The Bride

by Christine Dorsey

  “Father has nothing to do with this.”

  “He has everything to do with it, Eleanor. Do you honestly think a man like Mr. Bonner would love you? Look at him. Look at yourself.”

  “Stop it.” Eleanor dropped her book and ground her palms over her ears. “I won’t listen to any more of this.”

  “You will. Before your father left I made him tell me why he brought Mr. Bonner here. Why Mr. Bonner wants to marry you. And it has nothing to do with your foolish notion of love.”

  Eight

  The afternoon sun shimmered over the sea, turning the water molten gold. John took a deep breath and propped his booted feet onto the balustrade. He’d pulled a chair from the kitchen onto the veranda of the house he’d rented and sat, his fingers steepled beneath his chin.

  He should be happy.

  Everything he’d worked for, scratched and fought for since he left the sultry heat of New Orleans behind was about to be his. Not only did he have more money than he could ever use. Thanks to Eleanor Fiske, soon to be Eleanor Bonner, he would have social acceptance as well.

  Once they were married he would be part of the socially elite. No one would know him as Belle Bonner’s bastard. The scrawny kid who hung around the lowest street corners waiting for his mother to finish with her latest client. The boy who stole and begged when Belle was too sick to work. Who did what he had to until the day she died, wasted by disease, babbling the crazy talk he’d learned to ignore.

  No one would ever know.

  “Then why the hell can’t I forget it!” John pushed to his feet and paced across the wide veranda. He was hungry but the thought of going into the huge mansion to eat, left him cold.

  He would be leaving this place soon, and that too should make him happy. Montana was where he felt best. As soon as Franklin Fiske returned from New York and the engagement was announced he could go home for a while. He’d been away from the mines too long as it was. Chances were, the wedding wouldn’t be until fall, and he really didn’t need to be present until then.

  Yes, he would go home.

  And leave Eleanor.

  “Damnit.” John leaned over the railing and ran his fingers through unruly hair. What in the hell did it matter if he left her? Wasn’t that the idea? He never had planned to stay with her for more than a few weeks at a time. Long enough to remind the “400” that he was still part of them, and perhaps give her children. Children who would grow up shielded from vicious tongues.

  He was so consumed by thoughts of Eleanor that at first he didn’t think anything of it when she was announced by his butler. But one look at her pale face told him something was wrong. And it reminded him that unmarried ladies did not call on gentlemen unchaperoned. The fact that she did had him rushing toward her.

  “What is it? What’s wrong?” She looked as if she might swoon at any moment.

  “I must talk to you.”

  “Of course.” John took her hand, reminded again how delicate she was. “Come sit down. Would you like something to drink. Some tea perhaps?”

  She allowed herself to be guided to a chair and shook her head. “No, nothing.”

  Something in the tone of her voice, the stricken expression in her beautiful eyes made John drop to his knees in front of her after she was seated. “What happened, Ellie? Tell me.”

  She answered him with a question. One he wasn’t expecting. “Why did you ask me to marry you?”

  “What?” John sat back on his heels.

  “You heard me. I want to know what made you do it.”

  He’d expected to hear that some terrible accident had befallen her, or her parents. Not these meaningless questions. “You scared me, Ellie.” He reached for her hands. “I thought something was wrong.” His eyes narrowed when she pulled her fingers from his grip.

  “Answer me, John.”

  He took a deep breath. “I proposed because it was what I wanted. I thought it was what you wanted, too.”

  “Because I said that I loved you.”

  John shook his head trying to make sense of her questions. “Well, yes. That had something to do with it.”

  “But love had nothing to do with your decision, did it, John?”

  “Ellie, I—”

  “It couldn’t have. For when you decided to marry me, you didn’t even know me. Did you?”

  His silence was answer enough. Eleanor pressed her lids shut, trying to erase the expression of guilt she saw on his face. A tear squeezed through her lashes and she quickly, impatiently, brushed it away. “How could you?” She stood, pushing past him and marched to the railing. Before, when she tried to tell herself that her mother was lying, she was weak with worry. Now that she knew the truth, her anger gave her strength.

  “It’s not the way it seems, Ellie.”

  “It’s not?” Her voice was thick with sarcasm. “Then pray tell me what detail of your scheme I have wrong.” She turned to face him, fire in her eyes. “And don’t call me Ellie.”

  John stood. “What do you want to know?”

  Why, she wanted to scream. Why did you do this to me? When I love you so. No, loved, she thought. She couldn’t love him now. Instead she folded her arms. “Did you buy me from my father?”

  John swallowed. “I paid your father a sum of money, yes.”

  Even now she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Or maybe she didn’t want to believe it. “Why me? Why did you pay some paltry amount of money for me?”

  “First of all, it wasn’t a paltry amount.” John’s grin flashed but her expression remained stormy. He glanced out toward the sea. “You seem to have all the answers. Why do you think I did it?”

  “My mother said—”

  “Your mother? That’s who told you this?”

  “Yes.” Eleanor raised her chin. “She told me for my own good.”

  John’s snort was heartfelt. “If you believe that...”

  “My mother’s motives are not in question here. Yours are.”

  “True enough.”

  His admission gave her pause.

  “You were buying yourself a place in New York society.”

  He said nothing, just continued to stare out over the water. Twilight was falling, and he could hear the first chorus of evening insects warming up.

  “Isn’t there any society in Montana? Why did you have to come here?” Eleanor felt the tears threatening again and forced them back.

  “There’s nothing like this, Ellie.”

  She noticed he continued to use her nickname but ignored it. Her gaze arched back over the house he rarely entered except to sleep. “And having this...” Her hand followed the sweep of her eyes. “This ‘cottage’ is so important to you?”

  “Not the building, Ellie. I can buy all the mansions I want.”

  Then she really didn’t understand. Eleanor shook her head.

  “It’s easy for you to stand there and look bewildered. You were born without a care in the world. You have money, acceptance... a place. You winter in New York, go to the best balls, and spend your summers idling in Newport.”

  “You needn’t say it with such scorn. What you just described is what you were willing to buy a wife to achieve.”

  “What about you with your fancy baronet? Are you trying to tell me you weren’t excited about marrying a peer of the realm? Of becoming Lady Farnsworth?”

  “I had my chance to become Lady Farnsworth, and turned it down.” All of a sudden Eleanor felt drained of energy. “I foolishly chose you instead. Chose you because I thought there was love. Thought you loved me for myself.” The tears were coming again and she didn’t have the strength to stop them. Instead she turned on her heel and headed toward the house.

  “Ellie.” It took John a moment to move but when he did, he rushed forward, placing himself between the French doors and Eleanor. “You don’t know what it was like Ellie, growing up in New Orleans.”

  “I realize it must have been hard on you. Your father dying so tragically and your mother never gettin
g over her grief. And I’m sorry, but—what is it?”

  John let out his breath. “My father didn’t die. Leastways if he did I don’t know about it.” He hurried on before he lost his nerve to tell her what he never told another human being. “And my mother was too drunk or crazy from the pox to care, even if she had known who he was.”

  “I... I don’t understand.”

  “You wouldn’t. The life you lead has spared you this...” John looked down into her sweet face. “And I’m glad of it. My mother was a prostitute, my father, unknown.”

  Eleanor didn’t know how to respond to what he was telling her. Her first reaction was to reach out and touch him. But she knew better than that. In the end she simply said, “I’m sorry.”

  “I don’t want your sympathy.” John glanced out toward the sea, then back toward her. Their eyes met. “I just want you to understand why I did what I did.”

  “I do,” she said and John couldn’t deny the sense of relief that washed over him. But it was short lived. “I understand. I really do. But that doesn’t change the fact that you used me.” Her smile was sad. “You made me fall in love with you, and you made me think you loved me too. That,” she said as she skirted around him, “I don’t think I can forgive.”

  Eleanor pulled open the door and walked back through the house. And John stood where she’d left him. Wondering how he could have made such a blunder. And why he cared so much.

  Nine

  “Miss Fiske is not receiving visitors.”

  John stood on the shaded porch of Eleanor’s house and stared at the stiff-lipped butler. He wanted to wrap his fingers around the scrawny neck sticking out of the royal purple livery and refuse to budge until he was taken to her. And he would have, too. It he thought it would do any good.

  This was the fifth time in the last two days he’d been here insisting upon seeing her. And the response was always the same.

  She didn’t want to see him

  Yesterday he sent the butler scurrying toward the marble stairs when John refused to leave until a message was delivered to Eleanor. John had grabbed an envelope from his pocket and scrawled a quick note, begging her to listen to him for just five minutes.

  She declined.

  So he was back again today hoping for a change of heart. And to tell her goodbye.

  John took a deep breath and noticed the butler flinch. “All right,” he said, looking away momentarily before meeting the older man’s eyes. He even thought he recognized a spark of sympathy before the butler’s expression glazed over and his body assumed a statue quality. “Would you tell her I was here?” John’s voice lowered. “And that I’m leaving tomorrow for Montana.”

  Without even waiting for a response, John turned away and began walking down the broad expanse of carriageway toward Bellevue Avenue.

  The day was balmy with a crisp breeze off the ocean, but he didn’t notice. He set out this morning determined to see her and explain himself, but the truth was, he had no explanation.

  He used her, plain and simple. And Eleanor didn’t deserve that. Though Lord knew she should be accustomed to it by now. Her father had sold her off to pay for his mistake. John considered sending a telegram to his lawyers telling them not to hand over the second payment to Franklin Fiske. No goods, no payment. And John sure as hell didn’t have Eleanor.

  But he didn’t do it. Not that he wasn’t plenty angry with Fiske. Franklin apparently folded under wifely pressure, spilling his guts, then hightailing it to New York till the smoke cleared. So in John’s mind, he had plenty of reason to cause Franklin problems. The only thing was, that would also be a hardship on Eleanor. And John found he couldn’t do that.

  Her mother was enough of a burden for her to bear. John shook his head. The old harpy would have Eleanor married off soon to someone she didn’t love.

  John hurried his pace, trying not to think about that. He forfeited his right to worry about Eleanor Fiske. Because he used her like everyone else.

  The only difference was that she’d trusted him. She’d loved him. And he’d let her down.

  “Whoa there!”

  John barely heard the shouted command above the startled whinny as a horse was pulled up short.

  “My God, man. Look where you’re going” There was a pause, then, “Good God, Bonner, is that you?”

  John suddenly discovered he was in the middle of Bellevue and had been nearly run down by a phaeton driven by Douglas Milner, a social dandy John met during his stay in Newport. John thought this heir to a railroad estate puffed up and arrogant, but generally benign. Douglas considered himself a “swell.” When he drove around in his buggy, Douglas, along with all the other “whips,” wore a silk topper and a bright green coat over a yellow striped waistcoat. The coat was decorated by a large boutonniere and gilded buttons.

  Now John found himself looking up at Douglas somewhat sheepishly because he apparently stepped from the curb right into the path of a set of matched bays.

  “Are you trying to get yourself killed?” Douglas called down good-naturedly. He’d managed to calm his team. “For if you are, I can tell you some better ways.”

  “That’s all right,” John said with a grin. He shook his head to clear it and decided he needed to concentrate more on what he was doing.

  “Climb up and I’ll give you a ride. By the by, where is your buggy?”

  “Left it in the carriage house. And no thanks, I think I’ll walk.”

  “And step in front of someone else? I insist you hop up here.”

  In the end it seemed easier to accede to Douglas. With a sigh, John settled back against the leather seat.

  “Don’t blame you for being upset, you know. This can be a sticky business.” Douglas gave a flick of his wrists and the bays pranced off down the street.

  It took a moment for John to realize what Douglas said and that he expected a response. Since he knew why he was upset, but doubted anyone else did, he didn’t know how to respond. John’s eyes narrowed. “How do you mean?”

  “The Fiskes,” Douglas said with a shrug. “It’s a good thing duels are no longer the thing. It would be a shame to have to kill old Franklin.”

  “Kill Franklin?” Admittedly he was extremely angry with the older man, but he didn’t think killing him was called for.

  “Well, you probably could get away with just wounding him, but—”

  “Listen, Douglas, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Sorry, old chap. Just a little joke. Several of us down at the Reading Room were speculating on what old Franklin would do about you compromising his daughter. Not that I blame you. I’ve thought about... well, you know. Eleanor may not be a great beauty, but she does have a certain appeal. Hell, what are you doing?”

  What John had done was grab the ribbons from Douglas and none too gently reined the high-strung bays to a stop. Then he faced a startled Douglas. “Tell me precisely what you’re talking about and do it now!”

  “No reason to get upset, old man—”

  With his free hand John grabbed the front of Douglas’s emerald green lapels.

  “All right. All right. Sir Alfred is spreading the word that you and Eleanor were alone in a fisherman’s hut after you were both swept overboard.” Despite his trussed up position, Douglas managed a smirk on his boyish face. “Sir Alfred said you two were caught in a pretty compromising position, if you know what I mean.”

  For one raging moment John considered pounding his fist into Douglas Milner’s freckled nose. Then reason took hold and he decided it wasn’t worth the effort. With a shove he let him go, then leaped from the carriage.

  “Wait... John. What are you going to do? No need to be upset. It’s not as if anyone is making you marry the chit.”

  Before the last word was out, John bounded onto the seat and grabbed Douglas’s starched shirtfront. “Never... ever refer to Miss Fiske as anything but a lady.” Before the startled Douglas could catch his breath John was back on the road, jogging toward
Oakgate.

  ~ ~ ~

  Another afternoon picnic, like so many boring others. Only Eleanor could detect a slight charge in the air, like the buzz of a hundred bees. Not one of the guests said a word to her about the ugly rumors, but she’d heard them nonetheless.

  Her mother had raged into her room last evening, angrier than Eleanor had ever seen her. Mrs. Van Mullin had let it slip over tea that Eleanor was the principal topic of conversation, especially among the young men of Newport. Word was that she’d been compromised by John Bonner on the day she fell overboard.

  “I can hardly credit the truth of it, Eleanor, but the very hint of scandal will ruin your chances with Sir Alfred.”

  “Why, Mother?”

  “Why?” Matilda’s face grew redder with each passing minute. “Because he will want a bride above reproach, of course.”

  “No, I was asking why you can’t believe that I was compromised.”

  “You stupid girl, to even ask such a question!” She stormed across the room and then back. “John Bonner may be crude and lacking in manners, but he isn’t stupid. What he wanted from you was a place in society. Seducing you was hardly a means to that end. And it certainly wasn’t as if he was swept away by passion.” Her expression when she looked at her daughter made it clear why she thought that impossible.

  “At any rate we, shall have to counter this nonsense. I shall give a picnic tomorrow. Mrs. Van Mullin and Alexandra have already agreed to come, and no one else will dare not show their faces. I only wish your father had the decency to be here.” She continued pacing the area between the door and window, making plans. “You, of course, shall have to be above reproach in your dealing with everyone, especially Sir Alfred. I’m certain your silly rejection of his proposal caused him to say what he did.”

  “Sir Alfred started the rumor?” Eleanor was incensed.

  Matilda made a tsking sound with her tongue. “Simply wounded male pride which you must do your best to assuage, Eleanor.”