Page 40 of To Bed the Bride
“Why not?” Logan asked. “If a government is going to have any control over your life, shouldn’t you be able to choose it?”
“Next you’ll be saying that women should be able to vote.”
“There is already some talk about that,” Logan said. “Don’t be surprised if it happens down the road.”
“Are you insane?”
Logan sipped from the snifter. Like everything tonight, the brandy was the best money could buy.
“I’m not saying it will happen next year or the year after that, but it’s inevitable.”
Logan couldn’t decide who looked more disturbed by that information: his host, Herridge, or the other two men.
“I’ve known a great many women who were as well versed in matters as were men. Some perhaps more so. Why should they be denied the vote simply because they are women?”
“Don’t be a fool, man. Because they’re women, that’s why. Everything is emotion to them. They have no ability to reason.”
From what Logan had seen, Eleanor Craig wasn’t overemotional, had the ability to discern a problem and its solution, and was the most determined woman he’d ever met. Of course, that was the woman in Scotland, not her pale shadow here.
Perhaps he should hold Herridge responsible for the change. That decision ratcheted up his dislike of the man. Herridge should stick to his actresses and leave Scottish women alone.
“You’re wrong,” Logan said. “But if that’s your opinion of women, I pity the females in your life, including your fiancée.”
Herridge took a few steps toward him and was restrained only by Richards grabbing his arm. The older man said something to the earl, but the words were so low that Logan couldn’t hear.
As for Logan, he was tired of being polite. He only had a certain tolerance for arrogance and stupidity, and he’d reached his for tonight. He placed the almost full snifter on the sideboard, then turned to his host and said, “If you’ll pardon me, I think I should leave. I see no good coming from any further discussion.”
“Perhaps that would be for the best,” Richards said.
If Richards had wanted to influence him in some way, the evening had been an abysmal failure.
Logan opened the door of the study with a feeling of relief.
Before Eleanor could comment on Daphne’s revelations, they were interrupted by the men returning. She hadn’t expected them so soon and it was evident that something had happened. Hamilton looked distressed, enough that Deborah stood and went to her husband’s side. Michael’s face was splotched with color. Jeremy looked less bored than usual. Even Thomas, usually the most amenable of men, wore an expression she’d never seen. There were twin lines above his narrowed eyes and his mouth was pursed as if he was holding back words that weren’t acceptable for mixed company.
Only Logan appeared calm, wearing a half smile which made her suspect he was responsible for the other men’s anger.
“I must take my leave, Mrs. Richards,” Logan said, coming to stand in front of Deborah. “Thank you for a delicious dinner and for your hospitality.”
He glanced at Eleanor. “If you would walk me to the door, Miss Craig, I would be appreciative.”
What was he doing? Everyone looked as surprised as she felt. Such a request was out of the ordinary. She should refuse, but that would probably only make the situation worse, or she could simply do as he asked.
She nodded, preceded him out of the drawing room, down the hall, and to the foyer.
Once at the door, she turned to him. “You shouldn’t have asked me to walk you out.”
“Why not?”
“It’s not done.”
“Now you sound like Fred.”
“Who’s Fred?”
“My secretary. My campaign advisor. My calendar watcher. My mother, in a great many ways.”
She folded her arms and stared at him. “He certainly wouldn’t have been happy with you tonight.”
