Page 70 of To Bed the Bride
Bruce tilted his head and looked at her, as if trying to understand the question.
She hadn’t given up practicing whistling. She was up to two notes now, of different pitches. A foolish duty she’d given herself. She would have no reason to learn how to train a dog that was half border collie. Not now. Not after Michael had gotten his way.
Bruce wasn’t a fuzzy little ball of fur anymore. Instead, his ears no longer flopped over but stood at attention. A ruff was developing around his neck and shoulder area. His legs finally looked like they were growing into the size of his paws. His tail was fluffy and capable of standing straight up in the air or waving back and forth like a flag. The most surprising change was his nose, lengthening and giving his face a distinctive look. If she hadn’t seen the changes herself, she would never have been able to match the dog to the puppy.
She tossed the rope, but instead of retrieving it when it fell, Bruce caught it in midair, catapulting his entire body up from the floor in an amazing feat of athleticism. Surprised, she tossed the rope again and he did it once more.
Did Logan know he could do that?
It was soon time she left and she reluctantly did so, thanking Mrs. Campbell, and bending to hug Bruce. He barked his goodbye, making her smile.
She went back out into the rain, not caring if she was drenched by the time she reached the carriage. It would only take minutes to get back to her aunt’s house. Only minutes to make the transition from Eleanor of Scotland to the meek and malleable creature who was going to be a countess.
Logan watched as Eleanor made her way down the steps and into the carriage slowly, almost as if she didn’t care that she was being pelted by the rain. She’d stayed an hour, just as she did every week, arriving at the time she said she would. Every week Mrs. Campbell welcomed her like a long-lost daughter, and every week she was gracious and grateful to his housekeeper. Every week, after she left, Mrs. Campbell would say something like, “Poor lass. You can tell it hurts her heart every time she has to say goodbye to the wee one.”
Mrs. Campbell never called Bruce by his name. He was “the wee one” or “the furry one” or something in Gaelic. Every week Logan would reply with something noncommittal. Words that didn’t fool Mrs. Campbell one bit.
Althea Campbell had worked for his parents, and it had been a test of wills between him and his sister as to who could convince Mrs. Campbell to come and live with them. He’d won only because the housekeeper had never seen London and wanted to experience being around the English for a while. He knew that he wouldn’t be able to keep her here all that long. She would probably listen to Janet’s blandishments and return to Edinburgh to his sister’s household. However long she remained with him, he considered her an invaluable ally and a member of his family.
For the past four weeks he’d been gone when Eleanor came to see Bruce. Today, however, he’d been greeted at dawn by a courier from Disraeli. He’d wanted to dismiss the man and the pouch he carried, but the press of politics never diminished, despite what else might be happening in his life.
Disraeli was, even after having lost the general election, intent on making his opinion known. Because of his friendship with Queen Victoria he was also still interested in anything to do with Scotland, which meant that Logan had to opine on various subjects in order to satisfy Disraeli’s curiosity.
Instead of the courier giving him the packet and disappearing, he’d repeated a statement obviously memorized from the Prime Minister, followed by a directive.
“I’m to remain here, sir, until there is an answer for Mr. Disraeli.”
As if Logan didn’t already have enough to do. However, one thing that Parliament had taught him in the past two years was that rank had its privileges. You might disagree with the former Prime Minister. You might hold contrary beliefs. You might believe that he was an idiot in certain regards, but you never forgot the man’s position and you always accorded it the respect he deserved. If Disraeli insisted that his courier remain here until Logan had studied the issue, then that’s exactly what would happen, however much it disrupted Logan’s life.
“Can I interest you in tea?”
The courier looked surprised. “Thank you, sir.”
He led the man to his study and told him to make himself comfortable, and that someone would be with him soon. The man nodded and thanked him again, which made Logan wonder if the man was treated as if he were invisible most of the time.
Now Logan was studying the issue, choosing to do so away from the bustle of his office. The fact that it was Wednesday no doubt featured in his decision to remain at home. When two o’clock came he’d been unable to work, however, knowing that Eleanor was in his house. All he had to do was descend the stairs to see her. All he had to do was open the door to the drawing room and there she’d be, Eleanor of the warm, enchanting smile, and the blue eyes that revealed all her emotions.
I won’t be a bother.Her words on the day she’d brought Bruce to him.
What would she have said if he’d answered her honestly?
Oh, Eleanor, you’re a bother even when you’re not here. I think of you too often. I even dream of you. When I should be writing a speech I want to write a letter to you instead. When I’m speaking to a crowded room I want to be talking to you. When I’m on my way to Parliament I want to stop at Queen’s Park. Nothing’s been the same in my life since that day on the hillside. There you were, all arrogant and magnificent, terrified and refusing to admit it, pushing your way through the sheep as regal as a queen. I think I fell in love with you then.
She wouldn’t have liked his honesty. She would probably have begged him not to say such things. But they were his words, his thoughts, his heart. He’d never asked her for anything in return.
He’d been sure it would be hard to see her again and know that she wasn’t his. She’d never be his. He had no right to touch her, to say those things to her. To love her.
That didn’t stop him from missing her. He wanted to see her every day. He wanted the right to hold her hand at any time, to ask her thoughts and opinions. He wanted to pull her into his embrace whenever they were alone. He wanted to kiss her and more.
She was adamant, however, about marrying Herridge.
The man would be a terrible husband for Eleanor. Logan wished she could see that. She was bright, intelligent, and fearless, but it would only be a matter of time before Herridge browbeat her, changed her permanently into the person she called London Eleanor.
There was nothing he could do. Logan had said as much as he could to Eleanor and it hadn’t altered her decision. If he had any power beyond that of words he would’ve done something to prevent this marriage. She was marching headlong into disaster and he was powerless to prevent it.
Even his uncle held a similar opinion about Herridge.
A man might think that a title exempted him from courteous behavior, but the truth was that it magnified his actions. Few people cared about a simple mister, but tell a tale about a peer and they were all ears. Consequently, Michael Herridge was well known for the kind of man he was. If he had been stripped of his title, Logan doubted he’d be welcome in any of the drawing rooms in London. He’d be nothing more than an embittered man who insisted others adhere to his wishes and wants. There wasn’t a charitable bone in his body or one that demonstrated any concern for another human being, even a future wife.
