The Bride (2 page)

A few discreet inquiries had told John all he needed to know about Franklin Fiske and his marriageable daughter. With bank notes in hand John walked across Wall Street and demanded to see Franklin Fiske. He’d found the pillar of society pacing back and forth in his mahogany paneled office. John offered him the cash he needed to cover his losses and Franklin had jumped at the salvation. He wasn’t getting out of the payment.

“I’ll get the money to pay you back somehow,” Franklin was saying as he pulled a large handkerchief from his frock coat pocket and wiped at his face. He perspired heavily though John thought the temperature very pleasant.

“I don’t want your money Franklin.” John had more money than he’d ever need. “I want you to live up to your end of our bargain.”

“But you can’t possibly want her now that you’ve seen her...” Franklin’s face mottled red. “I mean... I’ve given you the introduction you wished. And I’ll agree to the marriage if there is to be one. But you can hardly blame me if Eleanor didn’t fall madly in love with you at first glance.”

“I’m not after your daughter’s love, Franklin. Just her hand in marriage”

~ ~ ~

“Who is that man, Eleanor?”

“I... I don’t know.” Eleanor hurried to keep up with her mother as they walked across the lawn toward the marble statue of Neptune spouting water from his mouth. Eleanor always found it amusing, though knew better than to laugh.

“Well, certainly your father had enough manners to introduce you to him.” Matilda Fiske turned to face her daughter. “Do try not to stand so tall,” she said as she fluttered her hand across Eleanor’s skirt.

“His name is John Bonner and he’s from Montana.”

“Montana.” Matilda pursed her lips. “I wish your father would consult me before adding people to our guest list.” Matilda took a deep breath. “Well, I don’t imagine we shall have to bear his company again.”

Eleanor wasn’t too certain about that. She had the impression—though she wasn’t certain why—that her father planned to include John Bonner in many of his invitations this summer, but she didn’t mention that to her mother. For one thing she had no wish to provoke her mother’s wrath. For another, her mother had already moved onto her favorite topic.

Sir Alfred Farnsworth.

A proposal of marriage from the English baronet for her tall, plain daughter, was Matilda’s goal for this summer season. She wanted to plan a proper wedding. Eleanor knew it and had pretty much resigned herself to the inevitable. When Matilda made up her mind, there was no stopping her. The only problem with this plan was Sir Alfred himself. But Matilda had already explained to Eleanor that could be handled.

“He may flirt about and wish for other women, Eleanor, but by August you shall have your proposal. He will not pass up your trust fund.”

“But Alice Maitland also has a trust fund,” Eleanor pointed out in what she thought was irrefutable logic. Alice’s father was easily as wealthy as Eleanor’s, and petite, blond-haired Alice was Sir Alfred’s obvious choice in dancing partners.

“Don’t be obtuse, Eleanor. Alice would never settle for a near penniless Englishmen.”

Unlike you, she doesn’t have to. There are many suitors for Alice’s hand.

The unspoken words hung between them and Eleanor realized how correct her mother was. She was stupid. And tall and plain. And what in the world was she supposed to say to Sir Alfred?

He stood by the fountain as her mother had said, but he obviously wasn’t looking for her. Alice Maitland and two other women stood beside him. They were all laughing at something clever he’d said and Alice had her hand resting on the sleeve of his natty, cutaway coat.

Eleanor bit her lip and dutifully marched forward, her mother by her side, dreading the moment Sir Alfred looked up at her, wishing she could go back and listen to John Bonner talk about his copper mines.

“N
o.” she whispered. “You mustn’t.”

Linette tried to pull her hand from his but couldn’t.

“Say you love me,” he demanded. “You know it is true”

Before she could protest Charles swept her into his arms. The feel of his lips was—

“Eleanor, what is taking you so long?”

Slamming the novel shut, Eleanor jammed it beneath the pillow, clutching her hands together as her mother marched into the bedroom. The older woman stopped near the large unadorned marble mantel, her expression as dark as the boiserie paneled walls.

“I sent Nellie for you nearly a quarter of an hour ago,” she accused.

“Yes, I know you did. But I... I had something to do.” Feeling a blush creep up her neck Eleanor hoped the light from the high casement windows was too dim for her mother to notice. Though she probably wouldn’t think it unusual even if she did. After all, blushing was just one of Eleanor’s myriad faults Matilda felt her God given duty to eradicate.

“Well, do come on. Your father is waiting to escort us to the Longs’ ball.”

“Yes, Mother.” Eleanor gave a final wistful glance toward the rumpled pillow, wishing she could stay home and read the scandalous French novel. How wonderful it would be to lose herself in the pages, for a time to see herself brave and beautiful and adored by the handsome Charles. To feel passion—

“Do come along, Eleanor.” Matilda paused at the top of the yellow marble staircase, and turned an appraising eye on her daughter. “Try not to look so tall,” she said, her lips thinned in exasperation.

“I shall try, Mother. But do you suppose it would be better if I didn’t wear such large feathers in my hair?” It appeared to Eleanor that her elaborate headdress only added to her height. But her mother didn’t seem to agree. She simply pursed her lips tighter.

“Nonsense. Messrs. Redfern designed your ballgown. Princess Beatrice wears his creations.”

“Yes, Mother.”

“He should know more about what is appropriate to wear than you.”

“Of course, Mother.”

Something about Eleanor’s tone must have caught Matilda’s attention for she stopped halfway down the wide staircase and sighed. “Do try to show some enthusiasm, Eleanor. Sir Alfred is sure to notice your melancholy mood.”

Actually, Eleanor doubted Sir Alfred would notice
anything
about her. He would be much too busy committing every smile of Alice’s to memory. Not that Eleanor really cared. She knew she should, and for the sake of stopping her mother’s harping she must work toward extracting a proposal from him, but then as her mother was quick to point out, Eleanor’s money would handle that.

The ride to the Longs’ cottage, Fountainhead, was blessedly short. The Longs’ property adjoined Oakgate. If not for the fact that everyone else arrived in their most splendid coach and four, the Fiskes could have walked the distance without disturbing the stable boys or the coachman and footmen who wore liveries of Matilda’s signature purple.

Fountainhead was not quite as large as Oakgate, having only forty-five rooms and not nearly the tonnage of marble. But it still sported an entrance hall that rose three stories and led to a grand double staircase lined with darkly veined marble. The Louis XV ballroom was alive with music and filled with people when Eleanor and her parents were announced.

“I knew we would be late,” Matilda said in the direction of her husband, but Franklin was already moving away from her and didn’t respond. “The opening quadrille is about to begin and Sir Alfred is nowhere in sight.” Matilda spread her fan and pretended not to be searching the room.

It didn’t matter for Eleanor had already noticed the young marquis leading Alice onto the end of the dance floor. Without realizing, Eleanor took one, then another step back. She would have taken a third but she bumped against someone.

“Oh, excuse me.” She turned, flustered to stare at a crisp white shirtfront. Slowly she lifted her eyes knowing there was only one man of her acquaintance tall and broad shouldered enough to wear that shirt and evening jacket.

“Miss Fiske, I assure you it was all my fault.”

“But I stepped on you, Mr. Bonner.”

“I didn’t feel a thing, Miss Fiske.” John smiled before continuing. “Actually I was seeking you out.”

“Me?”

Her eyes widened and John was struck again by their color... and how lovely they were. But he managed not to stammer as he assured her it was true. “I realize I’m remiss in not asking earlier, but I wonder if I might have this dance.”

“You wish to dance with me?” It was not as if she lacked partners. Etiquette demanded that no one as wealthy and socially prominent as Eleanor sit out the endless round of dances. But John Bonner was the most handsome man she’d ever seen, with his dark brown eyes and hair and there was no reason that he should feel compelled to partner her. Still, he stood there staring down at her as if he wished to do just that.

Eleanor took a deep breath, at least as deep as she could take with her waist cinched as it was. “Thank you, Mr. Bonner, I would be—”

“Eleanor, come with me.”

Her mother’s tone seemed to pierce her skin like a thousand hatpins. Eleanor stiffened even before her mother took her kid-gloved arm. “Mrs. Astor has just sent word that we are to join her. Do come on.”

The look she threw him was apologetic but she walked away nonetheless. John watched the swish of her deep green skirts and told himself he was just as glad. He’d spent most of the afternoon trying to learn the intricate steps of the quadrille and wasn’t at all confident that he’d mastered it. Besides, he decided as he wound through the cream of Newport society, a waltz was better suited to his purpose.

John found Franklin Fiske in the green marble billiard room. He knew several of the other men from dealings on Wall Street and spent a few minutes talking of the latest scare. Franklin didn’t join the conversation. He barely acknowledged John until the younger man approached him.

“I would like you to return to the ballroom with me,” John said as he leaned against the huge hearth.

“What for?”

“I’ve a desire to dance with your daughter.”

“You’ve been introduced.” Franklin took a quick sip of champagne.

“True enough. And if it were up to her I wouldn’t need your help. But her mother doesn’t seem to like me much.”

“I have no doubts Matilda finds you unacceptable.”

“Then it is up to you to change her mind.”

“We agreed upon an introduction and my blessings to the union, nothing more.”

John’s eyes narrowed. “We also agreed the second payment would be made when the betrothal was announced.”

For a moment Franklin did nothing. Then he drained his wine, carefully wiped at the fringe of his steel gray mustache, and placed the glass on the table to his right. Without another word he led the way toward the ballroom.

When they entered Eleanor was being twirled about the floor by a man who stood nearly eye to eye with her. Of course the silly peacock feathers in her hair loomed over both of them.

“That’s Sir Alfred Farnsworth,” Franklin informed John. “He is my wife’s choice as future son-in-law.”

John’s brow arched. “I wasn’t aware I had any competition.” John had researched Eleanor Fiske and knew she’d come out into society four years ago. Plenty of time for her to snare a husband if she were going to. He’d thought her safely on the shelf. That and her father’s financial problems made the deal he struck with Franklin possible.

“I didn’t say he was pursuing my daughter, just that Matilda wished it.” Franklin yanked at the expensively cut evening jacket. “Though Matilda is rarely thwarted once she sets her mind to something.”

John could have guessed that. He’d already developed an intense dislike for the Fiske matron. But as he watched Sir whats-his-name whisk Eleanor about the crowded dance floor, John decided he didn’t much care for the Englishman either. He was fair and ruddy complected, with a build that in a few years would spread to portly. “She deserves better than that,” John mumbled, only realizing he spoke aloud when Franklin turned toward him questioningly.

But the strains of the violins were fading and John merely shrugged and led the way toward Mrs. Fiske. She managed John’s introduction by her husband with barely concealed distaste. John could almost see her mind racing through lists of names, and not finding his. And wondering what in blazes he was doing there in the midst of Newport splendor.

Not that he couldn’t afford such a lifestyle if he wished. Then with a twinge of dread, John realized he would most likely have to build one of these monstrous houses, more than likely two. For he’d need a place for his family to live in New York during the winters.

But being wealthy and being accepted by society were two different things entirely.
The
Mrs. Astor, as she insisted upon being called, said it took three generations for a family to be accepted once they acquired the needed wealth. John wasn’t willing to wait the prescribed time. His children were never going to suffer as he had.

Eleanor felt her heartbeat quicken the moment she saw John Bonner standing with her mother and father. She missed whatever frivolity Sir Alfred said, and then had to apologize for not listening. And all the while she wished they could move across the ballroom faster.