The True Love Wedding Dress (11 page)

“Are they?” He had not known. “Mine, too.”

“And she found me some books that used to belong to Miss Susannah so I won’t be bored. But tomorrow we are all invited to dinner at Doddsworth Manor after church. Me, too. Isn’t that capital, Father?”

Forde had never sat to a formal supper with his son, either.

“Susannah says the squire has hounds, lots of them. And the biggest boar in the county. That’s a boy pig, you know. And she says I can come visit her and Gerald in Hampshire next summer, if I don’t have to spend the whole holiday with Grandmother. I like her, don’t you?”

“Your grandmother?” Forde had not seen the woman since his wife’s funeral. “Of course.”

“No, Father. Miss Susannah.”

“Oh. She is a very charming young lady.”

“But not as nice as Mrs. Cole.”

“Where is Mrs. Cole?”

“Sewing on the wedding dress. It is the prettiest gown I have ever seen. Do you know, when you touch it, your fingers get all fluttery? Miss Susannah hates it and says that is all fustian nonsense. She and Cousin Gerald are arguing in the parlor, so I came outside to wait for you. Mrs. Cole said you would be here soon, and she was right.”

“She is very wise.” And very confident that he would do the right thing, which made Forde surprisingly proud, as if her good opinion of him as a father mattered one whit.

“May I stay here, Father? May I?”

Katie Cole had already shown the halfling more attention than Crispin’s own mother had, and more care than his aunt. “If you behave and do not cause her any headaches.”

“I would not. Mrs. Cole says she will chop me up and feed me to the chickens otherwise. She’s a prime ’un, isn’t she? That’s what Jem Coachman says, anyway.”

“I do not think you should be using the head groom’s vocabulary, but, yes, Mrs. Cole is top drawer.”

“You like her, don’t you?”

She was kind to his motherless son. “Yes, I like her. Very much.”

V
iscount Forde embodied masculinity from the top of his windblown hair to the bottom of his shiny boots. He was charm incarnate when he wished to be, flashing that smile. And he was seductive, an attraction that had been missing in Katie’s life for so many years she was surprised she could recognize it, like an elephant. She had never seen one of those creatures, but was certain she would know it when she did. And then there was another quality that his lordship possessed, one that made the others pale in comparison.

A woman might observe a gentleman flirting, or dancing, or riding his horse, and find herself moonstruck. But seeing a man hug his son—his filthy little boy who’d been playing tag with the goats—that was something else altogether. That was heart, a pure, rare commodity in this world. Any number of men had courage and honor and physical attraction, but heart—now there was a treasure to fight for, to grasp, to keep forever.

Katie stepped back from the window where she’d been watching the reunion, curious at how the viscount would treat his heir. Her own father had been distant and cool, while the squire was oblivious to his sons. The blacksmith often cuffed his boys, and many of the farmers considered their offspring nothing but unpaid help. Forde loved his son.

Why that should bring tears to her eyes was a mystery to Katie, but it did. She wanted to despise Forde for bringing chaos into her life. She should resent him because he had the power to wreak havoc over her, and no female could admire her persecutor.

Katie did not hate him, though.

She doubted he would make her secrets public, despite his unspoken threats. If he had spoken to Mrs. Wellforde about Susannah’s birth, that overfed vixen would have been here with a pistol, reclaiming her precious cub. No, Forde was too much the gentleman to heap unearned dishonor on an innocent girl. He merely wanted to protect his family, the same way Katie had lied to protect her daughter.

She could not hate him. Not at all, to her regret.

 

Gerald rushed past his uncle without a greeting. “I am staying at Doddsworth’s place, where there are no females to natter and nag,” he called over his shoulder.

“I need to speak to you.”

“I need to hear about something other than dowries and dresses. Squire and his horses do not care if a chap is a few days late, or brings his mama. Or wants to wed a poor girl.”

“Will you be here at dinner?” Forde called to his nephew’s receding back, although it sounded as if Gerald already had enough trouble on his plate.

Susannah was crying again, angry at Gerald, his mother, her mother, and the wedding gown. “This is supposed to be the happiest time of my life!” she wailed on her way to her bedchamber to throw herself into a satisfying spate of woeful tears and worse temper. Forde could hear a door slam above when he entered the library.

“I am sorry. Am I calling at an awkward time?”

What could be awkward about having twelve people for dinner unexpectedly, a daughter suffering bridal nerves, a dirty-faced cherub she had nearly kidnapped from his overbearing family, and the most devastatingly attractive gentleman ready to denounce her over the dinner table? Oh, there was the matter of a gown whose hem would not stay turned and whose seams would not gather for Susannah’s narrow torso. No, nothing awkward about that at all. She set the gown aside for another try later.

“Welcome, and I do hope you will permit Crispin to stay on with us here. He has been a big help.”

It rankled Forde that she could not afford maids, when his own family was demanding service—and his son was being pressed into a footman’s role. He knew she would not take money from him, so he did not offer. “I could speak to the innkeeper about sending a few of his girls.”

“Thank you, but that is not necessary. Mrs. Tarrant’s nieces are already at work in the kitchens and will help serve. Crispin is going to make out the place cards for the table, aren’t you?”

“Mrs. Cole says my handwriting is perfect for the job, Father.”

“Excellent, my boy. Why do you not go practice? That is, somewhere else. I wish to speak to Mrs. Cole privately.”

Crispin stuck his jaw out, looking mulish. Or like his father. “You said I could stay.”

“As long as you behaved. Now go. We will be done shortly.”

How shortly? Katie wondered. Saying that the wedding was canceled would take no time at all. Mending Susannah’s broken heart might take forever, if it were possible. After all, the wedding gown seemed impossible to fix. Why not a heart?

The viscount was pacing the small room, lifting a book here, moving a paper there, until he was certain they were alone. Then he told Katie, “I have decided that I have to speak to Gerald. If he found out later, and it mattered to him that his wife could not be comfortable in London, or might be exposed as an imposter anytime, then he would never forgive me. I would never forgive myself.”

Katie nodded, not wanting to look at him. “And I could never forgive myself for letting my daughter wed a man to whom such an insignificant thing would matter. If he loves her, it is for herself, not for what name she bears, or does not. We shall tell both of them, together. If your nephew cries off, Susannah must know the reason, lest she think herself to blame.”

“After dinner?”

“Definitely not before! Or during.”

Dinner was more formal than the last one at Cole Cottage, mainly due to the presence of Gerald’s disapproving mother. Gerald spoke to young Doddsworth about horses, his sisters batted their eyelashes at the younger Doddsworth boys hard enough to cool the soup, and the squire and Agnes Wellforde seemed to be competing over who could eat more.

With ham, mutton, beef, and chicken on the menu, there was nothing parsimonious about this evening’s offering. Katie felt proud of her table, glad that no one could complain about the simply cooked but ample meal, not even the dog. Gerald’s mother took hearty portions of everything, then fed some to her pet.

Katie wanted to throw a dish at the woman, but they were her good plates. Young Crispin was deemed too unmannerly to sit with the adults, but the Pekingese had a place on Agnes’s ample lap? Besides, the dog was gobbling down food that could have fed the Cole Cottage residents for another day, at least.

But she stayed smiling, the perfect hostess, and led the ladies out of the dining parlor when the meal was finally over. Susannah and the Wellforde girls—Katie had not learned which was which yet—were giggling over something, and Mrs. Wellforde was napping after her huge repast. Katie took her place at the pianoforte, hoping to ease her nerves with her beloved music.

Forde hurried the gentlemen through their port, fearful of what offensive remarks Agnes might make. Half of the gentlemen were mere boys, besides, so they did not need to smoke or drink, in his opinion. With so little to offer, and no cards likely, either, Doddsworth decided to leave. The two families that were about to unite ought to have some private time together, he declared. Besides, he and his boys were planning a foray after fish early in the morning before church. Forde and his son were invited.

Dawn was not a part of the day Forde usually saw from the bright side, but he said he would consider the invitation, for Crispin’s sake. After the manor party left, Forde took a seat next to Mrs. Cole on the pianoforte bench, thinking that he might never tire of her proficient playing, or her rapt expression as she gave herself to the music. For that matter, he might never tire of the small, rare smile she gave him when he praised her performance between pieces. She was wearing the same dark-colored gown, which he
would
grow bored with, even if it did reveal more of her bosom than the sacklike frocks she wore during the day. He would dress her in green velvet, as soft as her skin, as sultry as moonlight. Then he would undress her, caress her, make her beautiful body—

“Sing?” He coughed. “You want me to sing with you?”

She looked at him oddly. “That is what I asked. Your nephew said you had a fine voice, and I would not wish to bore your sister-in-law with my continued playing.”

Agnes was already sleeping off her dinner in the most comfortable chair in the room. Susannah and Gerald were whispering in the corner, as usual.

Without waiting for his reply, Katie opened a new score sheet and began to play. Thank heavens he knew the words, for Forde did not know himself anymore. He had never been so attracted to any woman, had never been so often or so awkwardly aroused over a virtuous female. Botheration.

“I believe that is ’both a robin and a sparrow.’ Shall we begin again?”

They did, and this time he paid attention to the music, not just his companion on the bench. Their voices melded as if they had practiced together for weeks—a perfect fit.

Katie could forget her worries for a brief time in the pleasure of having Forde sitting next to her, near enough that she could smell his cologne, feel his thigh pressed against hers, his sleeve brush her shoulder as he reached to turn the pages. Best of all, he seemed to share the simple pleasure she took in playing and singing. Not many men of her acquaintance, limited though their number was, would endure an evening of music, but the viscount seemed to relish it, to find the same quiet joy she found. When they sang, he showed none of Gerald’s embarrassment, or Roland Doddsworth’s affectations. Instead his rich baritone was steady and sure, like the man himself.

His nieces, however, had no patience with the entertainment. The young Wellforde girls had their set pieces to perform in public, as all well-bred females were taught to do, but that was the extent of their interest in music. Since their mama was asleep and so could not push them into drawing attention to their nonexistent talent, they refused Katie’s polite invitation to take a turn at the instrument. As for singing, the girls claimed that their voices were more suitable for calling cows home than creating a pleasant ambiance in the drawing room. Besides, they declared, earning a scowl from their uncle, such tame pursuits were rustic and backward. All agog about the wedding, they wanted to see their new sister’s dress instead.

With a backward look of regret—for the viscount’s closeness as much as for the music—Katie took them to the library, where she’d left the gown. Susannah stayed behind with Gerald, in earnest discussion, it seemed. She told Katie, “Go ahead, please. I do not wish to see that gown any more than I need to.”

Awakened by the fervent words, Agnes bestirred herself. Curious, she set the dog down from her lap, hauled herself to her feet, and followed. Her daughters were oohing and aahing, but Agnes thought the gleaming ivory gown outrageous, overelaborate and unfashionable. The garment was not what befitted the bride of a viscount’s heir. It was more spectacular than anything she or her daughters had ever owned, also.

Then she touched it.

“Ah.” The fabric was softer than the finest silk, the lace like the most delicate spiderweb. Just touching the gown made Agnes’s fingers feel like a young woman’s again, not thick and gnarly. Suddenly she felt that she was not so old, after all. Why, she might just take Squire Doddsworth up on his offer to stay at his manor house rather than at that sorry excuse for an inn. The man was a rustic, of course, but he obviously set a good table, judging from his girth. Her girls could practice their wiles on his younger boys, and she could save the expense of the inn—save Forde, that was, for Agnes had no intention of paying the bill. Who knew but that the squire might be convinced to visit London now and again? And give up all that hunting. And get a new wardrobe. The world was full of wonders.

The dog was making odd sounds that Agnes, lost in her delightful daydreams, did not hear. Never having had a dog, Katie thought Ruffles was growling as she carefully folded the gown over the arm of the chair, to finish tomorrow.

The Pekingese was not growling. He had been fed too much, nearly enough for two women for a week, and so he did what overfed dogs often do. Only no one let him out, so he did it on the hem of the gown.