Page 104 of To Bed the Bride
At first everyone was surprised to see her, but that response only lasted a few seconds before she was welcomed, ushered into the parlor to be warmed and given some of Cook’s scones.
“My, the puppy isn’t so little anymore, is he?” Mrs. Willett asked, bending to give Bruce a pat between his ears.
He wiggled a little, enjoying the unexpected attention.
“Will you be staying long, Miss Eleanor?” the housekeeper asked.
“I will. In fact, I shall never leave again.”
The older woman looked a little startled, but then the expression faded into a smile.
“You and your husband will be living here, then?”
“No,” Eleanor said. “I’ve decided not to marry.”
The housekeeper couldn’t hide her surprise. Most women would not choose spinsterhood over becoming a countess.
“Can I bring you anything else?”
Eleanor bit back her smile. The poor woman couldn’t think of anything to say and had fallen back on her role as housekeeper.
“Nothing, thank you.”
In a matter of minutes she was alone with a blazing fire, seated in a comfortable chair, an ottoman only inches from her feet. She should rest from the journey. Or look over the ledgers. Go and visit with Mr. Contino. A dozen things needed to be done, each one of them better than sitting here brooding.
She didn’t move, staring into the flames with Bruce curled into a tight ball at her feet. She’d only been home a little while, yet she missed Logan already. Somehow she was going to have to become familiar with this feeling. Hearthmere and the horses had always been enough to occupy her.
How strange that they seemed lacking now.
Chapter Forty
Logan’s assault on Hearthmere was a frontal one.
He hadn’t realized that the minute he traveled from Scotland back to London he would be turning around and retracing his steps. If he’d had an inkling that Eleanor was returning to Hearthmere he could have saved himself a great deal of time.
He took a few minutes to write Mr. Disraeli, informing him as to his future. He sent one of the footmen after Fred, made him privy to the events of the past few days, and had him deliver the note to the former Prime Minister.
Mrs. Campbell informed him of certain developments, none of which changed his foul mood. He was all for giving William a few days off, but the man insisted on driving him back to Scotland. A change of clothes, a hamper of food, and they were off once more.
She’d left him. No, she hadn’t left him. She’d returned home. Mrs. Campbell’s obvious eavesdropping had filled in some blanks of Eleanor’s situation. She’d ended her engagement, a fact that had infuriated Herridge and her family. For that reason she’d been a prisoner at the Richardses’ home.
Of course she wanted to return to Hearthmere, especially given the amorphous nature of their relationship. He hadn’t said anything to her recently about how he felt. In fact, he’d been careful not to reveal his emotions. What had seemed right at the time now seemed foolish.
The sight of Hearthmere on the horizon made him realize why she loved it. The house nestled in a divot created by a series of rolling, gentle hills. Ben Hagen sat like a sentinel to the rear, overlooking the series of paddocks and fences.
The gray brick of the house stood out against the fading green of the winter landscape. The building looked as if it had originally been constructed as a sturdy manor house. Over the years two additional wings had been added on either side, yet the architecture wasn’t the same. Nor were the roof lines similar.
However, the hodgepodge of styles managed to give the effect of a surprisingly charming house. Not as daunting an edifice as the McKnight ancestral home, but a more welcoming one.
Fences stretched over the glen and up into the hills. Most of the corrals were filled on this early winter day. In a matter of weeks the area would be covered with a fine layer of snow, but Hearthmere had been running for decades. They knew how to take care of their horses in all seasons.
His heartbeat escalated as they took the last rise toward the house. He had marshaled his arguments both while traveling to Scotland and on the trip back to London. Now he didn’t need to convince Eleanor to break her engagement—she’d done that on her own. All he needed to do was to declare himself.
He’d been in battle. He’d fought the lesser war of standing for election. Every day in Parliament was a challenge of one form or another. Why, then, did he feel so unsure of this coming meeting?
Perhaps because nothing else had ever mattered as much.
Eleanor was in the library going over one of the ledgers when Mrs. Willett arrived.
