Page 50 of To Bed the Bride
“Put that down,” she said.
He ignored her.
She grabbed it and tossed it a few feet away. “You don’t eat twigs,” she said. “They’re not good for you.”
He tried to eat her fingers, instead, until she told him no in a loud voice. He gave up her fingers for her hem and was chewing enthusiastically on it before he gave it up to attack another twig. He brought it to her as a token of affection and it snagged the fabric of her skirt.
“Oh, dear, I’m going to get a lecture about that, Bruce. But thank you, all the same.”
“Why a lecture?”
Her heart lurched. He was here. He had come. The day was suddenly brighter, the morning sun streaming through the trees a promise of the rest of the day.
“I didn’t think you were coming,” she said, giving him the truth.
“I wasn’t going to.”
“Then why are you here?”
“Because I’m an idiot.”
Before she could question him further he added, “This isn’t wise, Eleanor. I told myself that at least a hundred times, but here I am.”
Bruce whimpered and wiggled, retaining his lesson not to jump up on Logan’s trousers. He did, however, lick his fingers when Logan bent to pet him.
“So, should I welcome you or send you away?” she asked as he sat beside her, Bruce jumping up to join them.
She knew which would be proper, but that didn’t seem to matter.
He didn’t answer, which was just as well. They could both pretend that this meeting wasn’t improper.
“Tell me about your family.”
“My family?” When he nodded, she thought for a moment. “I only have my aunt and two cousins left,” she said. “Hamilton is my aunt’s second husband. I never know what to call him. He’s not strictly my uncle. My aunt’s first husband and I were related. Deborah and I are related by law, I suppose.”
He settled back against the bench, petting Bruce.
“My cousin Daphne is married,” she said. “Although she doesn’t seem like it. She’s always there, back at my aunt’s house like she never left. She’s either taking tea with my aunt or eating a meal with us. Or they’re off shopping together.”
“You don’t go with them?” he asked.
She shook her head. “I’m a lamentable shopper,” she confessed. “I have no style of my own, you see. I can’t look at something and say whether or not it would flatter me. Most things don’t, I’ve found. I prefer plain colors rather than patterns and definitely not stripes.”
“Why not stripes?”
She glanced over at him. “You can’t possibly care.”
“On the contrary,” he said. “What is it about stripes that you object to, exactly?”
She considered the matter. “They don’t make any sense. You have stripes going up and down on the skirt, but on the bodice they’re often perpendicular.”
“Does everything need to make sense to you, Eleanor?” he asked with a smile.
She nodded. “I think it does, in some elemental way. A great many things in London don’t make sense.”
“The exact sentiments of a Scot.”
She looked up at the sky visible through the awning of branches. Autumn was upon them and all those abundant, luxurious leaves were falling to the ground. Bruce jumped off the bench to attack a few and roll around on the others.
