To Bed the Bride Read online

  It would have been easier if she’d never met Logan. She would never have come to love Bruce. Neither would she be feeling the pain of losing him. If Logan had never come into her life, she wouldn’t have anyone to compare Michael against and find him lacking. She would have no one to long for, wishing that circumstances were different.

  Yet if she’d never met him she would never have known what this emotion was that she was feeling now. She would never have felt the lightness in her heart when she thought she might see him. She would never have known what it felt like to be truly alive as she only did in his presence. Or the freedom of being herself with someone.

  “Then I change my mind,” she said. “I’ll take one of those pieces of shortbread.”

  He handed her the plate with a smile before moving back to the chair.

  For a half an hour they managed to talk of innocuous things like his niece and nephew or his recent trip to Scotland. The conversation could have been held between two strangers, not people who’d come to know each other well. She drank her tea and ate the biscuits, and when her cup was empty and the biscuits eaten, she stood, smiling down at a sleeping Bruce. The minute she started to walk toward the door he would wake, but the image of him dreaming on Logan’s carpet was one she’d always remember.

  Bruce would have a home here with someone who would care for him and treat him well. Most importantly, he would be safe.

  Walking away, however, would be difficult.

  “Will you let him sleep on your bed?” she asked. “He always settles in at the foot of my bed.”

  “If you want.”

  Logan came to stand in front of her. Before she could turn and grab her reticule, he pulled her into his embrace, wrapping his arms around her. They stood like that for some minutes as she rested her cheek against his chest and closed her eyes. She doubted that she would ever feel as safe with anyone else again. She would always remember these moments with the fire crackling behind them and the soft breathing of the puppy at their feet.

  Heaven must be like this.

  “You don’t have to marry him, Eleanor. You could always change your mind.”

  “No, I can’t,” she said.

  He pulled back, dropping his arms. “Is becoming a countess such a lure?”

  “You know it isn’t.”

  “Then what is it? Why go ahead with the marriage?”

  He didn’t understand. What was left of her family was thrilled with the union. Her aunt would finally be related to an earl. Granted, it was a feat she would have preferred her daughter achieve, but a niece was a close enough relative. Hamilton’s business empire would be positively affected. Daphne and Thomas could tell everyone that they had a countess in the family. Even Jeremy’s life would be bettered.

  If she didn’t go through with the wedding she’d not only disappoint everyone, but she’d have to live under a cloud of disapproval for the rest of her life. She couldn’t imagine a worse fate.

  Family is everything, Eleanor. It’s the same with horses.

  Her father’s words and his belief.

  Family is everything. Perhaps it was even more important than her own wishes, hopes, or dreams.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Every Wednesday afternoon for the past month Eleanor had Liam drive her to Logan’s house. If her driver thought it odd that she made the same trip repeatedly, he never mentioned it. Nor did he gossip among the rest of the staff. No one looked at her strangely or giggled when she passed.

  Every Wednesday she met Liam down the street a bit, so no one in the house knew that she’d left. As long as she wasn’t needed for a fitting, her presence wasn’t required, especially when it came to her own wedding preparations. Deborah and Daphne were making all the arrangements themselves with occasional input from Michael.

  No one ever asked where she’d been on those Wednesdays, even when she stayed longer than she planned, talking to Mrs. Campbell or walking Bruce in the square. No one seemed to notice her absence or demand an accounting.

  It was as if, in addition to being mute, she was now invisible.

  One day she would probably be caught. She wasn’t foolish enough to think she could escape detection forever, but until then she was going to continue to visit Bruce every Wednesday.

  Neither her aunt nor Daphne asked about the puppy. If they noticed his absence, they didn’t remark upon it. Jeremy never made mention of anything but his own concerns, but she expected Hamilton to say something. He didn’t.

  Not one of them asked if she missed Bruce. Or if a place in her heart felt empty. Those maids who’d made a point to pet the puppy or give him a treat wouldn’t meet her eyes. At first she didn’t understand until one of them clarified the issue for her.

  “Did you have him drowned, Miss Eleanor? We’re all wondering, but we didn’t want to ask.”

  She wanted to tell them what she’d done, but all she was able to say was, “He went to a good home, I promise. Someone loves him and will care for him.”

  Everyone knew that Michael had decreed that Bruce be gone and like magic he was gone. The dog had annoyed him and the problem had been rectified. What Michael wanted, Michael always got.

  Did he dispose of people that easily, too?

  Surprisingly, Michael hadn’t asked about Bruce. He never commented on his absence. He’d given her an order and expected her to obey it.

  She could tolerate any number of fittings, comments from Daphne, or criticism from her aunt as long as she had Wednesday. Wednesdays made the rest of the week bearable.

  Although Logan said that he wouldn’t be there, each time she arrived at his house, her heart beat faster. He might change his mind today. He might come into the drawing room when she was with Bruce.

  He never did.

  She missed Bruce as much as she’d thought she would. Every night she looked at that spot at the end of her bed where he’d curled into a little ball and she wondered if he was doing the same in Logan’s home.

  He seemed happy there, but even more important, he was safe. Logan would always provide a home for him, either here in London or in Scotland. She knew that without being told. He would never take out his anger on a defenseless animal, a point she kept coming back to time and again. What kind of man was she marrying? What did it matter if a man had a title if he had no character to accompany it?

  Michael was exceedingly personable and had a great number of acquaintances. Surprisingly, they were not of the aristocracy. Instead, they seemed more sycophants than friends, congregating around him to offer him praise and compliments. Or to occasionally solicit money from him. They even did so in front of her. At first she’d been amazed, but then she realized that they considered her a nonentity. She couldn’t help but wonder if Michael felt the same way.

  Her fiancé labeled people by two categories, harmless and annoying. The hangers-on were mostly harmless. Logan was considered annoying, as in, that annoying Scot. From time to time Michael asked her if she’d seen him again, making her wonder if her aunt had said something to him about the letter after all.

  She always responded with her own question. “Why would you ask me that?”

  He always looked irritated, enough that he didn’t realize she hadn’t answered.

  Every week she took a treat to Bruce, along with a toy. It could be something as simple as a coiled and knotted rope or something she’d knitted in the evening.

  Whenever she arrived, Mrs. Campbell opened the door. Seconds later she could hear Bruce running from the back of the house to greet her. On those occasions he forgot his manners completely and jumped up on her skirt, licked her hands, and was so excited that he was wriggling and whining.

  “He does the same thing to himself,” Mrs. Campbell said the first week. “You would think that you two are the only people on earth for this one. I’ve never seen the like.”

  Now the housekeeper smiled down at the puppy before leading the way to the parlor.

  Every week it was the same. Mrs. Campbel
l brought a tray of tea and refreshments, even though Eleanor told the woman not to bother.

  “I’ll not have anyone say that himself skimped on his hospitality,” she answered. For that reason, Eleanor always took a cup of tea and more than one of the delicious biscuits. Sometimes, she even had a slice of plum pudding. Evidently Logan liked it as well, which was why Cook often made it.

  Mrs. Campbell always spent some time with her, then left her alone with Bruce. Eleanor thought it odd to be so comfortable in this parlor even without Logan here. His home was welcoming, and it wasn’t simply the furnishings or that a fire was always lit during rainy weather. It had something to do with Mrs. Campbell’s smile and that of the maid who brought the tray into the drawing room.

  She realized, with a start, that the servants at her aunt’s home didn’t smile all that often. At least not around Deborah or Hamilton. The three girls who made a point of stopping by to see Bruce when he’d lived there were cheerful, but never publicly. Had Deborah issued an edict banning any sign of happiness? Was Eleanor supposed to act the same as Michael’s wife? How awful it would be to never hear the sound of laughter during the day. Or to never have someone greet her with a smile.

  The hour she spent at Logan’s home was a holiday in her week, an hour of contemplation, joy, and entertainment. Bruce, despite his garrulous welcome, was learning his commands. Every week she wished things were different and he could live with her.

  Once she was married in a few months she’d lose whatever small amount of freedom she had now. The Countess of Wescott couldn’t disappear for an hour or two without explanation. She’d probably have to account for every minute of her day. Would Michael expect her to justify her purchases? Would he approve or veto her friendships, too?

  She felt like a prisoner knowing that she would have to soon walk into the jail of her own accord.

  Family is everything.

  It was becoming harder and harder to remember that.

  Today the future weighed heavily on her. The weather seemed to echo her mood. On days like today she enjoyed bundling up and going for a walk. It didn’t matter if she got wet. Sometimes, she liked to feel that she was part of nature. If it thundered, even better. The sound mimicked her thoughts, chaotic and dark.

  Once Mrs. Campbell and the maid left the room, closing the door behind them, Eleanor got down on the carpet in front of the fire, reaching into the satchel she brought and pulling out the new rope toy she’d brought. Bruce instantly wanted to play tug-of-war and she let him win most of the time.

  Several minutes were devoted to going through all his commands to see how well he was learning everything. As busy as he was, it looked as if Logan had taken the time to continue Bruce’s training. She didn’t think that he would delegate such a task to anyone else.

  “How smart you are,” she said. “Has Logan taught you whistle commands, too?”

  Bruce tilted his head and looked at her, as if trying to understand the question.

  She hadn’t given up practicing whistling. She was up to two notes now, of different pitches. A foolish duty she’d given herself. She would have no reason to learn how to train a dog that was half border collie. Not now. Not after Michael had gotten his way.

  Bruce wasn’t a fuzzy little ball of fur anymore. Instead, his ears no longer flopped over but stood at attention. A ruff was developing around his neck and shoulder area. His legs finally looked like they were growing into the size of his paws. His tail was fluffy and capable of standing straight up in the air or waving back and forth like a flag. The most surprising change was his nose, lengthening and giving his face a distinctive look. If she hadn’t seen the changes herself, she would never have been able to match the dog to the puppy.

  She tossed the rope, but instead of retrieving it when it fell, Bruce caught it in midair, catapulting his entire body up from the floor in an amazing feat of athleticism. Surprised, she tossed the rope again and he did it once more.

  Did Logan know he could do that?

  It was soon time she left and she reluctantly did so, thanking Mrs. Campbell, and bending to hug Bruce. He barked his goodbye, making her smile.

  She went back out into the rain, not caring if she was drenched by the time she reached the carriage. It would only take minutes to get back to her aunt’s house. Only minutes to make the transition from Eleanor of Scotland to the meek and malleable creature who was going to be a countess.

  Logan watched as Eleanor made her way down the steps and into the carriage slowly, almost as if she didn’t care that she was being pelted by the rain. She’d stayed an hour, just as she did every week, arriving at the time she said she would. Every week Mrs. Campbell welcomed her like a long-lost daughter, and every week she was gracious and grateful to his housekeeper. Every week, after she left, Mrs. Campbell would say something like, “Poor lass. You can tell it hurts her heart every time she has to say goodbye to the wee one.”

  Mrs. Campbell never called Bruce by his name. He was “the wee one” or “the furry one” or something in Gaelic. Every week Logan would reply with something noncommittal. Words that didn’t fool Mrs. Campbell one bit.

  Althea Campbell had worked for his parents, and it had been a test of wills between him and his sister as to who could convince Mrs. Campbell to come and live with them. He’d won only because the housekeeper had never seen London and wanted to experience being around the English for a while. He knew that he wouldn’t be able to keep her here all that long. She would probably listen to Janet’s blandishments and return to Edinburgh to his sister’s household. However long she remained with him, he considered her an invaluable ally and a member of his family.

  For the past four weeks he’d been gone when Eleanor came to see Bruce. Today, however, he’d been greeted at dawn by a courier from Disraeli. He’d wanted to dismiss the man and the pouch he carried, but the press of politics never diminished, despite what else might be happening in his life.

  Disraeli was, even after having lost the general election, intent on making his opinion known. Because of his friendship with Queen Victoria he was also still interested in anything to do with Scotland, which meant that Logan had to opine on various subjects in order to satisfy Disraeli’s curiosity.

  Instead of the courier giving him the packet and disappearing, he’d repeated a statement obviously memorized from the Prime Minister, followed by a directive.

  “I’m to remain here, sir, until there is an answer for Mr. Disraeli.”

  As if Logan didn’t already have enough to do. However, one thing that Parliament had taught him in the past two years was that rank had its privileges. You might disagree with the former Prime Minister. You might hold contrary beliefs. You might believe that he was an idiot in certain regards, but you never forgot the man’s position and you always accorded it the respect he deserved. If Disraeli insisted that his courier remain here until Logan had studied the issue, then that’s exactly what would happen, however much it disrupted Logan’s life.

  “Can I interest you in tea?”

  The courier looked surprised. “Thank you, sir.”

  He led the man to his study and told him to make himself comfortable, and that someone would be with him soon. The man nodded and thanked him again, which made Logan wonder if the man was treated as if he were invisible most of the time.

  Now Logan was studying the issue, choosing to do so away from the bustle of his office. The fact that it was Wednesday no doubt featured in his decision to remain at home. When two o’clock came he’d been unable to work, however, knowing that Eleanor was in his house. All he had to do was descend the stairs to see her. All he had to do was open the door to the drawing room and there she’d be, Eleanor of the warm, enchanting smile, and the blue eyes that revealed all her emotions.

  I won’t be a bother. Her words on the day she’d brought Bruce to him.

  What would she have said if he’d answered her honestly?

  Oh, Eleanor, you’re a bother even when you’re not here.
I think of you too often. I even dream of you. When I should be writing a speech I want to write a letter to you instead. When I’m speaking to a crowded room I want to be talking to you. When I’m on my way to Parliament I want to stop at Queen’s Park. Nothing’s been the same in my life since that day on the hillside. There you were, all arrogant and magnificent, terrified and refusing to admit it, pushing your way through the sheep as regal as a queen. I think I fell in love with you then.

  She wouldn’t have liked his honesty. She would probably have begged him not to say such things. But they were his words, his thoughts, his heart. He’d never asked her for anything in return.

  He’d been sure it would be hard to see her again and know that she wasn’t his. She’d never be his. He had no right to touch her, to say those things to her. To love her.

  That didn’t stop him from missing her. He wanted to see her every day. He wanted the right to hold her hand at any time, to ask her thoughts and opinions. He wanted to pull her into his embrace whenever they were alone. He wanted to kiss her and more.

  She was adamant, however, about marrying Herridge.

  The man would be a terrible husband for Eleanor. Logan wished she could see that. She was bright, intelligent, and fearless, but it would only be a matter of time before Herridge browbeat her, changed her permanently into the person she called London Eleanor.

  There was nothing he could do. Logan had said as much as he could to Eleanor and it hadn’t altered her decision. If he had any power beyond that of words he would’ve done something to prevent this marriage. She was marching headlong into disaster and he was powerless to prevent it.

  Even his uncle held a similar opinion about Herridge.

  A man might think that a title exempted him from courteous behavior, but the truth was that it magnified his actions. Few people cared about a simple mister, but tell a tale about a peer and they were all ears. Consequently, Michael Herridge was well known for the kind of man he was. If he had been stripped of his title, Logan doubted he’d be welcome in any of the drawing rooms in London. He’d be nothing more than an embittered man who insisted others adhere to his wishes and wants. There wasn’t a charitable bone in his body or one that demonstrated any concern for another human being, even a future wife.