Page 55 of To Bed the Bride
When she returned to the townhouse with Bruce she always grabbed a little snack for him and a cup of tea for herself, taking them to her bedroom. On this particular day, however, she was greeted by the sight of her aunt sitting at the enormous oak table.
Her aunt never sat in the kitchen. Her aunt was rarely in the kitchen, since she always met with the housekeeper and the cook in the small sitting room off her bedroom.
None of the maids were in the room, which was strange, but understandable since her aunt was here. Even the cook had absented herself. Eleanor couldn’t help but wonder where she’d gone.
The kitchen was large, painted white, and had two wide windows facing east that allowed sunlight to flood into the room. A selection of vegetables was sitting at one end of the table, alongside a cutting board and two wicked-looking knives.
Had Deborah banished everyone in the act of preparing for dinner?
Bruce wisely moved to sit behind her.
Eleanor didn’t know whether to address her aunt directly or simply stand there like a penitent. There wasn’t any doubt in her mind that Deborah had been waiting for her to return from the park. Or that she hadn’t wanted a witness to this meeting.
That meant only one thing. She knew about Logan.
“I’ve been waiting for you, Eleanor.”
“Have you?” she asked.
“I’ve been made privy to something shocking.”
She remained silent.
“You might say that it’s proof you’re deceptive in nature.”
She’d never lied about meeting Logan, but she’d never discussed it, either.
Her aunt reached into her pocket and withdrew a letter that she waved in the air.
“Logan McKnight wrote you, Eleanor. Your housekeeper forwarded the letter. What do you have to say to that?”
“You have no right to open my mail.”
“I have every right. You live here, under my roof. It’s not Scotland, Eleanor, when you were able to dictate our lives.”
Confused, she stared at her aunt. “What do you mean, dictate your lives? I did no such thing.”
“Of course you did,” Deborah said, her laughter holding a brittle edge. “We all felt it, every day. I couldn’t paint a room without your approval. I couldn’t buy new furniture without your okay. I couldn’t lift a finger to change anything about that ghastly barn of a house. I wouldn’t be surprised if stress about it all drove William to his death.”
Eleanor didn’t understand. She never said a word to any member of her family about what they could or couldn’t do.
“You should never have inherited Hearthmere. Leaving it to you was idiotic.”
Her aunt could say anything she wanted about her, but Eleanor wasn’t going to allow her father to be impugned.
“Hearthmere wasn’t entailed, Aunt Deborah. My father had every right to leave it to anyone he wished.”
“It should have been to his brother,” Deborah said. “And in turn, to Jeremy. He wouldn’t have to spend so much time trying to find his way in the world if your father had done what was right.”
Jeremy would’ve been a terrible steward for Hearthmere. He would’ve drained the estate dry and been uncaring about the staff or the horses. The idea of Jeremy managing Hearthmere was ludicrous, but Deborah evidently believed that justice had not been done for her son.
Eleanor held out her hand. “May I have my letter?”
For a moment she didn’t think Deborah was going to surrender it to her. Finally, she did so, throwing it across the table.
Eleanor grabbed it and without reading put it into her pocket.
“You’re engaged to an earl, a peer. Your life will substantially change for the better, but you’re not the only one whose life will be altered. Have you not considered that?” Despite her reddened cheeks, Deborah’s voice was calm.
