The Bride (The Wedding Series) - By Christine Dorsey Page 0,5

For a moment Eleanor luxuriated in that and the feel of his large hand on the small of her back. She could have gone on like that forever if he hadn’t spoken.

“I don’t think your mother wanted me to dance with you.”

Eleanor glanced up. “Oh, I’m sure that isn’t the case,” she hastened to lie, but could feel the telltale color creep up her neck. Dropping her head she tried to concentrate on his pearl shirt buttons.

“Please, don’t do that.”

“What?”

“Look down. I’d much rather see your pretty face than the top of your head... or worse, this stupid feather.”

It shouldn’t have struck her as funny. It was part of her apparel he was maligning. But she couldn’t help laughing. When she lifted her eyes she saw that he was grinning down at her.

“But you know, of course, the headdress, along with my gown was designed by the Messrs. Redfern, and that they also dress Princess Beatrice?”

“Queen Victoria’s daughter?” John shook his head. “I am impressed.”

“Don’t be. My mother actually requested the feathers. She’s very fond of them.”

“And what about you?”

“I think they’re quite silly.”

She laughed again and John found himself staring. There were dimples beside her mouth that were very fetching. Her entire face was when she smiled. Perhaps she wasn’t as plain as he first thought.

Nor as shy either when she was away from the diamond-encrusted iron fist of her mother.

“Would you care to walk with me onto the veranda?” The music had stopped and John felt his chance of getting to know Eleanor slipping away. This entire process was going much too slowly for him. He wasn’t a patient man. He already decided to marry her and to his way of thinking it was time to do it and move on.

Even his conscience was clear. Though he wasn’t interested in a love match he felt, in all humility, that Eleanor Fiske would be better off married to him than the impoverished Englishman. And she was certain to find more joy than if she continued to live with her harridan of a mother.

So with that conclusion made, and his desire to return to Montana, he was ready to proceed quickly.

Except... etiquette wouldn’t allow it.

Actually etiquette, along with Matilda Fiske, would frown on his request that Eleanor join him for a stroll. It didn’t matter that half the dancers had adjourned to take advantage of the sea breezes, they would still be considered unchaperoned.

John opened his mouth to retract his offer and apologize when she surprised him by laying her hand on his arm. “I would love a breath of fresh air, Charles.”

The moment she said the name Eleanor realized her mistake. But it was too late to pull the word back and it was obvious from the expression on her companion’s handsome face that he heard her call him the name of Linette’s lover from the novel she was reading. Mortification filled her as it never had before. Her hand dropped away from his arm and flew to her mouth.

“Please,” was all Eleanor could utter before she turned and fled the room. She didn’t stop until she had plodded across the half mile that separated the two estates. Once at Oakgate she wrote a note and sent it with a servant to her mother, pleading sudden illness.

She stripped off the jewel-encrusted gown without ringing for her maid, untied her corset, taking her first good breath of the evening and slid into bed. She planned to toss the horrible novel under the intricately carved bedstead, but as soon as she touched the well thumbed pages she couldn’t help opening it.

But as she read of Charles and Linette’s bittersweet love affair, it was John Bonner and herself that she saw.

Three

He came to dinner.

The sight of John Bonner standing next to the yellow marble mantel in the drawing room nearly caused Eleanor to turn and flee back up the stairs to the questionable comfort of her bedroom. How she managed to remain calm enough to continue into the room she didn’t know. Especially once she noticed the expression on her mother’s face. It was obvious Matilda hadn’t expected Mr. Bonner. Given the fact that her mother planned every aspect of the family’s social life in Newport as if she were a general waging war, her ignorance was difficult to comprehend.

Especially since tonight was to be an intimate supper. The guest list was limited to a few close acquaintances and Sir Alfred, of course. Eleanor had been instructed to wear a satin gown