"Was this picture taken before or after you married, Mrs. Logan?" the woman who had threatened to die inquired.
Felicity thought the question impertinent and rude, but she smiled with saccharine sweetness. "It was taken the day he first made love to me," she replied, momentarily forgetting to conduct herself like a perfect lady.
The woman gasped and her face turned an unbecoming shade of purple, but Felicity acted as if she did not notice. "Do you have any other questions?" she asked innocently.
The woman beat a hasty retreat, but the rest of the group closed in around Felicity. They all had questions, but none of them were rude. They wanted to know things like how long she had studied photography and who had taught her, and they had dozens of questions about the subjects of her photographs. Felicity turned her back on Joshua's picture and concentrated on the answers in an attempt to blot out the memories of her husband.
"You simply must do a portrait of me," Elizabeth Evans said later when some of the furor had died down. The two women had stopped to examine one of the portraits of Blanche Delano.
"But I don't have any of my equipment with me," Felicity protested, thinking what a wonderful subject Mrs. Evans would make. Felicity had often regretted not bringing her camera to Philadelphia since she would have loved to have a portrait of her grandfather, too. Perhaps if she took photographs here, they could help erase the memories these other pictures evoked.
"Nonsense," Elizabeth insisted. "Alex has a dozen cameras at home. He probably hasn't touched half of them in ten years. He even has a room set up for doing all those mysterious things that must be done in darkness. You're more than welcome to use any and all of it. Isn't that right, Alex?" she asked her husband, who had just joined them.
"Only if she promises to give me some pointers in plate making," he qualified.
Felicity protested that he probably did not need any pointers, but he insisted that he did.
Elizabeth interrupted their discussion. "What's this I hear about Alex wanting to put your pictures into the Photograpy Pavilion?"
Felicity found herself blushing at the reminder of the honor Mr. Evans had bestowed upon her. "Your husband thinks my work is good enough…"
"Of course it's good enough. That's not the problem. I just don't think the Photography Pavilion is the place for it. There will be over ten thousand pictures on display in that building. Your work would never get the attention it deserves among so many. Felicity," Elizabeth said, leaning close as if confiding something urgent, "there's also going to be a Women's Pavilion at the Exposition, where the accomplishments of women will be displayed. May we hang your pictures there? They're bound to get more attention…"
"Wait a minute!" Alex protested, but both women ignored him.
Felicity was considering what Elizabeth had said. She was right; with over ten thousand pictures being displayed, hers would be lost. For a moment she thought that might not be a bad idea. But Elizabeth wasn't finished with her arguments.
"You'll be the only woman photographer represented, Felicity. You owe it to all women everywhere to be recognized particularly for your ability. Someday you're going to be famous, and in becoming so, you will help other women enter the field, too."
As much as Felicity's nature rebelled at the thought of being singled out in such a way, and as much as she doubted Elizabeth's prediction about her future fame, she had to agree with her new friend's reasoning. If she could help other women, she should do so. "You're right. I think I would prefer my work to be exhibited in the Women's Pavilion."
Alex groaned dramatically as Elizabeth flashed him a victorious smile.
Felicity was just about to apologize to him when a familiar face appeared over his shoulder.
"Mr. Gordon!" she exclaimed.
Asa Gordon excused himself for interrupting, but the Evanses did not seem to mind, especially when they saw how happy Felicity was to see him. Elizabeth was eager to withdraw with her triumph, and she led a disgruntled Alex away. Felicity took both of Asa's hands in hers and had to fight the urge to fling her arms around his neck. The sight of him reminded her of home and good times, back when she and Joshua had been together.
"You promised to come and see us," she chastened him.
"And here I am," he replied with a smile.
"That's not what I meant, and you know it," she said, shaking her head. But she was too happy to quibble.
"Our city must agree with you," he said, looking her over from head to toe. "I wouldn't have believed it possible, but you're even more beautiful than ever."
"And you're looking rather handsome yourself," she said, dimpling as she returned his examination. "I hardly recognized you in that outfit."
Asa glanced down sheepishly at his newly purchased evening clothes. "I hardly recognize myself, but they wouldn't let me in here if I hadn't dressed the part."
Felicity laughed at his dismayed expression, making him chuckle in return.
"How is Josh these days?" he inquired then.
Felicity fought the swift stab of pain the mention of her husband caused and valiantly kept her smile in place. "He's fine… I guess. I… I haven't heard much from him lately," she said, avoiding Asa's perceptive gaze.
But he easily read her distress. "Is anything wrong?" he asked in genuine concern.
"Oh no," she assured him brightly. "I'm sure he's just busy with the roundup. You know how men can be about letter writing." She saw the worried look on his face and feared his probing questions. To distract him, she said, "Have you seen the pictures of Blanche?"
Asa's gaze followed her gesture to the photograph hanging nearby, and for a moment his eyes clouded. "That one is my favorite," he said softly, reminding Felicity that he had seen these pictures before, in Texas.
"I should have given you one," she said, wishing she had. "But somehow I thought you'd have the real thing to look at and wouldn't need it." Felicity put her hand on his arm. "What happened between you two?" She instantly regretted her question when she saw the pain flicker across his face, the pain of loss which she too easily recognized, but she had no chance to apologize. Richard was bearing down on them.
"Gordon, what are you doing here?" he demanded.
"Richard!" Felicity cried, protesting his rudeness. "Is that any way to speak to a guest?"
"If he is a guest," Richard said, his handsome face twisted in outrage. "I don't recall seeing his name on the guest list."
"Henry invited me," Gordon replied with a confident smile. "I'm sure if you ask him, he'll be glad to verify it," he added, glancing over toward the alcove where Henry Maxwell was seated, holding court with Dr. Strong hovering nearby, ready to send him off to bed if he showed any signs of fatigue.
Richard's gaze followed Gordon's, and at that moment Henry looked up. Seeing Gordon, he smiled and waved him over. "Excuse me, please. I'm being summoned," Asa said, still smiling. "Save me a dance later, won't you, Mrs. Logan?"
"Of course," Felicity replied, giving Richard a defiant glare. "And I want you to be my dinner partner, too," she added, ignoring Richard's horrified gasp.
"I would be honored," Asa said, grinning triumphantly at Richard before turning away.
"How could you, Felicity?" Richard demanded when they were alone. Richard was to have escorted Felicity to dinner.
"How could you?" she replied furiously. "You were unspeakably rude to Mr. Gordon."
"That man has no place here," Richard insisted.
"He's my friend," Felicity said. "I'll thank you to remember that the next time."
Richard opened his mouth to reply but caught himself just in time. This was exactly the kind of confrontation he had sought to avoid earlier. This evening was to be Felicity's triumph and, consequently, his own. Swallowing his anger, he dredged up a placating smile. "I'm sorry. You're absolutely right. I'm afraid that when I saw the two of you over here having an intimate tete-a-tete, I became so jealous' that I lost control of my reason for a moment."
"That was obvious," she
replied, not placated a bit.
"I'll apologize to Mr. Gordon, too," Richard offered generously, although the words almost stuck in his throat. But at that moment he would have crawled over broken glass to restore himself to Felicity's good graces. He wanted nothing more than to make this the happiest night of her life.
"See that you do," she said, and started to turn away.
"Wait!" Richard called frantically. When she turned back, he summoned every ounce of boyish charm he possessed and asked humbly, "Would you prove that you have forgiven me and grant me the next dance?"
He really did look repentant, and Felicity was too softhearted to bear a grudge. Besides, he had been so good to her for so long, he was certainly entitled to one mistake. Felicity consented, giving him her hand and a warm smile of forgiveness. The dance was a waltz, and for the first few bars they moved together in silence. Richard, it seemed, had been successfully humbled. Or so she thought.
A moment later, he pulled her close and whispered, "I was right. You really are the most beautiful woman here."
His compliment touched a responsive chord deep within her. It had been a long time since a man had held her close and whispered sweet things, but Felicity could almost hear Joshua's voice saying those same words as his gray eyes smiled down on her, glittering with desire.
Richard's warm breath on her ear sent little shivers down her spine, and she made the mistake of looking up into his eyes. They were brown, not gray, but they burned with the same intensity she had often seen in Joshua's. The same intensity that Joshua's eyes held in the photograph hanging nearby. The memory kindled an unnatural heat in her own body.
As if sensing her reaction, Richard pulled her closer still so that her breasts teased against his chest, sending a disturbing message coursing through her quickening blood. She drew a startled breath and inhaled his musky, masculine scent, a scent that stirred long-suppressed emotions to life.
Richard studied her face, easily reading those emotions. "It's awfully warm in here," he said after a moment. "Let's go out on the balcony for a while."
It was indeed warm, and Felicity readily agreed. She needed some fresh air to clear her senses and to break the erotic haze that seemed to be turning Richard into Joshua right before her eyes. But she had not counted on the intimacy of the quiet balcony or the romantic ambience of the warm spring night. Stepping out into the silent darkness seemed to enfold them in a very private, very peaceful cocoon.
Richard slipped his arm around her waist as they moved to the railing and stood looking out over the treetops of Rittenhouse Square. Felicity knew she should step out of his embrace, that she was courting danger to stand so close to him, but his arm felt natural and right around her. His nearness was a comfort, and she needed comfort from the heartache Joshua had caused her. She had gone too long without the touch of one who really cared for her.
"Felicity?" he whispered, and in that moment she knew he really did care for her. He loved her as she needed to be loved. Her mind whispered, "Joshua," but the thought was too painful, and she had to blot it out. She lifted her face in desperation as Richard's mouth came down on hers.
His kiss was infinitely sweet, offering solace against the agonizing emotions the evening's activities had evoked, and she surrendered to it. For too long she had been denied such tenderness, and as one parched with thirst, she drank in this soothing release.
But the tenderness lasted only a second. Feeling her response, Richard tightened his embrace and tried to deepen the kiss, tripping an alarm inside her head. This wasn't Joshua! What had she done? she wondered frantically. Suddenly frightened over her own lack of control, Felicity struggled free of him.
"Richard! You mustn't!" she gasped, as horrified at her own behavior as she was at his.
"I can't help myself!" he insisted earnestly, reaching for her again. "I love you, Felicity. You must know that."
She avoided his grasp, shaking her head in silent denial. But it wasn't his love she was denying. She did know of that. It was her own reaction to that love she wished to disavow. "Don't say that, Richard," she begged.
"I have to say it, my darling," he said, capturing her again and holding her when she would have escaped. "I want to marry you."
Felicity gaped at him. "I'm already married," she cried in a last attempt to bring him to his senses.
For a second she thought she had succeeded as she felt the tension drain from his body. "Are you?" he asked coldly.
His question sent shivers of apprehension racing over her. "What do you mean?" she asked, not really wanting to hear the answer.
"I mean that your so-called husband left you here almost two months ago. How many times has he written, begging you to come home?" Richard asked, his voice raw with hatred for the absent Joshua. "Can you really be married to a man who no longer wants you?"
"That's not true!" Felicity cried. Richard's image blurred before her as she struggled to be free of him and of his taunting.
"But it is true," Richard insisted, unspeakably thankful that Logan had dug his own grave by not writing his wife any love letters. If Richard had known what a useful tool that would be, he might even have plotted to intercept such letters… if he could have borne to cause her such agony himself. "Forget about him, my darling. I want you and I love you! I'd never leave you, not for a moment…"
"Stop it!" Felicity shouted, breaking free from him at last. "Stop it, Richard! I don't want to hear another word!"
"Mrs. Logan?" Asa Gordon's voice startled them both, and they looked up to see his bulky form standing in the doorway to the ballroom. If he had seen or heard anything untoward, he gave no indication. His voice was perfectly normal when he said, "They're serving dinner now. Are you ready to go down?"
Felicity felt a hysterical urge to laugh at the absurd reasonableness of the request, but she quickly suppressed that desire. Instead she glared up at Richard. "You had better go along and find yourself a dinner partner, Cousin Richard," she said, signaling him that their discussion was at an end. She only hoped he would realize the folly of ever reopening the subject.
"But Felicity…" he objected, giving Gordon an irritated glance before turning back to her. When he did, his chocolate eyes were full of pain and remorse, but she could not let that move her.
"Please go, Richard," she said, leaving him no choice but to do so.
When he was gone, Asa Gordon hurried to her side. "Are you all right?" he asked. The urgency of his tone told her that he had indeed seen at least part of what had passed between Richard and herself.
"I will be, in a minute," she managed to murmur as she searched for the hidden pocket of her gown which concealed a handkerchief.
"Here," Asa said, offering his own.
She took it gratefully and wiped away her tears, making what repairs she could to her face. "I must look awful," she lamented. "How can I go back in there again?"
"You look lovely," he told her with a reassuring smile. "And don't worry, if anyone suspects anything, they will just assume I offended you in some way."
His remark brought a reluctant smile to her lips. "Thank you," she whispered, returning his handkerchief. "Please, stay close," she urged as they reached the door back into the ballroom.
"I'll never leave you, not for a moment!" Asa promised, managing a creditable imitation of Richard's fervent vow and tucking her arm into his.
Before she could react to his outrageous remark, he swept her into the bedlam of the ballroom. Asa did not stop, not until she was safely ensconced at a table downstairs, thus sparing her the ordeal of speaking with any of the other guests. He purposely selected a table in a remote corner of the back parlor, too, and seated her where she would be shielded by his bulk.
Soon one of the servants brought their meal, and Asa began to eat, pretending not to notice that Felicity didn't even bother to pick up her fork. When no one joined them after a few minutes, Asa felt free to speak.
"Josh loves you very much," he said.
"I…
I thought he did," Felicity replied, blinking away fresh tears as she realized how very much she wanted to believe Asa's statement. "But he hasn't written to me. Not once the whole time he's been gone." She lowered her eyes to where her hands twisted in her lap so Asa would not see her pain.
But he had sensed it anyway. "Why did he leave?" he asked, keeping his tone conversational in an attempt to put her at ease.
Felicity twisted her hands again. "He needed to be home for the spring roundup…" she began, stopping when she could think of nothing to add to that feeble excuse.
Asa did not reply, and after a moment Felicity realized he was waiting for her to look up. She did, and the tender expression in his eyes surprised her.
"Mrs. Logan, that doesn't make any sense at all. Why would he just up and leave you here, all alone? He must have known how Winthrop feels about you. Even a blind man could figure that out. If he left, he must have had a good reason. Maybe something happened at the ranch."
But Felicity was shaking her head. "No, he would have told me," she insisted. "He knows I wouldn't want to stay here if there was trouble at the Rocking L…" Felicity's eyes widened as realization finally dawned. "No, he wouldn't have told me, for that very reason!" she cried. "If there was trouble, he'd want me as far away as possible!"
Asa nodded sagely. "He must have gotten some kind of message."
Felicity frowned as she tried to recall. "No, nothing, except…" Then she remembered. The day they had quarreled about going home, Bellwood had interrupted them with something. Had he had a message of some kind for Josh? Had he been carrying a letter? No, just a tray… a tray with something on it, something that must have been a letter. She did know that immediately afterward Joshua had changed his mind about allowing her to stay. In fact, he had insisted upon it. "Yes, that's what must have happened," she told Asa excitedly, but then she thought of something else. "But that still doesn't explain why he hasn't written to me."
Asa shrugged that off. "Like you said, you know how men are about writing letters. Or maybe he's afraid that if he writes, you'll get homesick and come home. Knowing Josh, he's got a good reason for not writing."
Texas Blonde Page 40
