To Bed the Bride

by Karen Ranney

  “I’d rather be in Scotland. Anywhere in Scotland, but mostly home, at Hearthmere. Or on Maud, where I could ride for hours and not see anyone.” She looked over at him. “Except for sheep, of course. And a shepherd or two.”

  “Herridge doesn’t care for Scotland.”

  “No,” she said, agreeing.

  “Will you be able to return once you’re married?”

  The truth was there, stark and incapable of being hidden. “No. Probably not.”

  They sat silent for long moments. At least he didn’t say anything else about Michael. She didn’t want to think about her fiancé now. There was time enough to mull over her marriage later.

  These moments, however long, stolen and improper, didn’t fit into her future.

  “How did your meetings go?”

  “Two went well. The third was abysmal. All in all, it wasn’t a complete loss of a day. Of course, I didn’t get to see you.”

  “I missed you.” Should she say that? Probably not. She shouldn’t be as honest with Logan as she was. Nor should she even think of him as Logan. The proper way to address him was Mr. McKnight. However, they’d skirted propriety from the beginning, hadn’t they?

  He didn’t respond to her comment. He was so much wiser than she.

  “Is it anything you can talk about? Or were those meetings secret?”

  “I think one of them might be best avoided as a topic of conversation. It dealt with party politics and that is first boring and second down to egos, I’m afraid. The other issues were closer to home, things like the Scottish border and tariffs. Not at all fascinating, but always necessary.”

  He could make even the most mundane subject interesting. Talking to him about legislation brought the personages she’d only read about to life. Most of the time he didn’t identify people by name, but by characteristics of their personality. She grew to suspect that one man was Mr. Disraeli, simply because he seemed to have a literary bent and way of looking at things. Plus, Logan indicated that he had a contentious relationship with a prior Prime Minister.

  The more Logan talked, the more fascinated she became, seeing life as a member of Parliament in a totally new way. She saw Logan differently, too. Someone might consider him brusque and demanding, but those character traits served him well in politics.

  “Do you like standing for election?” she asked.

  “Do I like it? It’s more difficult than being granted a seat in the House of Lords along with a title. But then, we get more work done and what we do matters more.”

  “No doubt Michael feels the same,” she said with a smile.

  “Do you talk to him about politics?”

  She shook her head. “It’s not an approved subject. I’m not to bother my female head about it. I’m to concentrate on things like clothes and hats and gloves.”

  “Not shoes? Not stockings?”

  Warmth was traveling up to her face. Her cheeks felt hot.

  “You know quite well you’re not supposed to mention stockings to me. Next you’ll be discussing unmentionables.”

  “I should very much like to talk about unmentionables with you,” he said. “I have often wondered why a woman wears as many undergarments as she does. Could you not dispense with your shift? After all, you have on pantaloons and a corset, do you not?”

  She’d never imagined a conversation like this with anyone, let alone Logan.

  “You have to wear a shift. Otherwise, the corset would chafe. It’s very uncomfortable even over a shift.”

  “Why wear it? Is it because you don’t think the human body is attractive enough and you have to squeeze it into some semblance of what society decrees?”

  She truly should change the subject immediately. Yet she had the curious compulsion to answer him.

  “Someone decided that a tiny waist was feminine. Therefore, every morning most women are laced into their corset.”

  “Most women? Are you?”

  “Logan, I can’t answer that.”

  “Why not? We’ve always been honest with each other. Is there a place beyond which we can’t be honest?”

  “There are subjects that we should not discuss. My corset is one of those.”

  She wore a corset, but she slipped it on by fastening the front busk since she didn’t have her own maid. It wasn’t unduly uncomfortable, because she could always adjust it if she wished. Daphne, however, insisted on her corset being pulled tight every morning. Probably because she wanted to prove that she still had a girlish figure even after giving birth twice. Deborah was the same. Sometimes at breakfast her aunt looked pale enough to faint.

  None of which Eleanor was going to divulge to Logan.

  Even the thought of talking about such things made her feel flushed. Yet one day, in the not too distant future, she would be a wife. A man was going to have the right to do more than speak intimately about her undergarments.

  She was going to have to welcome Michael into her bed. He was going to initiate her into lovemaking. It was Michael’s head that was going to be next to hers on the pillow. Michael was going to touch her naked body.

  She didn’t want to think about her wedding night, about being in her nightgown in front of Michael. The thought was excruciatingly embarrassing. He would, no doubt, expect her to remain silent and acquiescent through the entire process.

  Because she’d been around horses all her life, she had a good idea of what her wedding night entailed. She could almost envision the moment, her sitting on the edge of the marital bed, clad in a new silk nightgown, hands clasped together nervously while her new husband approached her.

  Would he say something to her like this? You’re about to bed an earl. I’ve picked you out of all the other women who were pursuing me. You should demonstrate your gratitude, Eleanor.

  She’d thought about her wedding night before, but it had never struck her as forcefully as it did now. Michael would know everything about her. Michael would know her intimately.

  “What is it, Eleanor?”

  “I just realized something,” she said, picking her way through the words. “I just realized something I should have always known. It’s like when you take a walk every day and you never notice a certain house on the corner. Or a certain lamppost or something that was there all along. All of a sudden, for no reason it becomes obvious to you. You see it for the first time when it’s always been there.”

  He reached out and grabbed her hand, holding it between his hands.

  “What’s always been there?”

  “Oh, Logan, I can’t tell you. It’s like one of those secret meetings of yours.”

  She really should draw her hand away but she kept it in his, taking unexpected comfort from his touch.

  “Eleanor, you can always talk to me.”

  She stared down at Bruce attacking a leaf. “No, I can’t. You’ve already said that you shouldn’t be here. That you shouldn’t have come. One day you won’t. It’s not fair to become a friend, Logan, and then take that friendship away.”

  “Is that what I am, a friend?”

  She glanced at him and then off into the distance.

  “Yes,” she finally said. “You’re my friend, but you’re more than that. I don’t know what to call you.” She looked at him. “Is there a word for it?”

  He met her gaze. “We’re treading on dangerous ground, Eleanor.”

  She nodded, well aware of that.

  “You’re a conundrum, Eleanor Craig. You represent a temptation, one that I should avoid.”

  She didn’t know what to say.

  “A wiser man would’ve sent you a note, something along the lines of ‘The press of business requires me to stay in my office this morning. Regrettably, I will be unable to visit with you again.’”

  “You’ve evidently penned that note in your mind to know its contents so well. Why didn’t you send it?”

  “As I said, you’re a temptation.”

  “I didn’t make you kiss me,” she said, annoyed. “I haven’t
done anything out of the ordinary. I’ve simply been myself. A great many people consider me to be excessively boring.”

  “Then they’re even more foolish than I am.”

  A flush seemed to envelop her entire body.

  “I would be in a great deal of trouble if anyone knew we were meeting,” she said. “No one would understand. They would ask what I could possibly find to discuss with a member of Parliament. A firebrand like you.”

  “You’ve been reading the newspapers.”

  She nodded. “I have. I read about you in Scotland, only I didn’t know it was you. You’re featured prominently and often. Is it true that you’re Mr. Disraeli’s pet?”

  He laughed, startling her. “You mustn’t read Anderson’s column. He’s a hack and has no love for me. Or liking, for that matter.”

  She did. She had a great deal of liking for Logan McKnight. The fact that it might be growing into more was suddenly frightening.

  Eleanor abruptly stood. “I should return,” she said. She didn’t want to leave him, which was why she needed to, as quickly as she could.

  She hesitated for a moment, holding on to Bruce’s lead. She needed to say something, but no words came to mind. At least any that were safe, innocuous, and proper.

  All she did was force a smile to her face. She turned, grabbing her skirt with one hand and Bruce’s lead with the other, and nearly raced from the park.

  Chapter Twenty

  When Eleanor went to the park the next day with Bruce, she told herself not to be disappointed if Logan didn’t appear.

  He wasn’t there in the morning. She occupied herself with training Bruce and walking farther than they normally went. Part of the time he was off the lead, but he always stayed beside her.

  If someone had given her a puppy when she was a child, she wouldn’t have grown up with a fear of dogs. She couldn’t imagine ever being afraid of Bruce, not when he was so protective of her.

  He growled at a squirrel who ran across the grass and then up a tree trunk. He barked at a shower of leaves. More than once the fur on his back stood straight up when someone rode past. Horses didn’t seem to bother him, but carriages did, and he didn’t hesitate to make his disapproval known.

  After his training session he jumped up on the bench, turned in a circle, and settled in for a nap. She sat beside him, absorbing the scenery around her. Here in Queen’s Park it was quiet, the cacophony of London seemingly miles away. This was the one place in the city she’d always felt at peace.

  Now it would never be the same.

  “I’m an idiot, Bruce.”

  He slitted open one eye and looked at her, flicked his tongue out, then fell back to sleep.

  “I’m silly to miss him.”

  He only sighed in response.

  She smiled and watched the leaves falling around her. Soon they’d all be gone and there would only be stark branches against a gray sky.

  There wasn’t much of a breeze today so she loosened the scarf around her neck. Her cloak kept her warm. Fortunately, Bruce didn’t seem to mind the cold. All that fur must insulate him well.

  When he woke the two of them went back to the townhouse. After lunch they would come back as they usually did. In time, perhaps, she’d forget that Logan had once been here.

  A fitting occupied most of her afternoon. If her aunt hadn’t been in the room Eleanor would have asked a series of questions of the seamstress. Mrs. Fournier had once lived in Paris and was very knowledgeable about a variety of subjects. In the past they’d had many fascinating conversations. Since Aunt Deborah was present, however, Eleanor remained mute. Deborah did not approve of speaking to tradesmen.

  After the fittings, Eleanor took Bruce back to the park, feeling foolish as she sat on her usual bench and practiced whistling. He was an exceptionally smart puppy—retaining those lessons that Logan had begun earlier.

  “Eleanor.”

  At first she thought it was wishful thinking. She’d wanted him to appear so fervently that she imagined him saying her name.

  “Eleanor.”

  She turned and there he was. Not a figment of her imagination, but real.

  Bruce ran to him, greeting him by wiggling, then trying to chew on Logan’s shoe.

  They didn’t speak even after he came and sat down beside her.

  So many questions crowded into her mind, but the most important one was this: Why have you returned? She didn’t want to ask it and was almost afraid to hear his response. He might tell her that it was the last time he’d be here. There would be no more conversations between them. No more mutual interest.

  She sat silent and still. When he reached over and grabbed her gloved hand she didn’t say anything. Nor did she pull free.

  When Bruce began barking at the swirling leaves, they turned and looked at each other, both smiling. It was such a perfect moment that she knew she’d always remember it and the day.

  They never discussed the foolishness of each of them being there after that. Neither one of them mentioned that they should follow rules prescribed by other people. Not once did Logan tell her that he was going to try to forget her. Nor did she ever tell him to stay away.

  Each day was like a cherished jewel, something set aside in a box that marked it as special. A ruby, perhaps, or a diamond sparkling with light. The autumn was fading into winter but she didn’t notice the chill. The mornings were often foggy and dreary. Sometimes the afternoons were miserable with an icy drizzle. She never noted the weather at all, only the time. An hour here, an hour and a half at the most, until she was due back. Ninety minutes of freedom that she treasured.

  At night she thought of things she wanted to tell him. In the morning she could barely wait until her aunt was occupied with other tasks to escape to the park. Logan came mostly in the afternoons, but sometimes in the mornings. She told herself to never anticipate him, yet she couldn’t help herself.

  Most of the time they were alone. Only occasionally did a carriage come by or someone on horseback. They were far enough away from the center of the park that few people strayed there. Bruce was the only witness to their meetings.

  Society would not understand the two of them being alone in such a secluded location. Ostensibly, it was to train Bruce or to reinforce the commands he’d already learned. In actuality, that only took a small amount of the time they spent together. Mostly, they talked. She told him about Hearthmere and her memories of growing up a happy child, believing that the world was a wondrous place and everything in it almost magical.

  He countered with his own memories of a childhood that seemed almost as enchanted despite being an orphan.

  They were Scots in an English world and there was a difference, one sometimes of language, certainly of accent and upbringing. A Scot wasn’t dour, per se, but he did look upon the world in a slightly different way than an Englishman. An Englishman was confident of his superiority, even if the attitude wasn’t warranted. A Scot was almost imbued with a sense of fatalism, knowing that he would probably be outnumbered in any battle. Knowing, too, that he might lose, but that he was going to fight as hard as he could for as long as he could. Logan was the epitome of that type of thinking. She only hoped that she would be as courageous if ever in a conflict.

  She told him of Hearthmere’s extensive library and her father’s plans to create the greatest racing stable in all of Scotland, if not the world. They talked of horses and sometimes sheep, occasionally dogs, and once in a while politics.

  He seemed surprised at her knowledge of Parliament.

  “It’s not difficult to discover what’s going on if you read the newspaper.”

  “Don’t believe everything you read there, Eleanor. They lie a great deal about politicians. Or politicians lie a great deal. Either is true.”

  She studied him. “Do you lie, Logan?”

  To her surprise he answered her easily. “I’m guilty of the sin of omission,” he said. “I would much rather not say something than be pushed into a lie. But I woul
d be lying to you if I told you that I always speak the truth. There are times when I don’t. I like to think it’s because circumstances decree it.”

  “Do they?”

  “Yes, most of the time. When the Prime Minister asks my opinion about something and it’s either a personal question or something about which I simply don’t care, I will try to answer in a way that pleases him. I think it’s something we all do. Don’t you?”

  “I don’t think I can tell you that I’ve always told the truth, and doesn’t that sound terrible?”

  “I think it sounds human. I’ve never met a perfect person. If you know of one, please introduce us. It might be an interesting meeting.”

  She certainly wasn’t perfect. Witness the fact that she would much rather be with Logan in the park with her dog than at any society gathering.

  At those dinners, balls, or other functions, she was not, thankfully, required to say much, merely respond with a smile or one or two words. Michael seemed to approve of her silence, as did her aunt and Hamilton. Once again she was Eleanor the meek, Eleanor the unassuming. Eleanor, who was always just a shadow, a quiet little mouse of a woman.

  Only with Logan was she herself.

  For two weeks he met her each day, even on Sundays when the rest of the family was at home. It was commonplace for her to take Bruce to the park, however, so no one remarked when she continued to do so. Her aunt even commended her for ensuring that the puppy wasn’t a bother.

  Bruce wasn’t allowed outside of Eleanor’s room unless she was with him. He’d gotten used to his lead and obeyed all his commands. Even Hamilton was impressed. One morning when he’d come across them as they were leaving for the park, he’d even petted Bruce and complimented her on his behavior.

  Her visits to the park made the rest of her days brighter.

  Logan sometimes left before she did, returning to his carriage parked down the road. She always felt a surge of disappointment when she watched him walk away, wondering if one day he would change his mind and stop coming.