Page 34 of To Bed the Bride
That was a surprise. Normally Barbara never unbent long enough to say anything complimentary. Or perhaps she had misjudged the woman. Barbara had been with Deborah ever since Edinburgh. The maid had taken to London and evinced no homesickness or yearning for Scotland. In fact Eleanor had often heard Barbara complaining aboutAuld Reekie, the nickname for Edinburgh. She had other criticisms of their native land. Some were justifiable. The winters in Scotland were cold, making it feel like you were chilled down to your bones. Even in the summer there were cool breezes hinting of winter.
What about the sunsets, however? Or the dancing northern lights in the winter? Or the kindness of almost every Scot you met? What about Edinburgh being a city of learning, history, and culture? Or the advances that Scots offered the world? Barbara never spoke about those things and the omissions were glaring.
Eleanor could be as critical of London. Sometimes the smoke hung low in the sky like an ever-present fog. The air was so thick that you could taste it. It was necessary to hold a handkerchief over your nose and mouth when running from the door to the carriage.
There were times when it felt like the entire world had come to London. The streets were congested and even walking from your carriage to one of the shops was difficult.
What good did it do to complain? It didn’t make your circumstances easier. Calling to mind all the difficulties only seemed to make the situation worse.
Tonight she would greet their guest and be as hospitable as possible. From what her aunt had said, he was an up-and-coming politician. A bit of a rabble-rouser, known for his staunch defense of Scottish politics and his friendship with the Prime Minister, Mr. Disraeli.
With any luck he wouldn’t clash with Michael, who’d not been shy about discussing the “Scottish problem.” Her fiancé made no secret of his opinion about bringing Scotland more closely under the control of England. There were too many people, according to Michael, who had thoughts of Scottish independence, even in this modern day. They needed to be choked off, brought to heel, and admonished.
Eleanor thanked Barbara once again and watched as the woman left the room. Once the maid was gone, she scooted the bench back and looked at Bruce. Thankfully, the puppy had been asleep the whole time the maid was there.
He woke, stretching before coming to her and licking her fingers. Her slippers were next to receive attention, but she tucked her feet beneath her gown.
“You can’t eat my shoes tonight,” she said. “And you must promise me to be on your best behavior. You have to stay here while I go downstairs. No barking. Understand?”
He grabbed the hem of her dress as an answer and tried to chew on it before she removed it from his mouth, replacing it with his rope toy.
Mary, one of the maids from Scotland, had been her accomplice in sneaking Bruce in and out of the house for the past few days. She would come and get the puppy in an hour or so and make sure he went out on the lawn. If she knew Mary, she’d also spend some time playing with Bruce.
Eleanor looked around the room for anything Bruce could eat that he wasn’t supposed to eat, sprayed perfume behind both ears, gave herself one more glance in the pier glass, and opened her bedroom door.
She could hear the voices and immediately wanted to turn, reenter her bedroom, and close the door. She’d much rather have Bruce as her companion than any of the people downstairs.
Tonight’s dinner was one of those indeterminable political events that were a necessity, unfortunately. Logan’s host was a wealthy industrialist, known for his generosity in making political contributions. Therefore, it would be a good idea to make his acquaintance. Plus, according to Fred—who always did exemplary research prior to one of these dinners—the family had ties to Scotland.
Logan couldn’t afford to ignore any connection to his home country, especially in light of certain legislation that he was fighting to pass.
At times like these, he wished he was married. It might be easier to attend one of these dinners if he had a companion, someone to take the attention away from him for a little while. It would also be nice to have a wife with whom he could commiserate when the evening was over. Someone who would understand how much he detested being on display.
Hamilton Richards’s home didn’t surprise him. He’d seen a half dozen of these mansions in London, all occupied by wealthy men who believed that their fortunes gave them a right to have more say in politics. Money was a great leveler and he’d seen it used on more than one occasion.
Perhaps he was supposed to be impressed by the richness of the furnishings, the soaring ceilings and the chandeliers from France. He’d seen it all before. He’d grown up surrounded by wealth and privilege, but his uncle had done what he could to ensure that Logan’s connections weren’t common knowledge. Most people—and it was a fact of life that Logan had come to understand—were insular. They really didn’t see farther than their own lives. They had little curiosity about others, which had suited him. Such an attitude had made it possible for him to be elected to Parliament.
He met Hamilton Richards and his wife, Deborah, complimented them on their home, and thanked them for the invitation. Mrs. Richards was a beautiful woman of mature years with blond hair, distinctive eyes, and a manner that immediately put Logan on alert. He’d seen that sharp-eyed gaze before. Deborah was not the retiring sort. Wrinkles radiated outward from the corners of her eyes, but the lines above her mouth were more telling. She pursed her lips a lot, no doubt in dissatisfaction.
Hamilton was slightly shorter than his wife, with a head of white hair, prominent mutton chops, and bushy eyebrows. He looked a little like Father Christmas transplanted to this fashionable house.
Next was an introduction to Daphne Baker, Deborah’s grown daughter, and her husband, Thomas. Both husband and wife were exceptionally attractive. Daphne was the image of her mother twenty years earlier complete with a low, seductive voice. The look she gave him held a hint of flirtation, almost as if she were daring him to reciprocate.
He’d gotten those looks before and he’d always wisely declined.
The next guest was a surprise. He’d met Michael Herridge before, knew that the Earl of Wescott had no qualms about his disapproval of certain legislation that would benefit Scotland.
Evidently, Richards wanted sparks to fly this evening. If that was the case, the man was going to be disappointed. Logan was an expert at determining when a battle was worth fighting. This one wasn’t.
He would endure the dinner and be a grateful guest. He would compliment his host and hostess, be as amenable as possible, and leave without entering into any arguments, however much Herridge chose to bait him.
At least that’s what he told himself.
Chapter Fifteen
Eleanor’s feet would not move.
She tried, but her feet were frozen on the step. The townhouse had a large foyer, the black-and-white squares dramatic beneath the massive brass-and-crystal chandelier. The staircase curved up and around, the banister a work of art in metal and wood. One hand gripped it tightly and she hoped she could keep herself from falling.
