The True Love Wedding Dress

by Barbara Metzger, Connie Brockway, Casey Claybourne; Catherine Anderson

  Her smile should have made the sun shine. She looked like a saint, with a halo of light from the nearby lamp, although Forde knew far differently. Her hair was loose, pulled back with a ribbon—which she accidentally sewed to the gown. She laughed. Perhaps she was a bedlamite, besides a liar and an imposter and a fallen woman.

  “Mrs. Cole? Or should I say Miss Katherine Bainbridge?”

  She dropped her needle, her scissors, and her good humor. Her complexion turned whiter than the gown. She lurched up, the ivory fabric and flowers falling at her feet, like a spring garden in the last snowfall of winter.

  “How . . . ?” She did not try to deny her former identity. Nor did she invite him to be seated.

  Forde stepped toward her desk and lifted the Bible. “I read the inscription, then remembered why you seemed familiar. My cousin attended Miss Meadow’s Academy. I must have met you at one of their functions for senior girls, or perhaps you were at Elaine’s come-out. Elaine Montmorency.”

  “Yes, she was a particular friend of mine, but I did not know you were related. I do not recall meeting you.”

  “How could you, when you had eyes for no one but that scapegrace Nevins, who died on the eve of your wedding? They said Lady Katherine Bainbridge died of a broken heart somewhere in the country, never to be heard from again.”

  “She never was.”

  “Ah, but Katie Cole arrived at the same time in Brookville. I know, because I consulted with the innkeeper. And I know the date of your proposed marriage, because that was the week my father passed away. Nevins’s death was all anyone spoke of at the funeral. I also checked the church registry here. Your daughter was born seven months later.”

  Katie sank back into her seat and picked up the gown, looking for that feeling of well-being it usually lent her. She rubbed the soft fabric, not even marveling that the marks from where she had picked out the hem were already gone and the loose button was firmly attached. The flowers were not.

  “My father gave me the choice,” she said. “I could give up my infant and return to London, or I could disappear forever.”

  His own wife would easily have forsaken her son for a new lover or another party. “What about now, now that she is grown?”

  “My father has obviously not changed his mind. My daughter is about to change her name, though. No one need ever suspect what came before.”

  “But she is to change her name to mine, and I know she was born out of wedlock.”

  Katie looked up from the gown, her hands clutching the fabric, her eyes troubled, beseeching. “Will you tell?”

  “I am not a bastard.”

  “Yet my daughter is. Will you ruin her life?”

  They both knew the girl’s future would be destroyed by the stigma of illegitimacy. Susannah’s friends would desert her, the villagers would shun her. As for Mrs. Cole, she would be ostracized in her own community, only because stoning had gone out of use. Let a woman no better than she ought to be teach music to their innocent daughters? Have a fallen woman sing with the angels in the choir? Purchase her morally tainted eggs? Yes, he could shatter both women’s lives, but no, he would not. He did not have to tell Mrs. Cole that, however. “I think you should cancel the wedding.”

  It sounded like extortion to both their ears. Forde winced. Mrs. Cole gasped, seeing everything she had worked for, sacrificed for, gone up in smoke.

  “Why? What is it to you if Susannah’s birth was irregular? You have seen for yourself that she is a perfectly behaved young lady, with no blot on her name or character.”

  “But that stain is there, and we both know it. Others might find out.”

  “How could they? And why should anyone care enough to look?”

  He set the Bible down and leaned against the desk, close enough to reach over and smooth the errant honey blond curls away from her cheeks, if he did not fear she would stab him with her scissors. “What if someone recognizes you?”

  “That is unlikely. I do not go anywhere, and strangers do not come here. Besides, I am not the same girl you met almost twenty years ago.”

  “Yet I thought you looked familiar. Your green eyes are distinctive with those blue flecks in them.” He did not mention that he’d been staring, fascinated. “And so is your chin.”

  Katie’s hands flew to her face to see if her chin had sprouted a wart or a beard. It seemed the same as usual. “I could wear glasses to disguise my appearance. And my hair will turn gray. Furthermore, no one will look that hard, my lord. No one has in all these years.”

  “My sister-in-law might. My cousin might, if she comes to the wedding.”

  Now Katie looked down, at the fabric in her lap. “Her name was on Gerald’s list, but we could not accommodate everyone at such a small wedding breakfast.”

  “Or she was not invited due to your fears of being unmasked. So you will be safe from discovery for now, but what of your daughter? We both know the old tabbies in Town will want to know her ancestors for the last ten generations. They will poke and pry: Who are her people, where are they from, what families are they related to? You know the gabble grinders who make a sport and a skill out of destroying reputations.”

  “Susannah and Gerald are going to take up life in the country, not among the so-called polite world. She need not be exposed to the gossipmongers.”

  “What, you think there are no nosy neighbors near Gerald’s estate? I thought you knew small towns better than that. No matter, Miss Cole will face enough scandal broth in London.”

  “Your nephew says he hates city life.”

  “But his mother adores it. He cannot ignore her, or his sisters. He must come to Town for the girls’ come-out parties and presentations, at the very least. Gerald’s wife ought to be presented at court too, for their own children’s sakes, if nothing else. How can Mrs. Gerald Wellforde be announced to the queen or the prince under an assumed name? Sired by a father who never existed? I doubt my sister-in-law would be pleased to sponsor a girl of questionable birth. The blemish could color her own daughters’ chances of making decent matches.”

  “My daughter did nothing wrong!” Katie insisted. “She deserves her happy day and her bright future.”

  “I agree that Miss Cole is an innocent. But that does not change anything. She is not a suitable bride for my nephew.”

  “He loves her.”

  “He is young. He will get over it.”

  “Spoken like one who has never loved. How old were you when you wed, my lord?”

  “My age makes no difference, since my marriage was neither a love match nor a success. Neither was your, ah, girlish infatuation. Your experience alone ought to persuade you of that.”

  “I was younger than Susannah, yes. But,” she quickly added, “I have no regrets. I have my daughter. And I did beg her to wait, to be certain of Mr. Wellforde’s constancy.”

  “But she did not listen, I suppose, just as Gerald did not heed his own mother’s admonitions.”

  Katie shrugged. “A daughter’s tears can melt the hardest heart.”

  He looked at the gown she was laboring over, recalling that the bride was crying in her bedroom. “You have spoiled her.”

  Katie raised her chin. “I did not hear about you refusing permission for Gerald to become engaged. You were the one with the power to delay the betrothal, since you hold the purse strings.”

  “I had no reason then. But tell me, madam, did you think they would be happy, with such a difference in their stations, aside from the question of Miss Cole’s parentage or why her lofty grandparents do not recognize her?”

  “Susannah has no grandparents. My father disowned me, as I said. And yes, I thought she would be happy with her young man. We are not ignorant, illiterate peasants. Susannah has a fine education and gentle manners. She has a dowry to bring to the marriage, too.”

  “The innkeeper’s daughter has a dowry, he told me. That does not make her a suitable bride for my nephew.”

  “Your nephew wishes to become a horse breed
er. Susannah will grace his table, manage his home, keep to a budget. She will be a good mother to his children. Further, she and Mr. Wellforde have much in common: their love of music and the outdoors. My daughter is at home in the saddle, and in the country, where she was the belle of local assemblies. So, yes, I think she will make Gerald an excellent wife, and he swears to make her a loyal husband. No one has to know of her birth. I will not be in London to invite speculation when she goes to Town, so she can be accepted there, too, especially if Gerald’s mother smooths her way into Society.”

  “You do not know Agnes. She was hoping your daughter had enough social standing to take charge of her girls. The daughter of an unknown Navy man and an obscure Miss Browne has no standing whatsoever. And what shall your daughter answer when people ask why her mother does not visit?”

  Katie waved her hand, as if to clear the air. “You are making too much of this. She can say I am an invalid or a recluse. It matters not.”

  “You would ask your own daughter to lie? I assume she does not know the truth.”

  “Of course not. A small child could not understand the ramifications of her situation. Later, there was no need to disillusion Susannah about her heroic father. He gave her little enough without stealing that, too.”

  Forde could hear her bitterness and wanted to wipe away her cares, but he could not. “Mrs. Cole, I sympathize with your desire to see your child well settled in life. I wish the same for my boy, too. But that changes nothing. Think on it. Heaven forbid something should happen to my son, Gerald will be my heir. His wife will be viscountess, with a place in Society whether she wishes it or not.”

  “Nothing will happen to your son.”

  He nodded his appreciation of her confidence. “If I were the one to die, then, Gerald would be the boy’s guardian. I could have broken my neck in your chicken run, no thanks to that gown. Or look at what happened to your own fiancé, cut down in his prime. Gerald would have to be in London part of the year to manage my assets and investments for Crispin. Again, his wife must be—”

  Katie had heard enough. She carefully draped the gown over an arm of her chair and stood. “Let me understand, my lord. You would ruin my daughter’s life—and your nephew’s—now, on the chance that he needs to fill your shoes in ten years?”

  “Hopefully more than ten. I am only forty, and barring skittish horses and bad roads, I intend to make it to sixty or seventy at least.”

  “At which time your son will need no trustee. No, my lord, your arguments are absurd. You have met Susannah and seen what a lovely girl she is,” Katie said with a mother’s pride. She waited for Forde to nod his head in acknowledgment.

  “And you have said that you do not hold her illegitimacy against her. Therefore you are basing your disapproval on your own interests, not Gerald’s. It seems to me that assuring the succession to your title and properties is your responsibility, not his. If you are worried that your son will be left without guidance, select trustees now. If you fear your son might not survive to succeed you—as you say, heaven forbid—then do something about that, too. You are forty, surely capable of begetting another heir, the proverbial spare.”

  Forde was not about to discuss his abilities to procreate. He did not get the chance, either, for the widow was going on with her tirade. “According to Gerald, you could have your pick of titled, wealthy, perfectly delightful young ladies. Go marry one and let Gerald marry where he wants, you selfish, thickskulled man!”

  Forde clenched his teeth to keep from shouting. “You are insolent and impertinent, madam.” He paced the small room, kicking her scissors and a spool of thread out of his way. “And perhaps you are correct. I should not lay my burden on my nephew. Nor will I act the tyrant and forbid his marriage. I shall ask him if he wishes to marry into a family of liars and cheaters and—”

  “Whores? Go on, say it. It is nothing my own father did not say.”

  “I was going to say chicken farmers.”

  “Then you are going to tell him?”

  “He has a right to know . . . unless the wedding is canceled.”

  “With half the banns already spoken? You know it cannot be called off. My daughter will be labeled a jilt, your nephew a here-and-thereian. If he cries off, people will ask why and assume the worst.”

  “Nonsense. You can postpone the wedding on some pretense—an illness in the family or something. You were not above lying two minutes ago. Then, in a few months, you can drop a hint that the youngsters have decided they will not suit. No one will question the change of heart, given their ages.”

  “Impossible.”

  “Gerald is a wealthy young man by most standards. If you are worried about losing the money, I am prepared to—”

  Katie would have thrown something at Forde, except the nearest thing to hand was the wedding gown. She was more determined than ever that Susannah would wear it, and on schedule. Instead she threw him a look of such disdain that Forde’s spine—and lower attachments—should have shriveled.

  “Delay the wedding in a quiet, convenient manner? How, I ask, am I supposed to do that, you featherheaded fool? Even if Susannah were willing, which, I assure you, she is not, it would be impossible, my lord.”

  “Anything is possible.”

  “No, my lord, not at any price, not with your sister-in-law and her daughters arriving for the happy occasion. Tomorrow.”

  Chapter Eight

  Tanyon Wellforde, Viscount Forde, was a gentleman born and bred. The tenets of honor and duty were the building blocks of his very essence. A gentleman did not lie or cheat or steal. He defended the weak and protected those who were dependent on him. He kept his house, his assets, and his family safe and without scandal.

  So what did he do now?

  He could not let Gerald live a lie, marrying a woman whose very name was a fabrication. The truth was bound to come out sometime, when the first rush of infatuation was faded. Then the young man would have a lifetime of regret ahead of him. Nor could Forde betray a woman who had given up her way of life to protect that lie and her own family. Besides, he liked Mrs. Katie Cole.

  He had to respect what she had done, with courage, by all accounts, raising chickens and a baby when she ought to have been raising her fan to call a beau to her side at some ball or other. Few other pampered daughters of the polite world could have done as much with so little, all on her own. No other fallen woman would have sold her musical skills and her eggs instead of her body, her lush and lovely womanly body.

  He also admired the fact that she had not lost her spirit when she lost her family, wealth, and prospects. Every inch an earl’s daughter, she would not bow down to the demands of a mere viscount, even though he could rend apart her world the way she cracked one of her eggs. She had bottom, did Katie Cole, and a nice one it was, too. Her top was not bad, either, Forde reflected over a glass of cognac back at the inn. He liked her ample breasts and the way they filled her gown, the way they would fill a man’s hands when he—

  He wouldn’t. But he’d have one hell of hard time sleeping tonight while he tried to decide what to do about the wedding.

  He was still trying to decide when his sister-in-law arrived at the inn the next day.

  She commandeered the second-best suite of rooms, which were reserved for Gerald, which meant Gerald would be sharing Forde’s chambers. Then she demanded the viscount’s presence in her private parlor, where maids and footmen were busy carrying in bags and trunks, jewel cases and hatboxes, enough for a small army, much less one woman and two daughters. Before he could greet her—actually, he was going to ask after Gerald, so he could wring the young man’s neck—she began shouting at him from the chaise longue where she reclined, one hand on her dog, the other clutching a vinaigrette.

  “My stars, Forde, what kind of uncaring uncle are you? I thought you were going to do something about this awful idea of Gerald’s. You must! He cannot be permitted to marry into that family. Why, the woman is—”

  “She told
you, then?”

  “She told me to leave, and in the rudest way possible.”

  “Mrs. Cole?” Forde could not imagine the widow being so impolite to a stranger, and her daughter’s future mother-in-law at that. She had been rude to him, but he deserved it. “She was happily preparing for your arrival when I saw her last.” Actually, she was holding that blasted dress to her bosom when he left. She was furious and frightened, and he wanted nothing more than to take her into his arms and tell her everything would be fine. But everything would not be all rosy and romantic, because the world was the way it was, cruel and unforgiving. That was unfortunate, but not likely to change, especially if she had insulted Agnes at the first meeting. He did his best to smooth those waters. “You did arrive a week early, you know.”

  “That is as may be, but she said she had no room for my dresser, the girls’ maid, and the governess. Or time for anyone’s megrims.” She sniffed. “As if I were wont to suffer the vapors. All I requested was a cup of tea, some lavender water for my brow, perhaps a posset, and a bit of steak for Ruffles. She claimed my darling barked at her chickens so they would not lay, then she said she had no time, not with a sick child in the house.”

  Forde stopped his pacing around the parlor. “What, has one of the girls taken ill? And you left her for Mrs. Cole to tend?”

  “My daughters are fine, and in their own chambers here at this tawdry inn, resting. There is nothing niminy-piminy about them, I’ll have you know.”

  On the contrary, Forde recalled his nieces whining and wailing at each minor scrape or sniffle. “Did Miss Cole contract a fever, then? She was in perfect health yesterday.”