Page 20 of To Bed the Bride
It was a strange experience, holding the cup and saucer while Bruce was still on her lap.
“Why not?” he asked. “What about the cottage doesn’t seem to fit me, exactly?”
She had the curious thought that he truly wanted to know, that her opinion was important.
After glancing down at the stack of books beside the chair, she answered him. “You would have put your chair beside the window where there’s better light,” she said. “Instead of in the corner there. Your sofa would be more comfortable and so would this chair. Your china wouldn’t have chips.”
“I could have fallen on hard times,” he said, his smile nowhere in evidence. Instead, there was that curious, intent look in his eyes as if he were studying her. What did he see?
She was too much a coward to ask. She had the feeling he would tell her the truth and she wasn’t sure she was ready for that much honesty.
“I hope you like the tea. It’s from a small shop in London.”
Another piece of the mystery. He lived in London, then, but he was a Scot. That was evident from his speech. What shepherd traveled to London? Or perhaps she was misjudging shepherds as a group. She knew little about sheep and even less about shepherds. She was often annoyed by her aunt’s friends who decreed certain things, some of them about her, without any knowledge whatsoever. Here she was, doing the exact same thing.
“It’s a blend from India, made to my own specifications. I spent some time there, but not recently.”
“Who are you?”
“A friend of the duke’s,” he said. “Who so kindly allowed me to become someone else for a few days. A shepherd, in this instance.”
The tea was excellent and when she said as much, he smiled.
“Why would you want to become someone else? Was being yourself too onerous?”
She was tiptoeing right next to the line between good manners and rudeness. Still, he had opened the door to the current topic of conversation. She had simply walked into that room.
“Yes,” he said, surprising her. “Have you heard of the Battle of Magdala?”
She nodded slowly. She’d read reports of it in the newspapers, one of which she read each day. Her father had insisted upon it.
His words still resonated in her memory.Granted, Eleanor, you may not think that the world impacts your life, but it does in significant ways. It would be wise for you to be aware of it.
“Mr. Disraeli seemed to think it was a moral victory,” she said.
A look of surprise flashed over his face and was gone in an instant.
Normally, she pretended an ignorance she didn’t possess, especially around men. With him, however, there was no such restraint. If he’d pretended to be someone else for a few days, so could she. Here, in this little cottage in the Highlands of Scotland, she could be Eleanor Craig, herself.
Chapter Nine
“How did you know about Disraeli?”
“I read at least one newspaper every day,” she said. “It’s something my father insisted on.”
“A wise man, your father.”
“Do you really think so? Or are you only saying that because it’s something polite to say?”
“Most people don’t accuse me of excessive tact, Miss Craig. I normally say exactly what I think, and I have in this instance as well.”
“Were you at the Battle of Magdala?”
“I was.”
That’s all he said. Just two words. She had the impression that if she questioned him further he wouldn’t answer.
Still, she felt compelled to say something. “So, you were a soldier.”
