes, of—” He broke off, again, and for the first time in days, actually grinned. “That’s good. That’s brilliant.”
Because she was a woman, Lady Thurston’s agreement was not considered necessary. In fact, in the eyes of society, her opinion need not be sought at all. It was just the sort of inequality Evie despised. And knowing McAlistair had given Lady Thurston the respect afforded any senior male member of a family might be just the thing to soften Evie’s heart.
He would have paid that respect, anyway—at least, he would have once Whit pointed it out—but there was no reason not to enjoy the added benefit of impressing the woman he loved.
He turned to leave again, only to be stopped short of the door.
“McAlistair?”
“What?” He was in a hurry to leave.
“If you can’t convince Evie to have you, I won’t call you out.”
“Yes, fine.”
“But I will make your life a living hell.”
“I…fair enough.”
Though the idea of speaking to Lady Thurston was, in fact, brilliant, the execution of that idea was a trifle harder to appreciate. The conversation was distinctly uncomfortable. Fortunately, it was also decidedly brief. After a moment of well-hidden, but nonetheless perceivable surprise and pleasure, she settled into the business of finances and prospects. They were topics he had ready answers for. He had ample money saved from his days in the war department. Mr. Hunter had handled his investments successfully. He planned to take Evie to his cottage while he built a modest home not far from Haldon.
She adamantly refused to hear of Evie living in the hunting cabin, but relented on her position that the two of them reside at Haldon until their new home was built. She even smiled when they reached a compromise—McAlistair would let and build a house near Benton. But her smile dimmed a little when next she spoke.
“I shall be frank, Mr. McAlistair. You are not what I would have chosen for my niece.”
He kept his gaze steady and unapologetic. “Yes, I know.”