Page 39 of To Bed the Bride
She was standing in front of the fire, still cold although autumn had begun chilling the air. Daphne was at the piano while Deborah sat at the window in her favorite chair. The room was the most popular public room in the townhouse and decorated in shades of blue and green. It was a lovely room if a bit blowsy with all the flower patterns on the upholstery and occasional pillows. It flattered her aunt and cousin’s coloring, leading Eleanor to believe that’s why these particular shades had been chosen. She doubted that Hamilton had any input into the new decorations.
“Michael looked exceptionally handsome this evening,” her aunt said.
Eleanor nodded.
“You will be a very attractive countess,” Deborah added. “His equal in appearance.”
Her aunt had been fulsome in her compliments ever since Michael had spoken to Hamilton. Eleanor wished she had as much confidence as Deborah did.
“If I am, it’s all due to you,” Eleanor said. “And your training. Although I’m not feeling up to being a countess.”
“What do you mean?” Daphne said, hitting a discordant note on the piano. “What a ridiculous comment, Eleanor. You had better feel up to being a countess. From the moment you’re married you’ll be the Countess of Wescott in any function you attend. The honor of the family will be yours to uphold.”
Eleanor stared at her cousin. She’d rarely heard Daphne so passionate.
“Not to mention all the duties you’ll be expected to perform. You’re to oversee the annual spring fair. You’re to preside over the inspection of the servants once a month. You must ensure that the grounds of Abermarle are immaculate at all times, the perfect home for Michael. You are to meet with the head of the church which is on the grounds of Abermarle. There are a great many functions that require your presence. For example, the Wescott School for Girls. You are their sponsor. As such, you must address them at the beginning of term and award academic prizes at the end of every school year.”
“How do you know all of that?” Eleanor asked, amazed.
Daphne stood and walked away from the piano, heading for the sofa near her mother.
“All you have to do is ask a few questions, Eleanor. Talk to people who know his mother, ask what she did. It’s very simple.”
Except that she’d never considered investigating her duties with the battle planning of a general. She’d obviously underestimated her cousin. Nor had she ever considered that Daphne had once set her cap for Michael.
Michael had been a bachelor for some time. That was one of the first things she learned about him, along with the notion that he was unattainable. The longer she thought about it, the more sense it made. Of course Daphne would have set her sights on an earl. Perhaps that’s why she’d been so out of sorts ever since the engagement had been announced. Did she think that the life facing Eleanor should have rightfully been hers?
More than once before tonight, Daphne had made some kind of disparaging comment about Eleanor’s ability to take on the role of countess with equanimity.
“You’ll have to learn how to address everyone and heaven forbid if you make a mistake. No one forgets something as important as that.”
According to Daphne, the peerage was a coven of gorgons, dragon-headed and spouting fire, eating those who dared to mingle among them. Since she didn’t want to embarrass her family or herself, Eleanor had been determined to learn everything she needed to learn. Yet secretly she doubted that everything would be as dire as Daphne predicted.
Instead, Eleanor suspected that her life was going to be remarkably similar to how she was living now. Her residence would be lovely, large, stately, and impressive. The servants would be numerous, except that they would call her Your Ladyship. She’d have different stationery and perhaps more people would wish to call on her. Otherwise, she would be doing exactly what she was doing now, waiting on Michael, questioning her life, and wishing she was in Scotland.
Logan couldn’t get past the fact that Eleanor was engaged to be married. She’d conveniently left that information out of their conversation. Not only was she engaged, but she was going to be Michael Herridge’s wife.
The man was an ass.
Worse, he was an arrogant, autocratic ass. Logan hadn’t liked him from the minute he’d met the man during one of his uncle’s social events. Thankfully, they didn’t have the occasion to meet all that often.
Herridge had a reputation of being a womanizer. Rumor had him with a selection of mistresses, most of them former actresses. Logan honestly didn’t care about the man’s morals—at least, he hadn’t until he’d been faced with the fact that Herridge was Eleanor’s fiancé.
He’d been surprised, and not in a good way, by the change in her. Except for that one comment about Scotland, she’d been subdued and silent during dinner.
What had happened to the woman he’d met in Scotland?
That woman was nowhere in evidence tonight. The disappointment he felt was tangible. He wanted to talk to her, to figure out what had changed so drastically in such a short time.
Fear had something to do with it. He noticed her glance around the table beneath her lashes, as if afraid that someone might have overheard his remark. Was she treated badly?
Why was she living in London and not Scotland? Why wasn’t she home at Hearthmere? All this evening had provided him was another mystery, but this one annoyed him. He wanted to understand all the facts. Right at the moment, all he had was conjecture.
“You were instrumental in helping Disraeli with the voting act,” his host said, passing him a snifter of brandy. Logan took it and nodded.
“It seemed a good step. We’re not there, completely, but it’s more than where we were. A million new voters were added to the rolls.”
“What do you mean, first step?” Herridge asked. “What the hell do you want? For everyone in the Commonwealth to be able to vote?”
