The Bride Read online

  ~ ~ ~

  She wanted to see him. Eleanor was fairly bursting from her skin with the need to be with John Bonner. To hear his voice. To touch his whisker-roughened cheek. To see his grin.

  “Would you sit still, Eleanor.” Matilda straightened her hat and stared out the victoria’s window at the procession of polished black carriages traveling along the horseshoe shaped circuit along Bellevue Avenue.

  “I don’t know why I had to come calling with you this afternoon, Mother.” Eleanor let out her breath in exasperation.

  “I told you. Your escapade is the talk of Newport and we have to show everyone that you are all right.” Matilda settled back against the velvet upholstery. “There’s Minny Simpson, sending her card into the Van Mullins’. Doesn’t she realize they aren’t going to receive her?”

  The Van Mullins received Eleanor and her mother, of course. While they would normally have had their footman simply deliver their card to Mrs. Van Mullin’s footman, today Matilda marched Eleanor up to the door.

  The drawing room was decorated in French Gothic, with huge crystal chandeliers hanging from the frescoed ceiling. Eleanor sat on a coral silk chair and listened as Mrs. Van Mullin went on and on about her rescue at sea.

  “I just can’t believe how gallantly you were plucked from the arms of death,” she remarked, spreading her own arms out in a melodramatic parody of her words. She wore a collar that nearly touched her chin and Eleanor wondered how she could swallow, wrapped up as she was.

  Of course, Eleanor was none too comfortable herself. Her mother had chosen the gown, a dark burgundy with ruffles and bows and enough padding to make her feel she might topple over backwards when she walked. Her eyes strayed to the ceiling high windows and she looked longingly out over the manicured lawn to the sea below. If she could only escape for a bit to walk along the rocky shore, perhaps John would be waiting for her.

  Eleanor didn’t realize how much her mind had wondered until her mother reached over and gave her a pinch. “Mrs. Van Mullin asked you a question, dear.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry.” Eleanor felt color creep up to her cheeks.

  “It’s to be expected Eleanor, after what you’ve been through. I’m just so thankful Sir Alfred was there to rescue you.”

  “Sir Alfred?” Eleanor blinked, “It wasn’t Sir—”

  “Of course, he wasn’t alone,” Matilda interrupted. “My dear Franklin searched frantically for our Eleanor, too.”

  “But—”

  “Now we mustn’t bore Mrs. Van Mullin with all the details, Eleanor. I’m sure she has calls to make and goodness knows we do.”

  Matilda managed to hustle them out of the house smoothly and it wasn’t until mother and daughter were settled in the carriage that Eleanor asked, “What were you saying in there? You know very well it was John Bonner who rescued me.”

  Matilda took a deep breath, sucking her cheeks in as she did. “It really isn’t important that everyone know all the details.”

  “Leaving out a few details is different from lying, Mother.”

  “That will be enough, Eleanor. I have heard entirely too much about this John Bonner. Entirely too much.”

  The rest of their ride was accomplished in silence. Matilda left her card at a half-dozen mansions, then headed home to see who had called on her while she was away. Such a silly routine, Eleanor thought. Sometimes the good ladies of Newport society dressed themselves, spent the afternoon on “visits” and never saw anyone.

  But at least this visiting time was over and Eleanor decided she would not go with her mother tomorrow. Somehow she would get word to John Bonner to meet her. Perhaps down past the orchard where they—

  “Are you listening to me, Eleanor?”

  “What? Oh, yes. You said to wear the purple Worth gown... didn’t you?”

  “I said that Sir Alfred is joining us this evening and that you are to take special care with your toilette.”

  “Yes, Mother.”

  “And Eleanor do try to think of something clever to say to Sir Alfred tonight.”

  As it turned out, Eleanor had no trouble with what to say to Sir Alfred. “I’m sorry, but I can’t.” They were walking along the porch, enjoying the sea breeze. And Sir Alfred had just asked her to marry him.

  He stopped, and in the light shining through the French doors, Eleanor could see the astonished expression on his pinched face. “I don’t understand. I thought you wished to wed me.”

  “If I’ve given you that impression, please forgive me.”

  His eyes narrowed and he reached out grabbing hold of the balustrade with both hands. Hunched forward, he stared out toward the sea for so long Eleanor was at a loss what to do. She would never have expected her refusal to affect him so. Tentatively she reached out and touched his sleeve.

  “Sir Alfred, I don’t think—”

  “That’s quite right, Miss Fiske. You don’t think.” He turned on her so quickly, Eleanor stepped back, her hand fluttering to her throat. “You have been hovering about me all summer. And your mother certainly led me to think—”

  “My mother does not speak for me.”

  “She has for as long as I’ve known you.”

  Eleanor straightened to her full height, regardless that it made her nearly as tall as Sir Alfred. “I think you should go.”

  He didn’t say anything for the longest time, only stared at her, his jaw clenched. When he did speak his voice was cool. “It’s that Bonner, isn’t it?”

  Eleanor held his gaze, refusing to answer.

  “You were fine until he appeared. Now...”

  Not even waiting to hear his impression of her now, Eleanor turned and reached for the gold doorknob. But before she could open the French door his hand clamped across her wrist.

  “You will be sorry, Eleanor,” was all he said before opening the door himself and bowing her in.

  But she wasn’t sorry. Not in the least. And tomorrow she would find a way to see John.

  Seven

  The young woman hurrying down the path toward him bore little resemblance to the Eleanor Fiske John met two weeks ago. She was smiling, a smile that lit up her face, and made John do the same. Her clear, blue-green eyes sparkled.

  She was dressed differently, too. Her gown was a pale blue trimmed in lace. The lines accentuated her slim body, a fact John didn’t miss as he stepped from the shade of a pear tree.

  Eleanor paused when she saw him and a lovely blush of pink crept over her cheeks. She met his stare, then quickly glanced away, only to look back and smile. “I was hoping you would come.”

  John took another step toward her. “After receiving your message, nothing could have kept me away.”

  “I hope you don’t think me too bold... I mean in sending you a note.”

  In response John gave into his desire and took another step, wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into his embrace. She came willingly, with a shudder he could feel vibrate from her body to his. He held her a moment before lifting her chin with his finger. Her eyes glistened when she looked up.

  “You are all right, aren’t you? No chills or ill effects from your dip in the Atlantic?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “I called yesterday but was told you were not receiving visitors.” He actually did a lot more than that, trying to see her. When the direct method failed, John tried to find Franklin Fiske at the Reading Room, only to learn that the older man left for New York earlier in the day. Cursing Franklin’s timing, John visited several of his new acquaintances trying to wrangle an invitation to Oakgate. As far as he could tell there was only one invited guest last night.

  He leaned over and brushed his lips against hers for no other reason than he felt like it.

  “I was so frightened,” she began and then turned from his embrace to walk along the rocks.

  “Being swept overboard is a terrifying experience.”

  “Not then.” Eleanor glanced around. “When my father came, and Sir Alfred.”

&n
bsp; “Ah.” John nodded, then began following her as she climbed along the rocks. “That was terrifying, too.”

  “You’re laughing at me.”

  “I assure you, I’m not.” John took her elbow, helping her over a rock made slippery by the salt spray off the sea. He hoped... prayed Franklin didn’t suspect what happened in the fisherman’s shack. When they were off the rock and back on the path that led toward the beach John turned Eleanor to face him. “Did your father say anything to you?”

  “No.” Eleanor took a deep breath. “And Sir Alfred is so busy basking in the glory of saving my life, he isn’t likely to say anything even if he suspected.”

  “That’s good.”

  “Good?” Eleanor raised her brow. “Did you hear what I said? My mother is telling everyone who will listen how Sir Alfred risked his own life to save mine and he’s doing nothing to deny it.”

  “I didn’t jump in the ocean for recognition, Ellie.”

  Her eyes met his. “Why did you do it?”

  Her question took him back. Why had he done it? Certainly he wouldn’t have let her... anyone... simply drown. But John realized there had been no decision to save her. Hell, he wasn’t a great swimmer despite his youth on the Mississippi. He simply saw her fall overboard and went after her.

  John’s finger trailed down across her silken cheek. “I don’t know why.”

  “I love you.” She said the words without thinking. And by the expression on his face should have curbed her impulsivity. He appeared stricken and she could only imagine what he must think of her. Sending him a note. Her behavior in the shack. And now this. Because she couldn’t bare to face his rejection she turned and began walking back toward the house.

  He grabbed her arm, stopping her before she took three steps. His arms were hard and unyielding as he held her against him. “What did you say?” John could hardly believe his ears. He expected to win her eventually—her hand perhaps, not her love—using the socially acceptable rules of courtship. But they circumvented nearly all of those.

  “I want to go back inside.” Eleanor gave up squirming when she saw it did her no good.

  “No, you don’t. You want to stay right here.” Just as he did.

  The kiss proved him right... on both counts.

  As soon as their lips met her hands speared through his hair, then wrapped around his neck. And he felt his control slipping away. Her mouth opened, accepting him, and he nearly dragged her down on the sandy path.

  “Ellie.” His hand found the bodice covering her breast and squeezed gently. “We must stop this.”

  “Why?” Her question was little more than a breath of air. Her mouth pressed to his and this time she used her tongue to deepen the kiss. She could feel the hard bulge of his lower body through her skirts, and it made her knees tremble. Instinctively her thighs spread as wide as her petticoats would allow.

  Tendrils of sun-kissed hair escaped her upsweep as John trailed kisses down her neck. Her pulse beat frantically beneath his lips, and the scent of her skin was the most intoxicating... erotic thing he ever smelled. His head whirled and his body ached and the desire, born the first moment he saw her, fanned and frustrated on the floor of the fisherman’s hut, raged within him.

  With great effort he tore himself away and grabbed her shoulders. She was too stunned to resist when he pulled her beneath the branches of an elm. He flattened her against the bark, bracketing her face with his hands. When her lashes lowered he angled the heels of his palms.

  “Look at me, Eleanor.” She did... slowly. When her beautiful aquamarine gaze met his, he kissed her quickly, passionately.

  “We can’t continue this or we’ll end up.... You know how we’ll end up. And as much as I can’t wait to make love to you, I—”

  “You already have.” John kept her from lowering her face. “Back in the shack.”

  Realization dawned on him. She was so innocent. Yet so passionate. The combination was irresistible. Instructing her in the art of lovemaking would be a pleasure. One he could hardly wait to begin. But not this way. “What we did during the storm was wonderful. But we only touched.” His thumb skimmed around her jaw. “There is so much more.”

  Eleanor couldn’t imagine anything else. “But—”

  “I’ll show you, Ellie, if you’ll let me.” John tried to calm his breathing. “Marry me, Ellie. Marry me and I’ll spend a lifetime showing you.”

  She gasped, and the hands that were hanging by her side came up to grab hold of his elbows. For a woman who wondered if she’d ever marry despite the huge fortune she represented to have two proposals in as many days was unbelievable. But though she had no trouble answering the one from Sir Alfred, John’s proved more difficult. Not that she didn’t want to say yes. To scream yes from the top of the marble torrent decorating Oakgate’s roof.

  But there were complications. “I don’t know if my parents would allow me. I mean—”

  “I already have your father’s permission.”

  Her eyes opened wider. “You spoke with my father about this?”

  “I did. And he said yes.” John grinned. “Unlike his daughter.”

  “Oh my.” Eleanor laughed. “Yes. Yes.” Her face sobered. “A thousand times yes.”

  Leaning down until his lips almost touched hers, John relished the anticipation. “A thousand yeses are fine. But one is all I need.”

  The 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 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.