Page 102 of To Bed the Bride
Eleanor’s stomach clenched. At least she was saved from having to post the letter to Deborah. However, she was not entirely certain that she wanted to come face-to-face with her aunt right at the moment.
Eleanor stood, clasped her hands at her waist, and prayed that she would be able to get through this confrontation. She felt as if she might be physically ill, a combination of fear, dread, and anger. She wished, irrationally, that Logan was here. Logan could protect her, true, but she wasn’t a weakling. She would face her aunt alone.
Deborah was quintessentially English. Eleanor was a Scot.
“Show her into the drawing room, if you don’t mind, Mrs. Campbell. Thank you.”
“Shall I bring tea?”
Eleanor shook her head. “That’s not necessary. This isn’t a social call. Nor is it a pleasant one, I’m afraid.”
She didn’t doubt that Mrs. Campbell knew all about the entire situation, what her aunt had done and how Logan had rescued her. She knew she was right when the housekeeper came to her and gave her a quick, hard hug.
“If you need me, you just call out. I’ll be close enough to hear. Would you like me to take Bruce?”
“No, I think I’ll bring him with me.”
She entered the drawing room with her smile moored in place and greeted her aunt with a modicum of politeness. Bruce startled her by refusing to enter the room fully, preferring to remain close to the door. Perhaps Deborah had that effect on him.
Deborah had chosen to sit at one end of the lushly upholstered sofa. Eleanor chose the opposite chair. For long moments they didn’t say anything.
Deborah’s lectures came back to her. All the speeches about how unfair Deborah’s life in Scotland had been, about how privileged Eleanor had been treated at the expense of her family. All the talk about how Jeremy had been cheated of his rightful heritage. She had hoped to be able to get through this meeting without revealing how angry she was, but as she sat there, Eleanor realized that her rage was just below the surface.
It had burned out any other feeling she had for Deborah.
“I would like my belongings,” she said when Deborah still didn’t speak.
“They’re in your carriage,” Deborah said. “Your personal things, along with the dresses you brought from Scotland. You won’t be receiving the garments that we paid for, part of your trousseau.”
“That’s fine,” Eleanor said.
“Michael will make it known that he’s broken your engagement because of your infidelity.”
Eleanor knew that she’d never get an acknowledgement from Michael about what he’d done. It was altogether possible that she would never talk to him again. If they happened to meet in public she was certain he would simply turn and give her his back.
She didn’t care about what Michael did or said.
“McKnight won’t want you, you know. When people learn how shameless you are, McKnight won’t want anything to do with you. You’ll be a social outcast. A burden. An object of shame. He’s a member of Parliament and sensitive about scandal. He won’t want his name tainted.”
Her aunt was quite possibly correct. A good thing she’d decided to leave England and live at Hearthmere. No one would care what the English gossips said there.
“I’ve always wanted your love and affection,” she told Deborah, knowing this was the last conversation she would ever willingly have with her aunt. “I thought, for a time, that I had it, but only because I was going to be a countess. You’ve never truly felt anything for me, have you?”
Deborah didn’t answer. Her only response was to stare at Eleanor as if she was some sort of circus exhibit, something too bizarre to be believed.
Eleanor wasn’t going to get an answer, then. Perhaps she’d already received one, from the treatment she received at her aunt’s hands.
“Do not come to us for recourse, Eleanor. We will no longer be a safe haven for you.”
A safe haven? Deborah had never been a safe haven. Granted, she’d been family, but Eleanor had never felt safe or even much wanted here. Hearthmere had always been and would always remain her home. Not London. Not Deborah’s house.
“From this moment forward we will disavow any relationship to you. Do not think that you can trade upon our good graces anymore. You are no longer part of our family.”
Eleanor finally understood. Deborah was here for one reason only. Not to bring her clothes, but to deliver this message.
Eleanor felt strangely calm, almost relieved. “That’s fine. You’ve never been part of mine.”
Deborah leaned forward slightly, almost as if she wanted to physically retaliate.
