Page 74 of To Bed the Bride
His gaze had been compassionate, but he hadn’t said anything further about her visits. Thankfully, he’d always understood her love for Hearthmere.
The man was getting up in age. Would he agree to meet her in London once again? She didn’t feel as though the question she needed to ask him could be conveyed in a letter.
For the next week she kept her normal schedule, including her visit to Bruce. Each week it was more difficult to leave. Each week she wanted to stay at Logan’s house. If nothing else she wanted to leave him a note and ask him to meet with her. She missed their interludes in the park. They seemed to be her happiest times in London.
Fortunately, she had no social events during the week. She didn’t know how she would have been able to bear being in Michael’s company for even one minute, let alone an entire evening.
One of the maids delivered the post on the following Thursday. In it was a letter not from Mr. Babbage, but from his son, who had followed in his father’s footsteps and was a solicitor as well. He would be willing to meet with her at her convenience. To her surprise he included a London address for her to respond.
She sent Liam there an hour later, asking if the solicitor could meet with her soon. Thankfully, he agreed on the following day.
The Royal Meadows Hotel was only three years old, but its tearoom was reputed to be the most popular in London. She’d heard that unescorted ladies were welcome there, even accompanied by young men. No one would think anything of her meeting Mr. Babbage’s son.
The walls of the tearoom were decorated in a soft peach color while the tables were covered in a pale gray cloth. Each table was adorned with silver place settings and a small bouquet.
She stood at the entrance, wondering if she should take a table or wait for the solicitor where she was. She’d never met Mr. Babbage’s son. How was she to recognize him? Thankfully, she didn’t have to concern herself with that problem. A young woman, attired in a dark blue dress with a white apron, approached her.
“Are you Miss Craig?”
Eleanor nodded.
“If you will come with me, Miss Craig.”
She followed the woman across the tearoom to a table by the window. The man sitting there stood and greeted her with a smile. She shouldn’t have worried about recognizing Mr. Babbage. He was the image of his father, down to his receding hairline and round face.
“Miss Craig?”
She nodded again.
“You look exactly as my father described you.”
He introduced himself as he pulled out the adjoining chair. Eleanor sat, spending some time arranging her skirt. A delaying tactic since she wasn’t entirely certain how to begin this conversation.
“How is your father?” she finally asked.
“Exceedingly well, thank you, except for a touch of gout. It was only happenstance that I was visiting him when your letter arrived. I hope you don’t mind my being here in his stead. He doesn’t travel lately, because of the gout.”
“Please send him my best wishes.”
“I will. Thank you.”
He poured her some tea from the pot already on the table. She occupied herself with adding sugar to her cup. There was no delicate way to broach this subject. She was simply going to have to be blunt.
“Are you familiar with my father’s will?”
“My father and I have discussed its particulars. Do you have some concerns about your inheritance?”
“I am engaged to be married, Mr. Babbage,” she said after taking a sip of her tea. “Unfortunately, my soon-to-be husband believes that he has the right to sell my horses.”
He turned his gaze to the crowd. The tearoom was filled with well-dressed women and some men. Consequently, it was noisy, the conversation often punctuated by laughter.
When he directed his attention back to her he said, “You do not wish the horses to be sold, I take it?”
She shook her head. “I do not. I’ve done everything I can to continue my father’s legacy. Yet my fiancé, who knows nothing of racing and cares even less, wants to sell the bloodline. Does our marriage give him the right to dismantle another man’s dream?”
“I’m afraid it does,” he said, his voice soft and laced with compassion. “He cannot sell Hearthmere or do anything with the property or the land without your consent, but the contents? Yes.”
“Contents?”
