The Bride (The Wedding Series) - By Christine Dorsey Page 0,19

kiss was sweet, and dizzying and when John separated them enough to rest his forehead against hers he felt terrific.

“I shall build you a mansion on Fifth Avenue grander than even the Vanderbilts.”

Eleanor giggled. “Whatever for?”

Straightening, John met her gaze. “For you to live in, of course.”

“Oh.” She pulled away from him and stepped into the sunshine.

Watching her slim, straight back John wished she’d come back to the shelter of his arms. “There will be a summer house for you and the children in Newport, too.”

“I see.” She continued to stare out toward the sea.

“I don’t understand. Do you want more? A chateau in France, a—”

“Goodness, stop.” She turned back to face him and John was relieved to see her smiling. Something about her stance had made him think she was angry... or disappointed. “I...” she began, then seemingly thought better of it and shook her head.

“Tell me, Ellie. What do you want?”

She looked first at the toes of her shoes, and then at him. “I thought perhaps we would live in Montana.”

“Well...” John speared his fingers back through his dark curls. What of his mansion in New York, his cottage in Newport? His acceptance? “I’m not sure you’d like Montana,” he said lamely.

“Oh, but you do.” She rushed forward to grasp his hands in both of hers. “I can tell by the tone of your voice when you talk about it. The open sky. The mountains.” She looked up at him beseechingly. “The cabin that you built yourself.”

“Eleanor.” John shook his head. “You don’t understand. Montana is nothing like this. There are no servants or yachts or balls... nothing that you’re used to. Now admit it, you’d be unhappy if you couldn’t call on your friends or show off your gowns.”

“Do you think so?” she asked, wondering if he knew her at all, but she went eagerly into his arms when he reached for her.

She hadn’t meant for him to actually answer her... at least John didn’t think she did. In any event, he didn’t. There were too many other things to discuss, like when they would marry, and what she would like for an engagement present.

“My mother is always talking about a proper wedding for me,” Eleanor said as they walked along the stretch of sandy beach hand in hand.

“Then you shall have it. At St. Patrick’s perhaps. With everyone who is anyone hoping for an invitation.” John found himself wanting this for her more than himself. The way he felt right now, looking down into her smiling face he would give her anything his considerable fortune could buy. “Would you like that? A wedding to rival any that’s been held before.”

“It shall be a wedding like no other,” she said, and before he could agree added, “For I shall be marrying you.”

~ ~ ~

“Have you lost your mind?”

Eleanor looked up from her book when her mother stormed into the salon. It was the one room in the cottage that didn’t remind her of a museum, and Eleanor had come here to sit, thinking her mother would be gone hours yet on her ritual calling.

“Answer me, Eleanor. I want to know what is wrong with you.”

“If you’d give me some clue as to what—”

“I’m speaking of your refusal of Sir Alfred’s proposal.”

“Oh.”

“Yes, oh.” Matilda yanked a giant diamond-studded hat pin from the pile of straw and feathers on her head and tossed the concoction aside. It landed on the edge of a brocade chair then slithered to the marble floor. “What were you thinking?” She hurried on without giving Eleanor a chance to answer. “Haven’t I worked hard enough to get him to propose? To give you a proper wedding? To make you a Lady?” She paused, hands on hips and glared down at her daughter.

“I don’t love him.”

“Love!” Matilda spat out the word as if it were vile. “What does love have to do with it? For that matter what do you know of love?”

Eleanor didn’t answer, but she didn’t look away either.

“You always were a silly girl, Eleanor, believing in fairy tales and happy endings. Haven’t you learned yet how foolish that is?” Matilda jerked kid gloves from her hand finger by finger. “Perhaps if I talk to Sir Alfred? Explain that—”

“There’s nothing to explain, because I won’t marry him.” She and John had agreed to wait until her father returned from New York to announce their plans, but Eleanor decided it best her mother know. “I love John Bonner and he loves me. We are