But Felicity listened to the plans for her photographs with only half an ear. She was already composing the letter she would write to Joshua.
Much later, when all the guests had gone, Felicity stood alone in the empty ballroom before Joshua's picture. Reaching up, she traced his beloved features with her fingertip. How could she have been so stupid? Hadn't Joshua told her how much he loved her? Hadn't he proved his love over and over? She had let her own pride and Richard's enmity blind her to the obvious truth.
And how like Joshua to hide the truth from her. His need to protect her had taken extreme forms, extending even to celibacy. Why hadn't she guessed immediately that his change of heart about leaving her here was a result of that part of his character and not proof of indifference? When she remembered how he had made love to her that last night, she knew she must have been insane to ever doubt his feelings for her.
"I love you," she whispered to the picture, and then she hurried from the ballroom. Richard had gone downstairs to escort the last of the guests out. She had managed to avoid him all evening, but soon he would return, seeking her, she knew. She wanted to be safely locked in her bedroom when he did.
The next morning, Felicity was sitting in the back parlor slaving over her letter to Joshua when Bellwood's discreet knock interrupted her. "You have a letter, Mrs. Logan," he announced, presenting it to her on a small silver tray.
His words sent a thrill of excitement through her as for one moment she believed this to be Joshua's summons home, but that thrill turned to dread when she saw the handwriting on the envelope. It wasn't Joshua's handwriting. The return address said the letter was from Blanche. Why would Blanche be writing? She tried to tell herself it was only a friendly note, but there had been no friendly notes in all this time. Why would Blanche write now unless to tell her something was wrong?
With trembling hands Felicity tore open the envelope. "My Dearest Friend," the letter began. "I have recently learned that you are ignorant of events here…"
Quickly, Felicity read through the long explanation. At last, with tears in her eyes, she let the pages fall into her lap and sighed with relief. Joshua was all right. That was the important thing.
"Bad news, Mrs. Logan?" Bellwood asked solicitously. "I can send for your aunt."
"What? Oh no," Felicity assured him, hastily wiping the tears away. "It's very good news indeed." And then she remembered something Blanche had said in her letter. "Bellwood, did Mr. Logan receive a letter right before he left?"
Bellwood's inscrutable face grew even more inscrutable. "I'm sure I can't recall, ma'am."
"He did, didn't he?" she accused. "It came the day before he left, and it was from the same lady who wrote this letter," she added, holding up the pages she still clutched. "It's all right, Bellwood. I know he told you not to tell me."
"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about," Bellwood lied, but badly, so she would know the truth.
"No, of course you don't," she said with a grateful smile.
When Bellwood had gone, she reread Blanche's letter several times, gleaning every tidbit of information from it. When she had finished, she found that there was only one thing she did not know: If the danger was now over, why hadn't Joshua sent for her yet?
She was still puzzling over this when her aunt came in some time later. "Who is your letter from, dear?" Isabel inquired politely.
"From my friend, Mrs. Delano," Felicity replied absently. "You remember, I told you about her."
"Oh, yes, that striking-looking woman in the photographs," Isabel said, taking a seat opposite Felicity.
Her aunt sat there, smiling vacantly, waiting for some cue from Felicity as to where the conversation might be heading. Felicity decided to point it in a serious direction, something she had never before tried with Isabel. Perhaps she was wasting her time, but she badly needed to talk to someone, and Isabel was handy. "I may be leaving soon," she ventured.
Isabel seemed startled but not horrified. "Oh, dear," she said. "Papa will be upset, but then, that is to be expected. He'll want you to stay, you know. I think he even expects it, although that's foolish of him, isn't it? He may have a difficult time dealing with your defiance of his wishes, too. No one has defied him since your mother left here."
Felicity stared at her aunt. This was not the first reference Isabel had made to Claire's rebellion, but Felicity had always assumed that Isabel had exaggerated the conflict between her mother and her grandfather. Now that Felicity thought about it, however, her grandfather had alluded to that conflict on more than one occasion, too. "Aunt Isabel, what was my mother like?"
Isabel blinked in confusion for a moment. "Why, that's hard to say. I mean, she wasn't like me at all, and she wasn't like you, either."
That came as no surprise. Felicity knew her mother must have been much more spirited than Isabel to have run off with Caleb Storm. She also knew from what her father had said that her mother had been far more saintly than Felicity ever hoped to be.
Isabel's smooth brow furrowed as she considered. "Claire was wild. Very outspoken. Why, you never knew what might come out of that girl's mouth. And she wasn't afraid of anything, not even Papa. She would make him furious, and when he shouted at her, she never even batted an eye. She was, I guess, most like Papa himself. That's probably why he loved her so much…" Isabel's voice trailed off as she noticed Felicity's shocked expression. "Is something wrong, dear?"
Felicity shook her head. "No, nothing's wrong. Please, go on," she urged.
Isabel seemed to have lost her train of thought, so Felicity prompted her. "How did my mother and father meet?"
Isabel smiled at the memory. "When Claire went to have her picture made. I went, too, of course, and we both fell madly in love with the photographer. Caleb was so handsome. But, of course, he was socially unacceptable to someone of our standing. There was no question of his coming to the house, so Claire met him secretly."
Felicity tried in vain to picture the stooped and haunted man she had known as a handsome, virile lover who had swept a young debutante off her feet.
"Then Claire came home one night and announed to Papa that she was going to marry Caleb Storm. I've never seen him so angry. We feared he might have apoplexy. He threatened her with everything. He even threatened Caleb's life, but she was undaunted. The next morning she was gone. We never saw either of them again." Isabel sighed as her pale blue eyes seemed to gaze into some distant past time to examine a memory there.
"Papa was never quite the same after that," Isabel remembered. "I tried to make it up to him, but I wasn't Claire. No one could ever replace her… until you came along." Isabel smiled again and patted Felicity's hand. "But you won't let him keep you from your young man either, will you?"
"No, no I won't," Felicity murmured, as much to herself as to Isabel. She had been sitting here wondering what decision to make about going home when the answer was only too obvious. She must go to Joshua. Whatever his reasons for leaving her, whatever his reasons for not calling her home, he was still her husband and she loved him. If their marriage was to endure, they must be together. And by returning to him of her own free will, she would prove to him once and for all that she was not like his mother, that she would never choose her family over him. "Is Grandfather awake yet?" she asked, rising from her chair. "I think I'd better tell him right away."
Her conversation with her grandfather was just as difficult as she had anticipated, although he had apparently learned that threats were not the most useful way of bending a young woman to his will. Instead he questioned Josh's feelings for her in no uncertain terms and played on her sympathy for his own delicate health.