The Bride (The Wedding Series) - By Christine Dorsey Page 0,8

in Devon. Eleanor knew she should pay attention. After all, her mother planned for her to share that estate with him. But by the time the ladies excused themselves so the gentlemen could enjoy their brandy, Eleanor nearly jumped up, so anxious was she to escape his lordship.

Her mother only had time for a quick chastisement about the spilled wine before they were within earshot of Mrs. Harper Van Mullen and her married daughter Alexandra Quince. Matilda had made certain there was no one present who would tempt Sir Alfred more than her daughter.

But the talk wasn’t of Sir Alfred.

“Matilda, I must say, I’m surprised.” Alexandra lifted a porcelain tea cup to her perfect rosebud lips.

“Really. And why is that?”

“Your inclusion of Mr. Bonner, of course.” The cup slipped onto the saucer with nary a rattle. “Don’t misunderstand, he appears perfectly delightful. All that masculine power. But truthfully, Matilda.” Her delicate eyebrows rose. “I didn’t know he was accepted.”

The remark left her mother momentarily speechless much to Eleanor’s amusement, but she recovered quickly.

“He’s a friend of Mr. Fiske’s from Wall Street.”

“Yes, he mentioned as much at dinner. And I do believe Mr. Quince is familiar with him.”

“No doubt.” Matilda straightened her back. “He’s also acquainted with the Vanderbilts, I believe.”

“Bonner. Bonner.” Mrs. Van Mullen wrinkled her brow. “I don’t believe I know of any Bonners, Matilda.”

“You probably wouldn’t,” Eleanor said with as straight a face as she could. “He’s of the Montana Bonners.”

“The Montana Bonners?” The wrinkles sank deeper in her forehead. “But I—”

“Eleanor was joking with you,” Matilda glared at her daughter. “And no one really appreciates it, dear.”

Mrs. Van Mullen still had a perplexed expression on her round face when the gentlemen joined the ladies in the drawing room. Her daughter’s face on the other hand was wreathed in smiles. And they were all aimed toward John Bonner. Eleanor couldn’t help but wonder how the distinguished Mr. Quince, who was spending the week in New York, would like the way his wife devoured the Westerner with her eyes.

For herself, Eleanor didn’t like it one bit. But as she sat next to Sir Alfred, listening to Alexandra play the piano, she didn’t know what she could do about it. Or why she should care for that matter.

Mr. and Mrs. Van Mullen were the first to leave, but when they suggested Alexandra accompany them, she demurred. “I brought my own coach... remember?”

But somehow she seemed to have forgotten that when some twenty minutes later John Bonner announced he was taking his leave.

“Do you suppose you could see me home?” she purred, her hand on his forearm. “My husband is in New York and I worry about traveling alone at night.”

“You should have gone with your parents?’ The words were out of Eleanor’s mouth before she could stop them. John Bonner looked amused, Alexandra annoyed, and Matilda appalled. It was stupid, Eleanor knew. And it didn’t change a thing. John Bonner bid his good nights, passing by her briefly and clasping her hand and then left with Alexandra.

Soon after that Sir Alfred took his leave, promising to see Eleanor day after next for a sailing excursion with her father.

Eleanor headed for the hallway, only to be waylaid by her mother. As the two climbed the stairs to Eleanor’s room, Matilda ran over the list of her daughter’s transgressions of the evening. The reprimands about the spilled wine and awkwardness were expected, both of them all too familiar. But as they entered Eleanor’s room her mother started on a novel refrain.

“I just don’t know what has come over you. The things you say. Have you no sense of decorum?” She shut the door behind her. “What is Sir Alfred to think?”

Eleanor shut her eyes. “I don’t believe he thinks of me one way or the other.”

“That’s absurd. And if it is true, it’s your own fault. Questioning Alexandra about her arrangements to get home.”

“I think what she had in mind for Mr. Bonner was evident to everyone.”

Matilda stretched to her full height. “Our guest is a respectably married woman. One I’ve known for years. If there was any problem tonight it was with that Mr. Bonner.” Her gaze narrowed. “I have no idea why your father continues to invite him, but I shall find out.”

“I thought he was a friend of the Vanderbilts.”

“Oh goodness, Eleanor, how can you be so naive? Of course he isn’t. But what else could I say?” With a swish of her fan she dismissed her lie. “But