Page 71 of To Bed the Bride
Eleanor deserved better.
Logan disliked being helpless. He’d wrapped his heart in wire and there was no way to free it. Eleanor was the only one with the power to do that and it was all too obvious that she was going to marry Michael Herridge.
Logan had no one to blame but himself. He should never have taken the puppy to her. If he hadn’t, if he’d found Bruce a home somewhere else, he wouldn’t have gotten to know her. He wouldn’t have fallen in love. He wouldn’t be standing at the window, watching as his beloved drove away.
Mindful of the courier still in his study, he forced himself to return to the task at hand, knowing that there was plenty of time to behave like a lovelorn idiot later. Right now, Disraeli was waiting on him.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
A few nights later, Eleanor was preparing to attend a ball being held by one of Michael’s distant cousins. The purpose was to introduce his daughter to society. Tonight’s function was a preseason ball, given for the debutante to acquire some practice and poise before the start of the season.
She’d experienced a similar event a few years ago. Unfortunately, she had to follow in Daphne’s footsteps, and while London society had oohed and ahhed over her cousin, they welcomed Eleanor with somewhat less enthusiasm.
There was a decidedly rigid standard for beauty in London. Blond hair was preferred over brown. Unusually colored eyes were always admired rather than plain blue. It also helped if one’s father or guardian was sufficiently wealthy. It was amazing how beautiful a certain girl could become with the hint of wealth in the background.
Eleanor sincerely hoped that the girl tonight was attractive enough not to be shunned, but had the sense to realize that whatever attention she received for the next several months wouldn’t be for herself as much as her father’s rumored fortune. From this point on, Francesca would be the object of attention from young men of good families but few financial resources.
She also hoped that Francesca had friends who would last beyond the season. Eleanor hadn’t seen Jenny Woolsey since the announcement of her engagement. It was as if the girl had simply melted away along with her friendship.
The other girls she’d known, most of whom had gone on to become wives, were less true friends than companionable rivals. Every man worth marrying was considered a prize. At the end of her first season, when she’d not received an offer, she was considered not quite damaged goods but certainly slightly used. She was all for skipping the second season, but her aunt was determined. Deborah considered Eleanor’s lack of success in the marriage mart almost a blot on her social record.
No doubt Michael’s earldom and the fact that he was distantly related to Francesca’s father would have some influence on how warmly the girl was welcomed into close-knit London society. That’s why he was making an appearance at this preseason event. They would stay long enough for Michael to be seen and admired and for her to be critically reviewed.
In other words, the night was going to be ghastly. She would much rather be at home, curled up in a chair with a good book. Unfortunately, her schedule looked to be filled with a flurry of social engagements. The months until the wedding would be occupied with pre-celebrations, everything from lunches to dinner parties to balls.
The wedding ceremony was expanding in size and scope with each passing day. Even Hamilton was taking a growing interest, no doubt because he was paying for it. On three separate occasions she’d attempted to discuss the expense with him, but he refused to address the matter with her.
“It is of no consequence, my dear,” he said. “You mustn’t worry about it.”
Nor was her aunt reserved about spending money. It seemed as if the wedding was less a religious ceremony than it was a way to demonstrate the Richardses’ wealth. Eleanor truly didn’t need all the dresses the seamstress was making. The trousseau was already occupying three trunks with more ordered.
The gown she was wearing tonight was a lovely creation, something that had been sent from France and altered by Mrs. Fournier. Of watered silk, it was a shade of peach that flattered her complexion and brought out the blue of her eyes.
Michael would no doubt approve. Getting her aunt’s nod, however, had always been more difficult. Before she descended the stairs, Deborah made her turn slowly, raise her skirts to show her matching slippers, then don her elbow-length gloves. Only then did Deborah smile.
“You will do us credit, my dear. Jeremy will meet you downstairs.”
Even though she and Michael were an engaged couple, her aunt believed that it was necessary for them to have a proper chaperone when they attended social events. For that purpose, her cousin was pressed into service when Deborah or Hamilton couldn’t attend with them. Jeremy normally obeyed Michael’s every directive, being less a chaperone than simply an extra person in the carriage. If Michael attempted to do something untoward, Jeremy wouldn’t lift a hand in protest.
Such was the power of being an earl.
Eleanor couldn’t help but wonder if she’d acquire a similar ability as a countess. Would she be able to wave her hand in the air and have something instantly done? If so, it would explain why so many people believed that a title was such a great honor.
She walked slowly down the curving staircase, wishing that she enjoyed going to a ball. She would much rather sit somewhere and listen to the music than cavort to it. If tonight went as some of the entertainments in the past month, she’d meet a great many people, some of whom were related to Michael. Some of them would attend their wedding. Some of them might possibly make judgments as to whether she was good enough to become the Countess of Wescott. If they knew her true feelings about the matter, there was every possibility they’d be shocked. After all, who wouldn’t want to be a countess?
She didn’t.
The majordomo was in the foyer, but there was no sign of Jeremy. To her surprise, Michael’s carriage had already arrived. No one was inside, which meant that he was probably waiting for her in the drawing room. She turned and walked in that direction, but was sidetracked by voices coming from Hamilton’s study.
Rather than interrupt the two men, she hesitated in the hallway, trying to decide if she should wait in the drawing room or go back to the foyer.
Michael’s words made the decision for her. She remained where she was.
“His inspection was answer enough for me. The horses will be sold, as will all the furnishings. I’ve plans for the house, too.”
“If that’s the way you feel, then of course it’s the right decision. I doubt that Eleanor will have the same opinion, however.”
“She has an idiotic attachment to the Hearthmere bloodline. I trust that you’ll leave such matters to my discretion.”
