The True Love Wedding Dress (12 page)

One of the Wellforde girls ran shrieking from the room, the other fled to hide her giggles. Their mother took her usual escape: She swooned, but onto a chair where her limbs would not be exposed and her feathered turban could not be dislodged.

Gerald and Katie came running, Forde close on their heels.

“Mama!” young Wellforde cried, falling to his knees beside his mother’s chair.

Susannah took one look at the gown and refused to wear it, ever.

Forde offered to purchase a new one, again. “No,” Katie said, “the gown will be fine.” She was already carrying it—at a distance—to the kitchen, and to the devil with her company. Forde followed, carrying the dog at an equal distance until he could toss the creature out the back door.

When he returned, Katie was already sponging the skirt clean. “You see? This gown can withstand much.”

He doubted Miss Susannah Cole could. “I think your daughter would prefer—”

“No. The gown is a symbol, I feel, of what a good marriage should be: beautiful on the surface but lasting and true beneath, able to outlast adversity and overcome any difficulty life might toss a young couple’s way. Perhaps it is an omen, too. I truly believe it will bring joy and happiness to the bride.”

Forde was dubious of such an unfounded superstition. “You did not derive much joy or happiness from it.”

“Ah, but I never got to wear it. Susannah will.”

A
gnes insisted that she required both Forde and Gerald to escort her, her daughters, and her poor sick doggy back to the inn. The viscount insisted that Gerald join him in the private parlor before heading to Doddsworth Manor.

“I wish to speak to you about the wedding.”

“Good. I wish to speak about it also.”

Over the landlord’s excellent cognac, Forde broached the delicate subject. With much deliberation and careful choice of words, trying not to cast the smallest aspersion on Susannah or her mother, he urged Gerald to reconsider.

His efforts at diplomacy were in vain, but not for the reason he’d supposed.

“Her parentage? I’ve known all about that for an age. It matters not. Besides, we have decided to postpone the wedding anyway.”

Forde needed another drink. And two to loosen Gerald’s tongue enough for an explanation. The young couple had decided to wait, it seemed. They loved each other—Gerald was adamant on that score—but he needed to give all of his attention to establishing his horse-breeding program right then. Reading between the lines, and between Gerald’s increasingly outspoken complaints, Forde deduced that Susannah was not the perfect angel of Gerald’s initial infatuation. She was not the sweet and docile countrywoman he’d assumed. Rather, she was spoiled and demanding, jealous of his time and his mother, of all things! She was stubborn to a fault and frivolous besides, fretting herself to flinders over a silly dress. His beloved would outgrow such unappealing traits, Gerald was sure, and he would wait. She was too young to marry, he concluded, and his uncle had been right all along: A chap should not marry until he had to.

Forde was both relieved and upset. His nephew was not rushing toward disaster, but Mrs. Cole would blame him for Gerald’s defection. And now he would not have an excuse to stay in Devon, or to see the woman again.

“Are you sure?”

 

Katie was having a similar discussion, only this one was in her kitchen, over tea.

“My father? Oh, I know all about that.”

Katie wished she could swoon on demand like Agnes Wellforde. “How . . .?”

The answer was simple: Her daughter was intelligent, and the village children were cruel. When Susannah had no portrait to show of her hero father, no ceremonial sword, medal, or ribbon, not a scrap of a letter or a lock of his hair, the local bullies started to taunt her that he never existed. Her mother refused to speak of Mr. Cole, so Susannah took her questions, and the name in Katie’s Bible, to Lady Martindale, who knew everything about everyone who ever lived.

“Do you blame me?” Katie asked, her voice trembling.

“How could I, Mama? I would not be here if you had not done what you did. Gerald did not care, either.”

“You . . . told him?”

“Of course. Someone else might have, you know, and I could not be less than honest with the man I would marry. But that makes no difference. We have decided to postpone the wedding for other reasons.”

Gerald, it seemed, was not quite the perfect beau. On closer examination, and longer acquaintance, he was immature, horse-mad, domineering, and entirely too devoted to his mama.

“Do you know that he actually wants her to come live with us?”

And the dog? That would be enough reason for Katie to call off the engagement altogether, but she merely took another sip of her tea and listened.

He was also stuffy and staid. Just because he had lived in London and did not care for it, Gerald felt Susannah did not need to go traveling, not to Bath, Brighton, or anywhere but his new estate, secluded in the countryside where she would have no friends, no parties, no dances. He, meanwhile, would be visiting horse fairs and race meets across the kingdom. He thought she would be too busy with babies to care!

“As if that is all I am good for, to bear him sons.”

Gerald’s worst fault, however, according to his beloved, was that he was condescending. He thought Susannah ought to be pleased with whatever he decided about their future, because it was bound to be better than what she had now.

“But he is right, darling, I am sorry to say. Not that you should wed for the material advantages a good match can bring, but I cannot take you to London or any of the fashionable resorts, either. We are well established in our own community, with its dinners and assemblies, but your friends will be marrying soon, and you do not care for any of the local young men. Few eligible bachelors pass through Brookville, few who can afford a bride with such a small dowry, and fewer who will ignore a blot on the family escutcheon. I worry about your future without Mr. Wellforde.”

“Oh, I fully intend to marry Gerald when he grows up a little, just not yet. And you do not have to worry about me. I wrote to Grandmother.”

Katie found the last dregs of the dinner wine. “You do not have a grandmother.”

“Your mother, Lady Bainbridge. I invited her and Grandfather to the wedding. Gerald brought back her reply. She thinks we are too young to choose, as you were. She promised me a Season in Town if I postponed the wedding.”

“Good grief, and you are choosing parties and such over Gerald?”

“Oh, no. Grandmother said that I should see a bit of the world before settling down, to make sure I do not regret it later. Gerald had to agree, because he has been to Town and university and visiting all over England, but all I have ever known is Brookville.”

“And London is what you want?”

Susannah reached for her mother’s hand, which was clutching her fortified teacup. “Please do not think I have been unhappy here. I have not. I just think there must be more to life than the chickens. And Lady Bainbridge—should I call her Grandmother or Countess?—says that no one will question my birth, not if she and the earl accept me as their long-lost kin. I would not care if no one invites me to their balls, for I do love Gerald, despite his faults. But if I go to London, you see, we will be more equal. He cannot take me for granted then, or treat me as a charity case.”

Perhaps her daughter was wise after all. “I shall miss you,” was all Katie could say. She would have missed her when she went off with her husband, too, but then Susannah would be moving to another county, not another world where Katie could not visit.

After a flurry of notes in the morning, both families decided that the last of the banns should be announced at church, to show there had been no falling-out. The wedding was to be delayed, that was all, while Susannah attended her grandmother and Gerald readied his stud farm. They even went together to midday dinner at Squire Doddsworth’s, who was no happier than Katie.

His fishing expedition had been canceled, and now his plans for both widows, too. Mrs. Cole was still encumbered, and Mrs. Wellforde was leaving for London tomorrow, putting paid to any hopes of a bit of dalliance while she was under his roof. Ah, well, there was always Sukey in the village.

To smother any sparks of scandal, Susannah was to travel to London with Gerald’s sisters and his suddenly accommodating mother. The granddaughter of a wealthy earl, sponsored by an influential countess? Why, dear Gerald could not have found a more lovely bride if Agnes had selected her herself.

Crispin was staying on at Cole Cottage. He had a measle, he swore, a headache, and perhaps a fever. He was definitely too ill for the long journey. Katie was glad to have the imp so she would not have to face the emptiness of the house without Susannah.

His father stayed on at the inn. How could Forde leave when he’d promised Crispin a fishing trip? The boy was not too ill for that, or hiking around the countryside, playing with the goats, or helping with the chickens.

They kept Katie so busy, insisting they needed her company since she was familiar with the countryside, that she hardly had time to miss her daughter, away from her side for the first time in eighteen years. She also had her house and gardens and animals, plus choir practice and music lessons, with Crispin added so his education was not entirely forsaken. He took a great deal of her time, thankfully. His father took a great deal of her thoughts.

Forde could take the boy to his own estate until school resumed, taking him fishing in his own streams. He could buy Crispin a pony, rather than teach him to ride Susannah’s ancient mare. He could be attending the opera, not singing duets with a country widow. Instead, he was sitting at Katie’s fireside listening to her play, at her dinner table talking about books and poetry and the news from the papers. He was at church and at Squire’s, taking Susannah’s place reading to Lady Martindale, and going along on Katie’s errands. Mostly, he was in her dreams.

As much as she missed her daughter, somehow Forde’s inevitable leaving would be more painful. Susannah would always be her flesh and blood; the viscount would be a stranger again, once he was back to his glittering London life. Katie did not know how she would manage. Perhaps she would have to get a dog for a friend, like Gerald’s mother.

When a week had passed, a magical week full of laughter and rosy cheeks and a companionship no dog nor daughter could provide, Forde asked to see her privately. He was leaving, she knew, and he must not see her cry. So she took up her mending, the same wedding gown she had tried to sew so often. Susannah had refused to take it with her, but Katie hoped she would reconsider after she’d had her time in London, if she still wanted to marry Gerald.

That was another silly dream, because Susannah would have an entire new wardrobe before then. The Earl of Bainbridge might be a miser, but he would be too proud to let a kinswoman of his be seen in rags. The beautiful gown would never be worn.

A tear splashed on it, in her lap.

“If you miss her so much,” Forde asked, “why don’t you go to London, too?”

“My father has never forgiven me. And I would only hurt Susannah’s chances of being accepted into Society. Too many questions would be asked if I appeared after so long.”

“You could wear your gown.” He took it from her lap and held it up. “Such a pretty thing. Why don’t you try it on for me?”

“What, now?”

“Why not? I have seen the blasted—that is, the blessed thing constantly, and heard about it, but I have never seen it on a woman.”

“It has been altered for Susannah.”

“It looks too large for such a little dab of a thing,” he said with a connoisseur’s knowledge. “Please, put it on.”

It still fit perfectly. Katie could not imagine how, looking at herself in the mirror in her bedroom. It had never been altered for her, neither for her wedding nor recently, but the gown might have been sewn to her measure. If this was the last time Forde would see her, she decided, let him have a perfect memory. She pulled her hair up and threaded her pearls through it. She bit her lips to bring color, and pinched her cheeks. In spite of her years, Katie thought she had never looked better, nor felt more alive. She could almost imagine that she was a bride, going to meet the man of her dreams. She would not think about tomorrow.

“Beautiful,” he whispered, almost in awe, as she returned to her book room.

“I told Susannah everyone would think the dress was magnificent.”

“The dress? Oh, that is all right, too. Katie, you have to come to London. You will be an Incomparable, a Toast, a Diamond.”

“I will be an outcast.”

“Not if I am at your side.”

She stepped away, her pleasure at his compliments fading. “I will not be your mistress.”

“I am not asking you to be my mistress.”

“Then . . . ?”

“Then I am asking you to be my life’s companion.”

“Ah, I see. Crispin wants me for a mother.”

“I want you.”

“You cannot. Your position, your place in the government, even your friendships would be in jeopardy.”

“I say not. Come to London with me and let me prove what a viscount can do, especially with the backing of an earl and his countess. For once, a title and a fortune will be of some use. Be brave, my Katie, and come with me. Anything is possible, you’ll see.”

“No, that is just the gown talking.”

He raised one eyebrow. “Strange, my garments have never spoken to me.”

“No, you do not understand. I barely do. The gown is so pretty, it makes you think of fairy princesses and happy endings. Life is not like that.”

He brushed away a shimmering teardrop from her cheek. “It can be, my Katie, it can be. I need you to make me a whole man, to make my son the man I want him to be. I need you to bring the music to my soul.”