Page 62 of To Bed the Bride
Michael was sitting in one of the chairs in front of the fireplace, a heavily carved wooden box on the table beside him. Although his face was expressionless, she could tell he was angry. It showed in the flatness of his eyes and his stillness. He didn’t move, even when she entered the room. He didn’t stand or greet her. She was invisible to him, which meant that she would have to begin this meeting with an apology.
“Forgive me, I didn’t know you were going to be here today.”
He inclined his head slightly, but didn’t respond.
She came and sat on the adjoining chair, Bruce at her feet. She should have taken him upstairs, but she didn’t want Michael to have to wait any longer.
The maids loved Bruce and went out of their way to pet him or slip him some treat during the day. Aunt Deborah and Hamilton were noncommittal about the puppy. Michael, however, always demanded that she put the dog up somewhere, saying that dogs belonged in a kennel, not a parlor.
To her surprise he didn’t immediately tell her to remove Bruce. Instead, he handed her the wooden box.
“Inside is the ancestral bridal ring worn by all the Herridge wives. It will be placed on your finger during the wedding ceremony.”
She opened the lid cautiously. There, on a small silk pillow, was a ring at least an inch and a half wide, decorated with a selection of amethysts, emeralds, rubies, and diamonds. A large black stone in the middle had been engraved with the Wescott crest.
It was the most horribly gaudy thing she’d ever seen. All she could think was that she’d have to wear gloves constantly.
“I need to make sure it will fit you.”
He took the box, plucked the ring from its pillow, and grabbed her hand.
Bruce growled at him.
Michael drew back, frowning.
“Don’t be afraid. He won’t bite you,” she said, although she wasn’t entirely certain of that. Bruce rarely growled except at leaves and squirrels. Granted, the puppy was showing signs of being a large dog, but he was gentle and sweet, not fearsome.
“I’m not afraid,” Michael said. “Get rid of him.”
She stood. “I’ll take him to my room.”
“No, get rid of him.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I’ve put up with this situation long enough. Get rid of him, Eleanor. If you want, I’ll do it. Have a maid take him to my carriage.”
She stared at him. “What do you mean, you’ll do it?”
“Exactly that. He’s a nuisance and needs to be dispatched.”
“Dispatched?”
He just looked at her.
She bent down and picked up Bruce. He was growing so large that it wasn’t as easy to do as it had been a month earlier.
“I’m not asking, Eleanor. I’ve given you a direct order. I don’t expect you to disobey me. Not now and not when we’re married.”
Did Deborah have that kind of marriage? Not from what she’d observed in Scotland. Her Uncle William had been a kind and generous man. Deborah sometimes seemed to be the stronger person in that marriage. Nor was Deborah’s marriage to Hamilton that sort of relationship. Thomas adored Daphne and nearly worshipped her.
Her marriage with Michael would be different. She’d be little more than a servant in his eyes.
“Do you understand?” he asked, his voice holding an edge of coldness.
“Yes,” she said. “I understand.”
“You’ll get rid of the animal, then?”
