Page 33 of To Bed the Bride
After some trial and error he finally worded the letter to his satisfaction. Perhaps it would take some time for her to respond. Or perhaps she never would.
He leaned back in his chair, thinking of Eleanor. He saw her face, the dawning smile when she looked down at Bruce. Her loneliness had struck him then, a thought that was both immediate and surprising. It had been the primary reason he’d brought Bruce back to her. Would she deny it or would she, with defiant honesty, admit it and throw the question back at him?
Because of the press of his work he didn’t have time to be lonely. A partially honest answer, but not the whole of it. The truth, both difficult and newly born, was that there were moments, especially in the middle of the night, when his isolation gnawed at him.
He’d never been lonely before Abyssinia. He’d never questioned himself as much as he did now, either. Perhaps one had something to do with the other.
The time in Scotland had been a respite. He’d needed those weeks to recuperate. Yet he’d still felt unlike himself when he returned to his offices. Some of that could be laid at the feet of Eleanor Craig. She’d been in his mind constantly, ever since leaving Scotland.
Would she be surprised to hear from him? In addition to maintaining a connection with her, he genuinely wanted to know about Bruce. The fact that she’d named the puppy was a good indication that she felt something for him.
If Bruce proved true to his parentage, he’d be a medium-sized dog with superior intelligence and a sense of loyalty as well as protectiveness.
Perhaps when he went to Edinburgh he could make a side trip to Hearthmere, just to see how the two of them were getting along. The idea of seeing her again was intriguing. The give-and-take of their conversation had made him feel alive in a way that startled him. He wasn’t given to impulsive gestures, yet that’s exactly how he’d acted around Eleanor.
Before he sealed the envelope, he added a few sentences to his letter, then re-read his words:
Dear Miss Craig,
I hope this letter finds you in good health and spirits. I hope, as well, that Bruce is heeding your instructions.
I realize that my actions in bringing Bruce back to you might have struck you as arbitrary. I can assure you that they were anything but that. I sincerely believe that Bruce is better served in your household than anywhere. He needs a home, as do we all. I think that you can provide an excellent one for him.
You have been in my thoughts a great deal ever since I returned to London. I have replayed our meetings many times. I can say with honesty that I have never enjoyed a conversation with another woman as much as I have with you.
I will be in Scotland shortly and would like to see you once again. Please let me know your thoughts on this matter.
He signed the letter, declining to use his title, preferring to address her simply.
Would she agree to see him or would she wish him to perdition? Either was entirely possible. Until he heard from her he’d occupy himself with the tasks at hand, answering Mr. Disraeli’s inquiries, getting through the reams of paperwork he needed to read and/or sign, and attending all the various functions Fred had already placed on his calendar.
Logan had a raft of questions about Eleanor Craig and none of them could be answered by anyone but her. She wasn’t married. Nor was she right out of the classroom. He guessed that she was in her mid-twenties. Why was Miss Craig on the shelf? What would she say to him if he had the temerity to ask her that question?
He liked a mystery, as long as there was a chance of solving it. Would she let him get close enough to do so?
If the dinner tonight proved to be as boring as most of those dinners were, he’d occupy himself with thoughts of Eleanor. A dangerous pastime, perhaps, but an enjoyable one.
Eleanor wanted to escape tonight’s dinner. Two things stopped her. First, her aunt’s announcement that the guest was a Scot. Second, Michael had been invited to attend and had accepted the invitation. She certainly couldn’t fail to appear when her fiancé was here.
Consequently, she dressed with the help of her aunt’s maid, who lent her skills in taming Eleanor’s hair. The style was extremely flattering. She stared at herself in the vanity mirror. She looked well rested. Her eyes were clear. Her cheeks were slightly flushed. Even her hair was cooperating, curling exactly where Barbara wanted it to curl.
The blue evening gown was new, a present from her aunt and uncle to celebrate her engagement. The silk exactly matched the shade of her eyes. Tonight she almost looked like a countess. In time, perhaps, the gold of her earrings would be replaced by diamonds. Did a countess wear a tiara? She sincerely hoped not. She couldn’t imagine anything more terrible than having even more pins in her hair, or trying to balance something heavy on her head throughout dinner. She wished there was someone she knew who might answer that foolish question without a bit of derision.
Michael’s mother was alive, but she was quite elderly. She’d borne him late in life and was now being cared for by a series of protective nurses. Eleanor had only met her once, and the poor woman had to be reminded of her name three times. She was not going to be a source of information or comfort in her marriage.
Michael had already informed her that his mother’s care would be her responsibility. Or at least ensuring that there was adequate staff on hand to always look out for the elderly woman. Evidently, he considered that task beneath him.
No doubt it was that way in most marriages: the wife was responsible for the family’s well-being. How strange that she’d never considered such a thing. However, she’d never really thought about marriage. As a child, playing with her dolls, she’d fantasized a romance, a wedding, but nothing beyond that. She had never once considered what living with a husband might be like.
How strange that the woman in the mirror didn’t look panicked.
“There, Miss Eleanor. What do you think?”
“I think it’s beautiful, Barbara. Thank you.”
The maid nodded once in response.
“You look lovely, miss.”
