Page 72 of To Bed the Bride
“You have to understand,” Hamilton said, “that it is her home. Hearthmere means a great deal to her.”
“That’s strictly emotion talking, but I don’t expect any less from a woman. I don’t want to be bothered by property in Scotland since I have no intention of ever traveling there. I’ve already found a man I’m going to send to appraise the furniture. He’ll deal with the staff as well. As soon as we’re married I’ll finalize the sale.”
She stood there, frozen, her hands at her midriff. She’d seen Michael yesterday and the day before. Not once had he brought up Hearthmere. Nor had he said anything about an inspection.
They only talked about Scotland occasionally. Whenever she brought up the subject of her country he would brush her comments aside.
“I don’t care for Scotland,” he’d said once. “You must understand that.”
“You haven’t seen the best parts of it,” she’d responded. “Hearthmere, for example, is magnificent with its rolling hills and mountains in the background. If nothing else, you should see the horses. No finer horses have ever been raised in Scotland or England, for that matter.”
“I can assure you, Eleanor, that no horses anywhere shall ever cause me to wax eloquent about them. Nor, as I said, am I fond of Scotland. I have no intention of traveling there.”
Hearthmere was her legacy. Her father had left it to her because he’d known she would keep it safe.
Michael couldn’t sell it. He couldn’t sell the bloodline. It was hers.
Turning, she walked back to the foyer, nodding to the majordomo again. She would stand here and wait, however long it would be. If the majordomo waited with her, that was fine. An audience would guarantee that she didn’t succumb to what she was feeling.
She would shock the entire household if she did what she wanted to do. She wanted to pick up something heavy and throw it, preferably through the glass at the side of the door or a window. Or scream. That would startle everyone. She rarely made a noise of surprise or disdain, anger or frustration. She was a nonentity: silent, exquisitely proper, and barely there.
Five minutes later Michael appeared, resplendent in his black evening wear. He truly was an attractive man. Yet his physical appearance meant little to her now, especially knowing what she did about his character.
He greeted her and she forced a smile to her face, thanking him when he complimented her on her appearance. Jeremy suddenly appeared on the stairs, joining them as they left the house and entered the carriage.
She needed to talk to Michael, but not in front of her cousin. However, when they arrived at the home of his relative, it wouldn’t be the time or the place. Nor did she think she could wait until after the ball.
“I can’t agree to selling the bloodline,” she said, hearing the emotion in her own voice. “The horses are my father’s legacy. I don’t know what kind of inspection you ordered, but I won’t sell them. Hearthmere horses are known throughout the world. It would be foolish to dismantle the stable now.”
For a long moment he didn’t answer her. The exterior lantern cast shadows on his face as they made their way through the crowded London streets. Even nightfall didn’t make the traffic lighter.
Jeremy looked fascinated with their conversation. By tomorrow every member of her family would know exactly what they said.
“Eavesdropping is a vulgar practice, Eleanor.”
She ignored his comment as well as his contempt. “If I hadn’t, would you have told me what you wanted to do?”
“I see no reason to involve you in my plans, Eleanor.”
“Hearthmere is mine.”
“Until our marriage. Then it will be mine.”
“What?”
“Your property, your inheritance become mine, Eleanor.”
“It can’t. You have to be...”
He cut her off. “I have no intention of discussing the matter with you.”
She wished there was more light in the carriage. She wanted to see the expression in his eyes. Were they as flat as stones? Or did they hold any emotion?
First Bruce, now Hearthmere. Michael had as much as given her an outline of their marriage and her future. He would make unilateral decisions and she would be expected to simply accept them. He would decree and she would submit.
No.
She’d been disturbed about Bruce, but she’d told herself that perhaps there was a reason for Michael’s antipathy to the puppy. Perhaps something like her own experience with the rabid dog had colored his reaction.
