Page 61 of To Bed the Bride
Chapter Twenty-Three
Eleanor began to avoid Queen’s Park. Instead, every day she took a well-worn path near the lake and over to Hyde Park. The distance was greater, of course, but at least she didn’t have to be reminded of Logan’s absence.
She saw his name in the newspaper nearly every day. Someone was always writing about him, either complimentarily or scurrilously. She wanted to trim the complimentary articles and keep them safe somewhere and deface the scurrilous ones. What did they know about his character? How could they possibly judge him so harshly?
She missed him and thought that Bruce did, too, because he always pulled her toward the wrought iron gates. She would always correct him and tell him that they were going on an adventure of sorts.
Bruce was the only bright spot in her day. Somehow, Logan had known that he would prove to be a great companion.
One morning about two weeks after receiving Logan’s letter, she was coming in from the park, hoping to make it up the back stairs and to her room before anyone saw the two of them. Unfortunately, Daphne called out to her from the small Ladies Parlor adjacent to the back hallway.
Reluctantly, Eleanor entered the room, Bruce following.
Daphne did as Daphne always did, gave her a sweeping inspection that ended with a curl of her lip.
“Have you no sense of decorum, cousin? You have leaves on the bottom of your skirt and your hair is a disaster.”
Eleanor didn’t respond. Doing so would only make her more of a target for Daphne’s withering criticism.
“What if the earl sees you in such a state?”
That’s how her entire family referred to Michael—the earl. As if she might somehow forget his rank.
“I do not doubt that he would regret his offer immediately,” Daphne added.
Eleanor blew out a breath. Perhaps she would never, even if she practiced every day, attain the degree of sophistication that Daphne effortlessly demonstrated. Yet she’d never be as rude as Daphne, or behave as badly to a member of her family.
Her father had taught her that family was everything.
Not to Daphne.
She knew quite well that Daphne’s comments were a result of jealousy. Like it or not, Eleanor was engaged to an earl—a man who would always rank higher than Thomas in the hierarchy of London society. No doubt Daphne thought that such a thing was basically unfair, especially since she was so much prettier and more accomplished than Eleanor.
What her cousin didn’t understand was that Michael’s rank or status or even his title didn’t matter to her. This whole countess business was beginning to be a chore more than anything else. She would much rather have been a simple missus without all the pomp and circumstance she was having to learn.
“I’m going to my room.”
“The earl’s here,” Daphne said. “He’s been waiting for you.”
“Why?”
“Perhaps you should ask him, Eleanor.”
“Why aren’t you with him?”
Daphne never lost an opportunity to ingratiate herself with Michael. The fact that she wasn’t entertaining him was curious.
“He’s not in the mood for company.”
That was not good news.
Eleanor should change, fix her hair or wash her face, if nothing else. Yet there was a chance that, if Michael had been waiting for a substantial time, he might grow annoyed at a further delay. Instead of going upstairs, she turned and led Bruce into the small parlor Michael preferred.
Had Michael learned of Logan’s letter? Worse, had he somehow learned of their meetings in Queen’s Park?
Her aunt’s style of decorating was to choose a color, then use it to excess in that particular room. There was a Green Parlor where you felt as if you were walking into a spring bower. The dining room was yellow, such a bright shade that her eyes always had to adjust. A bluish green was the predominant color in the main drawing room and a pleasant shade of peach for the hallways on the second floor.
This room was gray, a masculine color, which was probably why Michael preferred it. The sofa and chairs were upholstered in a patterned silk that matched the walls and curtains. The only spots of color were the lush emerald ferns hanging in the window, supported by gray ropes from the ceiling.
