The Bride (The Wedding Series) - By Christine Dorsey Page 0,20
going to—”
“John Bonner.” Matilda shook her head. “I should have known your father’s stupidity would lead to this.” Her eyes narrowed and she took a step toward Eleanor.
“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,