The Bride Page 7

  Her mother stormed out of the room before Eleanor could tell her she had no intention of assuaging Sir Alfred or anyone else. Her first reaction was to refuse to go to the stupid picnic. But after thinking it over she decided she would go. And as far as Sir Alfred was concerned... well, she would tell him exactly what she thought of him. What could her parents do but banish her from their house. Perhaps she’d be sent abroad.

  Not that it mattered. She felt as if her life was over. And all because of John Bonner. Of his betrayal. She loved him. Thought of him constantly. But he obviously didn’t care a whit for her. He hadn’t so much as tried to see her since the day she confronted him.

  Alice Maitland was the first to approach her. The petite beauty’s smile was smug. “Dear Eleanor,” she said, her fan fluttering. “How are you?”

  “Very well, Alice. And you?”

  “I’m fine, naturally, but I’m so concerned about you. Your dip in the ocean... and everything.”

  “Well, as you can see, I—”

  “You do look different. Your gown is, well, it’s lovely.”

  “Thank you. I had it made while in Europe.” It was one of the few her mother hadn’t controlled and Matilda hated it. But Eleanor loved the simple lines and soft color. “If you’ll excuse me, I must have a word with Sir Alfred.”

  Eleanor had seen him enter the grounds and wanted to have her say before her nerve deserted her. But while she was moving through the chatting throng there was a commotion on the lower loggia. Eleanor looked up to see John Bonner pushing his way past Mr. Bledsoe the butler.

  “John.” Eleanor tried to move toward him, but by now everyone else had also noticed the trouble and they surged forward as well. But she could still see him and watched in astonishment as he broke free of the servant and strode toward Sir Alfred. Those around the British peer melted back like a receding wave and by the expression on John Bonner’s face, Eleanor couldn’t blame them.

  She was too far away to hear what was said, but it was obvious, the two men were arguing. When Sir Alfred took a swing at John the cream of Newport society gasped. That punch missed, but John’s didn’t. Eleanor couldn’t help smiling when Sir Alfred landed flat on his back on the carpet of perfectly manicured grass.

  But apparently there were those who did not approve of John’s behavior. Out of the corner of her eye, Eleanor spotted her mother leading a dozen servants across the yard. Several of the men worked in the garden and were burly fellows.

  Eleanor called out to warn John, but she didn’t think he heard her. Then she lost sight of him. But moments later he reappeared. And he was coming straight toward her. As before, the crowd opened for him, until he was standing right in front of her.

  His dark hair was mussed and his cravat crooked. Eleanor also noticed several of his knuckles were skinned and bleeding. But mostly she noticed his eyes, dark and intense, staring into hers.

  The other guests seemed to disappear and it was only she and John standing there rooted to the spot. And then the sound of her mother’s voice screeched through the silence. John and Eleanor looked around at the same time.

  “You have to go,” Eleanor urged, placing her hand on his sleeve. She noticed now that several of the men in her mother’s makeshift army had clubs. John must have seen it, too, but he held his ground.

  “Ellie, I...”

  “John!” Eleanor gave him a shove.

  “I’m not leaving till I have my say.” Ignoring the group hurrying toward him from the left, John faced Eleanor. “I love you.” He grabbed her hands. “I didn’t intend to and I don’t know when or how it happened, but it did. I love you more than life itself, Ellie.” He squeezed her fingers. “I don’t give a damn about society or anything but you.” He swallowed ignoring the stamp of approaching feet to the side. “I know I’ve messed things up for you and you probably can’t forgive me but I had to let you know how I feel.”

  He was going to leave. Eleanor could feel it. He loved her, but he planned to sacrifice that love so she could continue as she was. Well, Eleanor had no intention of staying as she was. Before he could turn away she grabbed his arm.

  “Don’t go without me.” His grin showed he was hoping she’d say that. “I love you, too.”

  Before she could finish her words he scooped her up. Her gown flowed down over his forearms and she pressed herself into his body. But as quickly as he picked her up, he let her down. Then turned to face Matilda and her enforcers.

  “I’m leaving here, Mrs. Fiske. And I’m taking Ellie with me.”

  “You are doing no such thing.” She motioned for the men behind her to step forward. But Eleanor was faster. She was in front of John, facing her mother before anyone could move.

  “I am leaving, Mother. And I’m going with John. You can’t stop me. But I’d like your blessing.”

  “Eleanor, I demand that you go to your room.”

  “No Mother.”

  “You are a foolish, stupid girl.”

  Eleanor felt John stiffen behind her but she glanced back and shook her head, giving him a sad smile. “I’m sorry you feel that way, Mother.” Then looking back at John, she asked, “Are you ready?”

  In response he again scooped her into his arms. Skirting Eleanor’s mother and the servants John strode toward the house. Behind them the guests started whispering among themselves but John and Eleanor didn’t notice. Nor did they care.

  Epilogue

  The bride wore a white gown designed by Worth. It was long and flowing, with seed pearls and apple blossoms, the cut complimenting her willowy figure. She was glowing with happiness and everyone in Butte, Montana thought John Bonner the luckiest of men.

  None more than John Bonner himself. As he stood by the flower festooned altar in the small clapboard church waiting for Eleanor Fiske... his Ellie... to walk down the aisle he couldn’t help congratulating himself. He’d gone in search of a bride who could insulate him from the hurts of his past. And he’d found one.

  But her position in society had nothing to do with it. Ellie... was Ellie. He could talk to her about his past and she listened. She sympathized and accepted. And John accepted himself.

  She even suggested a wedding trip to New Orleans. At first John was adamantly against it. Then he began to see the wisdom of facing his past. So they were going to make the trip to Louisiana. But not for a month or so, which was how long John figured he’d keep Ellie holed up in his cabin above Butte.

  The preacher’s wife began playing music—on a piano John brought in by rail for the occasion—and he looked toward the vestibule where Eleanor stood. He smiled and so did she, then her father took her arm and she began the short walk up the aisle.

  It wasn’t St. Patrick’s Cathedral on Fifth Avenue, but Eleanor insisted she didn’t want to be married there and John agreed. They were taking their vows where they planned to live and raise their family. Amid the people who would be their neighbors.

  There were some scions of society sitting shoulder to shoulder with Butte’s miners and townfolk. Even Eleanor’s mother had relented and come. But it was by no means the social event of the season. It was however, the most important event of John Bonner’s life.

  The ceremony was short and John tried to concentrate on the words, but he kept losing himself in Ellie’s eyes. And then it was over and he was kissing her and holding her and wishing they didn’t have a three-hour ride by buckboard till they were home.

  ~ ~ ~

  “Well, this is it.” John reined the horses to a stop in front of the two-room cabin he’d built as a retreat for himself.

  “Oh my,” she said and climbed from the seat before he could help her down. “Oh my.” She walked slowly toward the front door.

  “I know it’s small, but I can add on, or we can build another house. Hell, Ellie we can still go back and have something built on Fifth Avenue if you like.” John leaped from the seat and tried to see the cabin as she saw it. Even though he had some of his men working on it, cleaning it and plantin
g some flowers, it still was only a small cabin in the mountains. “I know it isn’t what you’re used to.”

  She looked at him, her expression stricken and John’s stomach dropped. But her next words had him grinning. “I love it here, and I want to stay.”

  His arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her toward him. “We can do anything you like.” His lips brushed hers, then came back to linger. By the time they parted, they both had a difficult time catching their breath. “I think I’d like to go inside,” Eleanor said, then laughed as John lifted her into his arms.

  Once in the bedroom it didn’t take them long to rid each other of their wedding clothes. They lay on the huge bed, the late afternoon sunlight streaming through the windows, admiring each other.

  “You’re so beautiful.” John dipped his lips to the valley between Eleanor’s breasts and she wove her fingers through the raw-silk texture of his hair. “I have dreamed about this. About holding you and loving you.” His kiss roamed lower till she was writhing beneath him.

  She was as responsive and loving as the time in the fisherman’s hut... the only time he’d touched her. For the month since they left Newport John had held his passion in check—showing a restraint he didn’t know he had. But now he was free to express his love for her to the fullest.

  And he did, sinking into her body and watching her eyes as they both spiraled to an explosive release. His forehead touched hers. “I love you.”

  “And I love you, too.”

  John smiled and gathered her close. “I suppose our wedding wasn’t the proper affair, you thought you’d have.”

  “Oh, I don’t know.” Eleanor nestled her nose into the dark curls covering his chest. “We have love, John. I think that made it a very proper wedding.”

  Please read on for an excerpt from The Wedding Cake.

  The Wedding Cake

  Cinnamon’s Wedding Cake

  1........cup unsalted butter

  1 1/4..cups superfine sugar

  4........eggs, separated

  4........cups all-purpose flour, sifted

  1/4.....teaspoon cinnamon

  4 1/2..cups dried fruit (apricots, currants)

  1........cup candied orange peel

  1/2.....cup walnuts, chopped

  1........ounce compressed fresh yeast

  2/3.....cup milk

  Cream butter and sugar. Beat in egg yolks. Mix together flour and cinnamon and add in small portions (to prevent lumping) to the sugar mixture. Then beat in dried fruit, candied peel, and nuts, again in small portions.

  Cream yeast with small amount of milk and add to cake mixture. Then add enough of the remaining milk to form a thick paste. Beat the egg whites until frothy and blend them into the cake mixture. Cover and let stand in warm place for 1 hour.

  Preheat oven to 325 degrees. Butter a 9-inch springform cake pan and line the bottom with parchment paper and butter the paper. Work the batter with hands to form stiff paste. Turn it into the pan and bake for 2 1/2 hours, or until skewer pushed into center comes out dry. During baking, cover cake with baking parchment if it is getting too dark.

  For graduated layers use different size pans and multiply recipe accordingly.

  Blissful Frosting

  1 1/4....cups butter, softened

  4..........cups powdered sugar, sifted

  2..........teaspoons rose water

  1 1/2....cups heavy cream, whipped

  3..........candied flowers

  Combine butter, 1 cup of sugar and rose water, beating at medium speed. Add remaining powdered sugar alternately with whipping cream, beating well with each addition. Beat at high speed until smooth.

  Ice cooled cake and decorate with candied flowers.

  One

  Massachusetts, 1886

  “For heaven’s sake, Biddy, would you hush up?” Cinnamon lifted a towel above her head and resumed slapping at the small fire on the kitchen floor. “Do you want the entire household to crash down on us?”

  “Move back, lass.”

  “What?” Cinnamon’s head turned at the sound of the unfamiliar male voice. “Who are you?”

  “As I said, move out of the way.” The man delivered the words as he tossed water from the pantry bucket onto the burning mess.

  “Ohhhh!” Cold seeped through Cinnamon’s petticoats, wetting her legs, soaking through her new kid boots. “What are you doing?” She looked down to see the stranger grabbing the hem of her sodden skirt. When she rapped his shoulder, he glanced up, giving her a smile that made her wet toes curl.

  “Not much harm done, then,” he said in a voice softened by a Scottish burr. “Only scorched the outer layer.”

  Not much harm done? Her gown was ruined—and her new boots with the ribbon lacings. “Look at me. I’m all wet!” Then something he’d said hit her. “Outer layer of what?” But the man, still kneeling at her feet, had turned his attention to the tumbled baking tins not far from her on the floor.

  “Yer skirt,” he tossed absently over his shoulder.

  She glanced down at the front of her gown. “It’s ruined.” She pulled at the soaked fabric. Who was this impertinent man?

  “Better a bit of silk and lace than yerself, I’d say.” He stopped examining the charred concoction on the floor and looked up at her again, inquiry shadowing his deep blue eyes. “Ye are all right, aren’t ye?”

  “Of course, I’m all right.” She just wished she could say the same for her gown, her new boots, and her creation. “Why shouldn’t I”—she started to say as he stood—“be,” she finished after swallowing. Goodness he was tall and broad-shouldered, dwarfing her not petite height which, of course, was no reason for her tongue to trip over itself.

  “Yer hem was afire,” he said simply.

  “I don’t understand how that could happen.” She bent forward, gathering up yards of silk. “I was so careful not to get too close to the flames.”

  He shrugged as if to say she could see the proof herself which she did in the form of wet, seared yellow silk.

  “Well, it must have happened when you came toward me. When l looked around,” she added.

  Again he just shrugged, a gesture she was beginning to find annoying. He used her fire-fighting towel to lift one of the pans containing the burned remains of her afternoon’s work.

  “What was it?” he asked, giving her that smile again.

  “A cake,” she answered, grabbing the pan and burning her palm. She did her best to muffle her gasp of pain.

  “ ’Tis still hot,” he told her... a bit too late in her opinion, but she thanked him anyway. The tilt of his head showed he doubted her expression of gratitude.

  “Here, let me see.”

  “That won’t be necessary. I’m fine.” But her words did not stop him from prying her fingers open to examine her palm. His hands were large, sun-darkened, and surprisingly gentle.

  “Doesn’t look too bad, a bit red is all.”

  “Are you a physician, then?”

  He surprised her when he threw back his head and laughed, a deep booming sound that made Biddy, cowering by the doorway, look up. “Hardly,” he answered. “Just a man who’s seen his share of burns and scrapes.”

  Cinnamon managed a half-smile. “How interesting.” He still held her hand, which wasn’t unpleasant but was highly improper, as was this meeting. She pulled her hand free, then surveyed the puddled, soggy, burned cake with a sigh.

  “I wouldn’t think they’ll be too angry with ye.”

  She lifted her wet skirt as she stepped around him, then paused and caught his eye. “Who?”

  “Why, your employers, lass. Though I’ve been told Mrs. Murphy can be a bit demanding, the old captain seems right enough.”

  Cinnamon lifted her eyebrows. “Oh, really? That’s what you’ve heard?”

  “Aye.” He smiled down at her. “But then ye would know better than I.”

  “Yes, I imagine I would,” she agreed, amused despite his forthright comments about her parents. He thou
ght she was the cook—in a silk gown and kid boots?

  “And perhaps they won’t find out,” he said, waving aside some lingering smoke. “I know for a fact that Mr. Murphy is not at home, or at least he wasn’t ten minutes ago.”

  “And just how do you know that about my... my employer?” Cinnamon ignored Biddy’s startled gasp.

  “I have an appointment with him in the library,” he added a bit pompously. Then his eyes widened as if he just realized what he’d said. He muttered a curse, then a quick apology. “I’d like to stay and help ye clean up the mess”—he ineffectively swiped at the water stains on his trousers—“but I fear I may be late for my appointment. Even though it was Mr. Murphy himself who was tardy to begin with. But I suppose schedules are different for the wealthy,” he said, grinning.

  “You’re probably right.” Cinnamon gave him her best smile. He really was handsome. She couldn’t help adding, “You won’t be telling Mr. Murphy what I did now, will you? I mean the fire and all.”

  “Well, I suppose I could be persuaded not to mention what I know—for a price.”

  “A price?” She cocked her head, looking at him through her lashes. Did he mean to extort money from her? Perhaps he did know who she was. Perhaps he had finally realized that no cook would be wearing yellow silk and kid boots. “Whatever could that be?”

  He rubbed his chin as if deep in thought. “A kiss would no doubt seal my lips.”

  “A kiss?” She certainly hadn’t expected that. Her smile faded.

  “Miss Cinnamon ain’t no—”

  “Good at baking cakes,” she finished for her hapless maid, who unfortunately had picked that moment to regain her tongue.

  “But, miss—”

  “A kiss it is,” she said, quieting Biddy. Despite the fact that she’d never see this man again, she didn’t want him to know she’d been making light of him. She saw no reason to embarrass him. After all, he had tried to help her. Perhaps a bit overzealously but still...

  Besides, what could it hurt? She’d let him give her a peck like her fiancé, Lord Alfred, had. Then he’d be off to see her father, none the wiser.