"My wife is an unusual woman, Mr. Maxwell. She was brought up to scorn material possessions," Josh explained, ignoring Felicity's disgruntled frown. He really was angry, but not, as Felicity supposed, at her grandfather's offer. For the first time he had seen her beautiful wedding dress through Henry Maxwell's eyes and realized how hopelessly provincial she must appear. Why hadn't he anticipated this? Why hadn't Blanche anticipated it? They could have stopped off in Dallas for a few days to get Felicity some stylish clothes from Blanche's dressmaker. But it was too late now. He would just have to be gracious, in spite of how much it galled him to see the pity Richard and Maxwell could barely conceal. "Felicity and I had our first argument over how elaborate her wedding dress should be. As you can see, she won."
"Mr. Logan!" Felicity remonstrated, ready to point out that she hadn't even wanted a gown as elaborate as the one he had forced her to select, but he gave her no chance.
"I think you'll hurt your grandfather's feelings if you refuse his generous offer," Josh told her gently.
This left her momentarily speechless, since she had only continued to refuse because she thought Joshua disapproved. "Well, all right," Felicity finally agreed, somehow managing a gracious smile.
At that moment, Hastings returned with the carpetbag. Felicity fished inside and produced the decorated box. With a combination of trepidation and anticipation, she placed it on the table in front of her grandfather.
Maxwell gave her a long, considering look, and then he flipped open the box. He stiffened immediately. "Photographs," he said, spitting out the word as if it were vile. "I suppose your father took them."
Felicity watched the warmth in his eyes freeze solid, and for one second she gave thanks that she had included none of her father's pictures in this collection. If her father had hated Henry Maxwell enough to keep her from him all these years, then Henry Maxwell returned that hate tenfold, judging from his expression.
"No, Grandfather," she hastened to explain. "These are all photographs that I took. Some of them are of our ranch in Texas, and our friends. The one on top is our house with all our ranch hands posed in front of it."
But Maxwell wasn't looking at the photographs. He looked instead at Felicity, his eyes narrowed speculatively.
" You took these?"
"Yes, my… my father taught me how," she said, rushing on when she saw his eyes harden again. "Some people think they're pretty good. I'm pleased with them myself." Felicity gave him a tentative smile and reached out to slide the top photograph out of the way. "And this is Mr. Logan, of course," she said, pointing to the next picture.
Finally, Maxwell looked down at the pictures. He studied the one of Joshua and then picked it up to get a closer look. "When was this taken?" he asked, peering suspiciously at Josh over the top of the picture.
"That… that was the day Mr. Logan… the day he proposed to me," Felicity stammered as she recalled her own reaction upon seeing Joshua's expression in that picture for the first time. Remembering what else had happened the day she took that photograph, she felt her cheeks grow hot, but fortunately, her grandfather was not looking at her.
"I should hope he did," Maxwell remarked acerbically to Josh, who glared back defiantly. Once more the two men engaged in a silent battle of wills, which ended when Maxwell finally laid down the photograph and picked up the next one. "And who is this?" he asked with great interest.
"That's our neighbor, Mrs. Delano," Felicity explained. For the next half hour, she gave him a running account of their life in Texas as revealed in the photographs. After a while, even Richard moved closer so he could see them, too.
"These are really very good," Maxwell commented thoughtfully as he flipped back through the pictures, stopping every now and then to examine one more closely. "My granddaughter is very clever, isn't she, Richard?"
"Yes, very," Richard agreed, giving Joshua a look that was almost accusatory.
Felicity wondered what that look meant, but before she could decide, her grandfather asked her, "May I keep these for a while?"
"You can keep them forever," Felicity assured him. "I told you, they're my gift to you."
He gave her a charming smile that made her think of Richard's. "Of course, I'd like them better if there were more pictures of you in here."
"It's hard to take a picture of the photographer," she told him with a laugh.
For just an instant his eyes clouded. "You have her laugh, too," he murmured, but then he brightened again. "Well, I've kept you long enough. You'll be tired from your trip and you'll want to get settled in your room. I imagine Bellwood has had your luggage delivered and unpacked by now. Hastings won't show you where to go."
Josh and Felicity rose. "Will we see you at supper?" she asked.
"No." He shook his head regretfully. "I have a difficult time with the stairs nowadays. But come and see me again afterward, will you?"
"Yes, of course I will," she promised, and then, impulsively-much the same way she had with Mr. Gordon-she bent down and kissed her grandfather's sunken cheek. "I'm awfully glad I came," she whispered.
"So am I," Maxwell whispered back, his eyes suspiciously moist. Then he turned to Josh. "You're a very lucky man," he said gruffly, extending his hand.
"I know," Josh replied, easily reading Maxwell's envy. All his money could not buy him Felicity. Or at least Josh hoped it couldn't.
When Josh and Felicity were gone, Richard turned to his uncle. The old man was obviously smitten with the girl, but there was still the matter of her marriage to Logan. "Well, what do you think?" he asked.
Henry Maxwell sat staring thoughtfully at the door, tapping one index finger on his lower lip. "She's a lovely girl," he said slowly, and then his expression turned cunning. "Get Gordon over here right away. I want to ask him a few questions."
"About Logan," Richard guessed.
"That and some other things. And find out who makes Isabel's clothes and get them over here tomorrow morning, first thing. The poor child can't go out in public looking like that. Oh, and bring me some writing paper. I want to send a note to Alexander Evans," Maxwell added.
"Evans?" Richard asked, puzzled about how the shipping magnate fit into all of these plans.
"Yes, Evans. He belongs to that Photographic Society. I want to get his opinion on these pictures."
Josh undressed slowly, being very careful not to look over at the bed, where Felicity already lay. Oddly enough, he hadn't given much thought to how difficult it was going to be sharing a bed with her after so long a period of abstinence. Unfortunately, it was absolutely necessary that he do so. He did not dare ask for separate rooms and let Maxwell know what a sham their marriage was.
The old man had already drawn the battle lines, making it very clear that the two of them were in competition for Felicity. Maxwell would use the same cunning to win her that he had used to amass his considerable fortune. The thought made Josh's blood run cold. And then there was Winthrop. Where he fit into all of this was anybody's guess, but the little weasel had definitely intended to kiss Felicity this afternoon at the train station. If he didn't have designs on her, too, he was the only one around here who didn't. Josh would have his hands full protecting her from both of them.
Sighing wearily, Josh hung his trousers in the intricately carved rosewood wardrobe and began, from habit, to unbutton his underdrawers, but his hands hesitated on the buttons. What was he doing? The last thing he should do was climb into that bed naked. After refastening the buttons, he moved over to the shiny brass light fixture hanging on the wall and turned off the gaslight, grateful that his own experience had been broad enough to include gaslights. There were already far too many things about life in Philadelphia that were a mystery to him.
Felicity sighed in the darkness. He was going to wear his drawers to bed, as if he needed some protection from her. She waited, lying stiffly beneath the silky sheets, until she felt the bed sag under his weight. His movements were careful as he adjusted the bedclothes over him. No
t even so much as an elbow brushed against her. She sighed again.
After they had lain there in complete silence for a long time, Felicity spoke. "What do you think of my grandfather?"
Josh knew she wouldn't want to hear his true opinion, so he said, "He seems like a nice enough fellow."
"I guess Blanche was right about him being rich," she remarked.
Josh only grunted.
"I kept thinking all day what a shame it was that Blanche wasn't here," Felicity continued. "She's the one who could really appreciate all this."
"She would have jumped at the chance to have a rich man buy her clothes, too," Josh said, testing her.
But Felicity did not consider the clothes very important, so she only laughed. "Yes, she would. Blanche would take him for all he's worth, too. She'll be so jealous when she finds out."
Felicity waited, but he made no response. Only the sound of his breathing broke the unnatural silence of the room. The warmth from his body seemed to draw her like a magnet, but she dared not move toward him, not when he still lay as stiff as a poker. Not when he still had given no indication he even wanted her. She heard him inhale deeply, and she listened, expecting to hear him sigh into relaxation. Instead, his breath rasped, sounding almost like a moan.
"Joshua?" she asked into the darkness.
"What?"
She sensed his wariness. "Will you… It's been so long… Will you hold me? Just hold me?" she asked, hating the way her voice sounded, like a little girl pleading for a favor.
But he didn't seem to notice. Muttering something that sounded of relief, he turned and wrapped his arms around her in one fluid motion. For a second the nearness of him almost overwhelmed her as desire burst brightly inside of her. The satin smoothness of his heated flesh, the musky maleness of his scent, the tender caress of his roughened hands stirred blessedly familiar sensations to life.
But, she reminded herself, she had only asked him to hold her. To ask more was to betray her promise to him. Even though she had made that promise under duress, she still must keep it. And so she controlled her clamoring desires by sheer force of will and lay motionless in his arms.
Josh cradled her softness to him, enduring the sweetest of torments as visions of the pleasures they had previously known danced provocatively before his mind's eye. He could feel the tension in her slight body and hear the raggedness of her breathing. He knew her desires matched his own, but he also knew she would make no demands. Not now. Not until she had consulted with her doctors, at least. After that, when she knew the truth about the empty years ahead, her demands would be different.
Pulling her closer, he buried his face in the cloud of her hair. "Go to sleep, honey," he urged, hoping that he could do the same.
The dressmaker came early. Felicity and her aunt spent the morning poring over designs and fabric swatches until Felicity's head was spinning and she no longer had a clear idea of exactly how many dresses she was having made. Too many; of that she was certain.
When the dressmaker had finally gone, Felicity found Joshua reading a newspaper downstairs in one of the parlors.
He glanced up and frowned at the somewhat dazed expression on her face. "Is something wrong?"
Felicity shook her head. "I don't think so," she said, and then smiled at her own uncertainty. "It's just that I never did anything like that before. Mademoselle Fabian had so many beautiful designs to choose from that I'm afraid I went a little crazy. Aunt Isabel insisted, though. She even made me order some evening dresses," Felicity reported, wide-eyed. "She said that Richard would be taking us out to the theater and places like that. You can't imagine how formally people here dress."
Josh's frown deepened as he considered this. So Richard was going to take her to the theater, was he?
"Excuse me," Bellwood said from the doorway. "Luncheon is served."
Josh rose to follow Felicity out into the hall, but he paused as he passed Bellwood, letting Felicity go on ahead. "Tell me, Bellwood, what does a gentleman wear to the theater in Philadelphia?"
Bellwood's inscrutable expression wavered just a bit. "Why, evening clothes, Mr. Logan."
Josh chewed on this a moment.
"Excuse me, sir," Bellwood said, lowering his voice. "I couldn't help but notice your wardrobe does not include evening attire. I could perhaps recommend a tailor."
"Perhaps you'd better," Josh allowed wryly.
"If you wish, I can call for the carriage this afternoon to take you to Mr. Maxwell's personal tailor," Bellwood offered.
But Josh shook his head. He didn't need clothes that fancy. "Just any average tailor will do," he said.
"Excuse me, sir," Bellwood contradicted. "If you want to go to the theater with Mr. Winthrop and your wife, you had best go to Mr. Maxwell's tailor and tell them you are his grandson-in-law. That is the only way your clothes will be ready on time."
Josh frowned, hating the very idea of trading on Henry Maxwell's name for a favor.
Bellwood seemed to sense his reluctance. He sweetened the pot a little. "I believe you'll find that Mr. Maxwell's tailor is also the most reasonable in town as regards to price. That is why Mr. Maxwell selected him. It is one of the character traits that has made Mr. Maxwell so wealthy a man," he added with a twinkle.
Josh shook his head in wonder at the butler. "All right, Bellwood. Call up the carriage after lunch."
Henry Maxwell fidgeted uncharacteristically with the bedclothes as he waited for his visitor's opinion. "Well, what do you think, Alex?" he demanded after several minutes.
Alexander Evans, a man who had made a fortune in the shipping business, took his time answering. He examined the photograph in his hands a while longer, his gray head bent close, and then he picked up another picture and compared the two. "They're remarkable, Henry," he decreed at last.
"What do you mean, 'remarkable'?" Henry asked suspiciously.
"I mean, they are excellent. Take the picture of this woman, for example," Alex said, showing Henry the portrait of Blanche Delano. "Look at the way she's posed."
Henry sniffed in disapproval. "She looks like a tart."
"Exactly," Alex said. "See the way her body is positioned? The way her hands are folded? The expression on her face? There's nothing indiscreet about any one detail of the picture, but the observer receives the impression of a woman who is… uh, shall we say, not averse to having a good time?"
"And these cowboys," Alex continued, finding several other examples to illustrate his point. "Most of them are young boys who are bound to be self-conscious before a camera, but your granddaughter has managed to capture their personalities in natural settings, rather than the traditional stiffly posed portrait. It's absolutely remarkable." Then he looked more closely at the pictures and frowned. "Hmmmm," he mused.
"And what does 'hmmmm' mean?" Henry asked in irritation.
"Are you certain that the little girl I saw downstairs really took these photographs?"
Henry scowled. "Don't you think she could have?"
Alex shrugged. "She's awfully young. And look at the quality of these prints. Why, the plates were prepared with the hand of an expert. There's hardly a bump or bubble visible in the whole lot. Perhaps these are really the work of her father, and she lied to you to impress you. You couldn't blame her for that," he ventured apologetically.
"Impossible," Henry decreed. "Besides, all these people are Logan's friends and neighbors. She didn't even meet him until after her father was dead. There's no way Storm could have taken these photographs."
Alex shook his head in wonder. "He must have started training her when she was in diapers, then. I've been dabbling in photography for more than ten years, and I still have trouble making a proper plate. Henry, could I borrow these pictures for a while?"
"What do you want to do with them?" Henry asked, unwilling to let Felicity's gift out of his sight.
"There's a meeting of the Photographic Society next week. I'd like to show these to the other members and get their opinions.
Perhaps I'm just impressed because I've seen the photographer. I won't tell them anything about her, not even that she's a female, until they've told me what they think. Then you'll know for sure just how good they really are." Alex smiled cajolingly at his old friend.
"And if they are good, then what?" Henry asked suspiciously.
"Well," Alex pondered, "I was thinking about the Photography Building at the Exposition. We'll be displaying thousands of photographs there. No reason why hers shouldn't be among them… Although how the other photographers will feel about a woman's work being considered equal with theirs remains to be seen."
"Humph," Henry snorted. "It's early days to be thinking about all that. You said yourself, you aren't even sure how good her work is yet."
"But you will let me take the photographs, won't you?" Alex insisted. "I'll take good care of them and bring them back the day after the meeting." He gave Henry a quizzical smile. "Do I have to pledge the life of my firstborn?"
"No," Henry admitted grudgingly. "But nothing better happen to those pictures."
"Oh, I think something will happen to them, all right," Alex said, still grinning. "But it will be something very, very nice."
The next morning, Josh and Felicity were in the back parlor, the informal room where the family usually sat, when Henry Maxwell received another visitor.
"Good morning, Dr. Lowell," Bellwood greeted him.
When Dr. Lowell had been escorted upstairs, Felicity sought Bellwood out. "Who was that man?"
"That is Dr. Lowell, your grandfather's physician," Bellwood informed her.
"Would you please tell him that I'd like to speak with him before he leaves?" she asked, flushing slightly with embarrassment at delivering her first order to Bellwood. And then she wondered what such a great doctor would think of being summoned to her presence, but she was rapidly learning that to do so was the only way she got to see anyone in this house.
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