Page 51 of To Bed the Bride
“I’d rather be in Scotland. Anywhere in Scotland, but mostly home, at Hearthmere. Or on Maud, where I could ride for hours and not see anyone.” She looked over at him. “Except for sheep, of course. And a shepherd or two.”
“Herridge doesn’t care for Scotland.”
“No,” she said, agreeing.
“Will you be able to return once you’re married?”
The truth was there, stark and incapable of being hidden. “No. Probably not.”
They sat silent for long moments. At least he didn’t say anything else about Michael. She didn’t want to think about her fiancé now. There was time enough to mull over her marriage later.
These moments, however long, stolen and improper, didn’t fit into her future.
“How did your meetings go?”
“Two went well. The third was abysmal. All in all, it wasn’t a complete loss of a day. Of course, I didn’t get to see you.”
“I missed you.” Should she say that? Probably not. She shouldn’t be as honest with Logan as she was. Nor should she even think of him as Logan. The proper way to address him was Mr. McKnight. However, they’d skirted propriety from the beginning, hadn’t they?
He didn’t respond to her comment. He was so much wiser than she.
“Is it anything you can talk about? Or were those meetings secret?”
“I think one of them might be best avoided as a topic of conversation. It dealt with party politics and that is first boring and second down to egos, I’m afraid. The other issues were closer to home, things like the Scottish border and tariffs. Not at all fascinating, but always necessary.”
He could make even the most mundane subject interesting. Talking to him about legislation brought the personages she’d only read about to life. Most of the time he didn’t identify people by name, but by characteristics of their personality. She grew to suspect that one man was Mr. Disraeli, simply because he seemed to have a literary bent and way of looking at things. Plus, Logan indicated that he had a contentious relationship with a prior Prime Minister.
The more Logan talked, the more fascinated she became, seeing life as a member of Parliament in a totally new way. She saw Logan differently, too. Someone might consider him brusque and demanding, but those character traits served him well in politics.
“Do you like standing for election?” she asked.
“Do I like it? It’s more difficult than being granted a seat in the House of Lords along with a title. But then, we get more work done and what we do matters more.”
“No doubt Michael feels the same,” she said with a smile.
“Do you talk to him about politics?”
She shook her head. “It’s not an approved subject. I’m not to bother my female head about it. I’m to concentrate on things like clothes and hats and gloves.”
“Not shoes? Not stockings?”
Warmth was traveling up to her face. Her cheeks felt hot.
“You know quite well you’re not supposed to mention stockings to me. Next you’ll be discussing unmentionables.”
“I should very much like to talk about unmentionables with you,” he said. “I have often wondered why a woman wears as many undergarments as she does. Could you not dispense with your shift? After all, you have on pantaloons and a corset, do you not?”
She’d never imagined a conversation like this with anyone, let alone Logan.
“You have to wear a shift. Otherwise, the corset would chafe. It’s very uncomfortable even over a shift.”
“Why wear it? Is it because you don’t think the human body is attractive enough and you have to squeeze it into some semblance of what society decrees?”
She truly should change the subject immediately. Yet she had the curious compulsion to answer him.
“Someone decided that a tiny waist was feminine. Therefore, every morning most women are laced into their corset.”
“Most women? Are you?”
