Page 4 of To Bed the Bride
Mr. Contino’s office was in the middle of the long stable building. She nodded to several men she knew, and stopped and had a conversation with a few of them before finally hesitating at the stable master’s door.
“Good morning, Mr. Contino,” she said.
She normally didn’t simply show up at Mr. Contino’s door without a prior announcement. He didn’t like to be startled and was apt to take out his irritation at her verbally in Italian. She’d never learned the language, but she was almost certain Mr. Contino swore at her from time to time.
He’d come from Italy, around Genoa, she’d been told. The man was an expert when it came to horses, at least according to her father. From the records her steward had sent her, Mr. Contino had continued with his expertise in the years since her uncle’s death.
The stable master had only tolerated Uncle William, but he’d had a genuine affection for her father. Archie could be found here at any time of the day or night. After dark, the two men would open a bottle of her father’s favorite wine. During the day it was the strongest coffee, never made more palatable with a touch of cream.
Mr. Contino had been given rooms on the third floor of the house, but preferred to make his home above the stable office.
“He likes being close to the horses,” her father had explained to her.
She’d wondered how the stable master had tolerated the smell of the stable before realizing it was probably like Daphne’s perfume. After a while, you no longer noticed how dreadfully overpowering it was and how it even seemed to flavor anything you ate.
“What is it you want?” The man’s heavily accented voice sounded annoyed, but that was Mr. Contino. He always sounded annoyed.
“To speak with you,” she said, stepping into the doorway.
He’d cleaned his office since she’d last seen it. Instead of a series of bridles and bits being strewn over the top of his desk, everything was neatly hung on hooks on the opposite wall. The two chairs in front of the desk were empty of blankets and a saddle—another change. Two large ledgers were spread open on the surface of his desk. When she appeared, he laid down his pen and scowled at her.
“You’re late.”
“Late?”
“You’re normally here in July,” he said. “It’s September. Where have you been?”
She smiled. “I almost didn’t come at all,” she said. “As it is, I’ll only be here for two weeks, not the full month.”
He didn’t say anything for a moment. When he did speak she wasn’t surprised at his comment. Mr. Contino had never approved of Deborah.
“Your aunt?”
Not really. Michael had made the decision that she was only to remain here two weeks this year.
“He’s going to be your husband, Eleanor,” Deborah had said. “If Michael says that he only wants you to stay in Scotland for two weeks, then it’s a decision you should obey.”
Michael wasn’t her husband yet. Nor was she sure she liked the idea that he could decide—without any input from her—where she was to go and how long she was to stay. According to her aunt, that was marriage. A wife could not directly contravene her husband’s orders. Instead, she had to be inventive and clever. In other words, a woman had to be cunning in order to achieve her own wishes and wants.
Evidently, being duplicitous was simply a trait of smart women. Eleanor wasn’t altogether certain she agreed with that, either, even if it was the way of the world.
Mr. Contino made a gesture toward one of the chairs in front of his desk and she entered the room and sat, trying to get up her courage.
“It’s better to do something unpleasant right away, lass, than let it blister.” Her father had given her that advice.
“I’m to be married,” she said.
Mr. Contino was the first person she’d told at Hearthmere. Yet she didn’t doubt that the rest of the staff knew. Somehow, they always ferreted out important information and there was nothing more important than this. Not because of her. She was well aware of who she was and how unprepossessing. But she was engaged to a peer and that pulled her out of nondescript status and shone a spotlight on her.
“He’s an earl. It’s quite a remarkable thing, really. I never thought to attract the attention of an earl. Or any member of the peerage.”
“Like will seek out like,” he said. “It happens in the animal kingdom and it happens among people.”
She didn’t know what to say to that. She certainly wasn’t a member of the peerage. Nor was she entirely certain she wanted to become a countess, for that matter. Now Daphne, that was a different story. If anyone should have been a countess, it was Daphne.
“We survived your uncle,” Mr. Contino said. “We can survive a husband.”
Although her uncle had grown up at Hearthmere, he hadn’t been the least interested in the Hearthmere bloodline. He’d made incredibly stupid decisions that she and Mr. Contino had to reverse behind his back. William Craig was more suited for his avocation—writing poetry.
