THE BRIDE WORE BLUE

by Cheryl Bolen

  When he reached her house, he drew his rig to a stop, leaped from his seat, then lifted Felicity down. He walked her to the door and tenderly kissed her hand. “Thank you for making me the happiest of men.”

  She gave him an odd look, then slid in the door’s opening.

  Felicity had no more shut the door when Glee came flying into her arms, crying. “Can you ever forgive me, Felicity?” she sobbed, blotting her tears on the sleeve of her sprigged muslin gown.

  Felicity clasped her arms around Glee, stroking her sister’s slender back. “I’m just so happy you’re not forced to spend the rest of your life with Mr. Salvado,” Felicity whispered tearfully.

  Glee released her, and they began to mount the stairs. “What did George say to you last night?” Felicity asked.

  They entered Glee’s chamber and shut the door.

  “He had me utterly trembling. I’ve never seen George act so ... grown-up.”

  “Nor have I,” Felicity said, beginning to hang up her sister’s garments that had been stuffed in a cloth bag.

  “George said he blamed himself for not being around more. He acted as if he plans to accompany me whenever I go out.”

  Felicity raised her brows. Did this mean George was finally behaving as a viscount who was head of a household ought?

  “I can’t believe I ever found Mr. Salvado handsome,” Glee said, shaking her head and plopping on her bed. “He’s terribly old. He must be five-and-thirty. And I did not at all like the smell that lingered about him in the carriage.”

  “I daresay it was garlic,” Felicity commented. “Italians, I am told, sprinkle it about all their food.” She wrinkled her nose. “It has a most foul odor.”

  The two of them burst into giggles.

  “Thank your lucky stars—and Mr. Moreland—you aren’t shackled to Mr. Salvado for the rest of your life.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Glee ran her eyes over Felicity, taking in the pale merino dress her sister wore. “I am so very pleased you have thrown off your mourning, though I am most jealous. Now you will sadly outshine me.”

  “Pooh! We are different types, that is all.”

  “Yes, you’re the elegant blonde, and I’m merely a perky redhead.”

  “I don’t know how elegant I am,” Felicity countered, “but, pray, what’s wrong with being perky? And you forgot to mention you are lovely and petite.”

  Glee shrugged, cocked her head, and studied her sister. “As pretty as your dress once was, you must own it is now sadly outdated. How many years have you had it?”

  Felicity thought on it a moment. “It was part of my wedding trousseau, which would make it—”

  “Six-and-a-half years old,” Glee answered.

  “Does our newfound money not run to purchasing a few new things for yourself?” Glee asked.

  Felicity looked down at her gown and realized her sister was correct The dress even smelled old. “Perhaps I could do with one or two new dresses.” The money had come from Thomas; and with smug satisfaction, Felicity knew he would heartily approve of her getting new clothing. In fact, Mr. Moreland would likely rejoice.

  The knowledge caused her insides to flutter. She had felt unaccountably light all day. Thomas Moreland brought her to life as no other person had ever done. Not even her beloved Michael. ‘Twas time she allow herself to live again.

  Felicity stood up and began to don her pelisse. “You must come with me. I believe I’m going to make some frivolous purchases.”

  A smile arched across Glee’s face.

  They went first to Gay Street, to the same mantua maker who had fashioned Glee’s new dresses. There, Felicity and Glee bent over pattern books and fingered expensive silks. After nearly two hours, Felicity selected patterns for two evening gowns and three promenade dresses. Remembering how well Thomas liked her in blue, she chose two of her dresses in that hue, one for day and one for night.

  “I feel terribly selfish you are only getting yourself five when you allowed me twice as many,” Glee said.

  “As I told you before, pet, I am not the one seeking a husband.”

  After leaving the mantua makers, the sisters walked along Cheap Street to the milliner’s; but before going in the shop, they stooped to speak with Jamie.

  He happily showed them his new toy soldiers. Felicity was most surprised for the toys were very costly. How had the lad gotten them? Surely his mother’s limited funds would not spread so far. Felicity had been told that some seamstresses worked for just two pennies a day. She supposed one of the shop’s wealthy patrons must have bestowed the toy soldiers on the boy.

  Bless her.

  “I say, Jamie,” Glee said sweetly, “your coloring is ever so much better than it was the last time we saw you. The waters of Bath must be doing you good.”

  “Oh, ‘tis not the waters. ‘Tis the sunshine—and the oranges. My benefactor sees to it that I ride a pony in the open air every day of the week. Told me mum that oranges would make me walk. Sends ’em to me every day.”

  What a kind woman the benefactor must be, Felicity thought In the shop, Felicity selected a straw bonnet for daytime. Why buy several when she could easily make this one complement each of her dresses merely by adding different colored flowers and ribbons? For evenings, she chose an ivory plumed band. Though they were the height of fashion, Felicity admitted the bands were actually quite foolish looking. What was wrong with being crowned by one’s own shining hair?

  Before she left, Felicity nodded at the seamstress who worked in the back of the shop. Jamie’s mother. “Your lad is ever so much healthier looking than when we last saw him.”

  A huge smile crossed the woman’s face. “Oh, he is! With the help of his benefactor’s groom, who brings the pony to him each day, Jamie has even taken a few steps.” A tear slipped from her brightened eyes.

  “How wonderful! May I know the name of the benefactor?” Felicity queried.

  “I wish I knew it He’s the finest gentleman I’ve ever seen.”

  A gentleman? How odd. Men never came to these shops.

  “He sends oranges to Jamie each day. Says he has his own orangery. He must be a fine lord. And he’s ever so handsome. Young, and tall and dark.”

  Good God, the woman was describing Thomas Moreland! He had an orangery. And he was certainly tall and dark and dangerously handsome. Now that she thought on it, Felicity remembered mentioning poor little Jamie to him. The day he had suddenly excused himself from her morning room, only to return for Dianna an hour later. That had been a month ago.

  Felicity addressed the lad’s mother again. “How long now has Jamie’s benefactor been helping him?”

  “Funny you should ask,” the woman said. “He came the very day when last you and your sister were here.”

  Mrs. Simmons, the shop owner, nodded. “Such a fine lord he is. He paid me handsomely to allow Mrs. Campbell to take the little tyke to the doctor.” She harrumphed. “As if I wouldn’t have been happy to help the sweet little lad.”

  “And,” Jamie’s mother piped in, “the kind benefactor has paid for Jamie to have the best doctor in all of Bath, Doctor Langston.”

  “How very kind,” Glee marveled.

  “Does the doctor believe Jamie will ever walk?” Felicity asked.

  Mrs. Campbell shrugged. “He’s not willing to commit himself, but the benefactor is sure. His groom works with Jamie every day.”

  “The benefactor comes here no more?” Felicity asked.

  Mrs. Campbell now made no pretense of working on the green velvet that had occupied her when Felicity and Glee entered the shop. “No, it’s my belief he doesn’t want anyone to recognize him and know of his good works. He refused any praises—”

  “And absolutely refused to tell us his name,” Mrs. Simmons added.

  “It’s really quite exciting, is it not, Felicity?” Glee said.

  Felicity smiled smugly. “Indeed, it is.”

  Soon after leaving the milliner’s shop, Felicity and Glee came u
pon their brother walking with Miss Moreland, who was accompanied by her French maid.

  Dianna’s face lit up when she saw Glee. “I am happy your health is so improved,” she exclaimed.

  Glee held out her arms. “Fit as a fiddle.”

  Felicity glanced from her brother to Dianna Moreland. “We are much indebted to you, Miss Moreland, for keeping our brother out of mischief.”

  George scowled, but Miss Moreland smiled. “How can you say that of Lord Sedgewick?” Dianna said. “He is everything that is gentlemanly.”

  Felicity could have sworn George’s chest puffed out with pride. Dianna is just what he needs. Felicity’s whole family had been saved by the dark, dashing man who’d recently returned from India. Thomas Moreland. Everyone’s benefactor, it seemed. Perhaps Mr. Moreland is just what I need, too, she thought.

  “Say, Sis,” George said to Felicity, “just noticed you are wearing color again. Deuced becoming on you, it is.”

  “Why, thank you, George.” Felicity smiled as she watched him pat Dianna’s hand, which rested on his arm; then they moved along.

  Felicity suddenly became impatient to see Mr. Moreland. He would call for her at seven to take her to tonight’s musicale. She wished the hours would fly by; she could hardly wait to see him.

  Not that she would have even a moment’s private time with him, for joining them would be his sister and her brother and sister.

  That night five of them squeezed into Thomas’s carriage. Fortunately, Felicity thought, George was not nearly as large as Thomas, wedged as he was between the tiny Glee and the slender Miss Moreland, who gave no indication she was at all uncomfortable.

  And Felicity cherished sitting beside Thomas, even though they would not be afforded any private conversation. She wondered when she would get the courage to address him by his Christian name, as he sometimes did her. Already, in her mind, she had begun to think of him as Thomas. The name suited him. It was solid. And sensible. And it harkened back to biblical times. All in all, a most satisfactory name for a most satisfactory man.

  “I don’t see why Blanks doesn’t come,” Glee protested to her brother.

  How awkward it must be for Glee, Felicity thought, to be a fifth wheel. She really did wish Mr. Blankenship would have come, though she had no idea where they would have put him. Of course, Mr. Blankenship had his own carriage, and a nice one it was, too.

  At the music hall, they all claimed seats on the same row, and once again Felicity found herself seated next to her paragon.

  As the pianist began his number, several candles were snuffed to darken the room. To her surprise and delight, Felicity felt Thomas draw her hand into his— and he gave no sign of letting it go.

  She could scarcely attend to the performer. Only the man beside her held her attention. She thought of Thomas’s many kindnesses to her, of how he had not hesitated to go after Glee and bring her home, saving her from an unthinkable mistake. She remembered the pleasure that brightened his face when he beheld her wearing color, and she recalled his stillness when she told him that she had finally managed to put Michael’s locket away. She thought, too, of fragile little Jamie, the frail lad who had no father, and of how Thomas had helped the boy and given him hope that he would walk one day.

  From the corner of her eye, she saw that George had drawn Dianna’s hand into his own. Felicity realized George had fallen in love with Dianna Moreland.

  The offspring of a viscount should not be feeling so very comfortable with the offspring of a lowly bookseller, but she—they—did. Of course, no one meeting the Morelands would guess they had not been born to privilege.

  Would that she could take credit for Thomas’s unerring sense of rightness, but, most assuredly, the credit must lie with his parents for raising such exemplary offspring. Thomas had no more needed her tutelage than he needed another thousand pounds.

  He was always successful. Always the victor. And he had done it through intelligence, fairness, and honesty.

  Why would such a paragon be interested in a drab widow? Surely, he could have any woman he wanted. Yet, she knew instinctively, he wanted her.

  After the first tune was finished and the next begun, she wondered what the other women he had been with were like. Having been a married woman, Felicity knew of men’s sexual appetites. As a man of nine-and-twenty summers, Thomas Moreland had likely enjoyed the sexual favors of many women. She did not like to think on that at all.

  Her beloved Michael had confessed to bedding many a courtesan in the days before he married. Were there courtesans in India? she wondered. Were they English or Indian women? Had Thomas been attracted to blondes before? Or had he preferred dark-haired women?

  By the end of the performance, she was trying to convince herself she was merely a novelty to Thomas Moreland. The man couldn’t be attracted to her. The idea of wooing a viscount’s daughter, no doubt, held appeal for him.

  But when the candles were lit again and he turned to her with genuine warmth in his black eyes, she questioned her recent conclusion. If Thomas was one thing, he was honest. And his expression told her she was special to him. He had eyes for no other woman.

  Including the dazzling Carlotta Ennis, who had fairly thrown herself in Thomas’s path. Indeed, Thomas and the colonel, who was thankfully absent from the musicale, were the only men Felicity had ever known who preferred her over the exotic-looking Carlotta.

  “You found the performance commendable?” Thomas asked Felicity.

  “Yes, very,” she replied. Truth be told, she could not have said if the pianist had hair of black or of white. Not for one moment had the man engaged her attention.

  She turned to her other side to address Glee. “How did you find the performance, pet?”

  “Let me say that I shall be most happy to return to the Upper Assembly Rooms.”

  “One cannot dance seven nights a week,” Felicity chided.

  “Then perhaps I could be fortunate enough to capture the heart of a dashing young officer so I would not have to go to the assemblies at all,” Glee said.

  “You will, in time. When last we were at the Assembly Rooms—you’ll remember the night you were abed with the headache—Miss Moreland was completely surrounded by dashing officers.”

  Glee sighed. “Drat! I would have to pick that night to ... to be sick.”

  Felicity chuckled.

  “I beg that you tell me what you find so amusing,” Thomas said to Felicity.

  She faced him and spoke gently. “It was really nothing you’d be interested in.”

  He stood and offered her his hand. “I regret that the night nears its end, and I must take you home.”

  He led her from the hall and through the darkness toward his waiting carriage. How he saw the coach through the dense fog was a mystery to her. The five of them were damp from the mist.

  They had gone but a short distance when Thomas straightened his arm in front of Felicity and came to a halt.

  A menacing-looking man stepped out of the fog, a knife glinting in his hand.

  “Give me yer purse,” he shouted.

  Thomas stepped forward as a gasping Felicity tugged at his coat in a vain effort to stop him.

  Thomas tossed the man a purse bulging with coin. “Pray let the others go,” Thomas said. “This night has been most profitable for you.”

  The robber shook the full purse and laughed a wicked laugh, then he sliced open Thomas’s shirt. Blood quickly gathered on his chest.

  Thomas cursed and watched helplessly as the robber mounted his horse and sprinted into the murky fog.

  Tears welling in her eyes, Felicity rushed to see to Thomas’s wound.

  “He merely scratched me,” Thomas said.

  His carriage was now just steps away.

  “But you’re bleeding!” she shrieked. She watched as the red stain spread on his white shirt.

  Then she fainted.

  Chapter Sixteen

  When Felicity came to, the five of them were in the dark ca
rriage, going full speed ahead. Her head, she knew, rested in Thomas’s lap. She opened one eye and saw her brother, sister, and Dianna across from her. Then, remembering Thomas’s injury, she jolted upright, whirling to see him sitting next to her, blood staining his clothing. Then she remembered something altogether different . . .

  It had been a chilly night like this so long ago. She was on her way to London to marry Michael before he had to leave for Portugal. Then there was that poor young man lying near death beside the road. He was covered in blood. She remembered them bringing him into her carriage and how impossible it was to fit his long legs into a reclining position.

  He was much the size of Thomas. And his hair was black. Like Thomas’s. Her breath seized in mid chest.

  And he was going to India.

  “You gave us a frightful scare,” Glee said. “I can’t recall you ever fainting before.”

  “Save your concern for Mr. Moreland,” Felicity said. “I am fine. I daresay it was the sight of all that blood that made me reel.”

  She turned to Thomas. “Are you sure your wound is but a scratch?”

  “I’ve survived far worse,” he said.

  I’ll wager you have. “I still think we should call for a doctor.”

  “No,” he protested. “A cleansing with whiskey and a bandage are all that’s required. The coachman can fetch me a change of clothes from Winston Hall, and I’ll be as good as new.”

  George bent toward Thomas. “I’d feel better, old boy, if you’d stay with us tonight. Don’t need to jostle around a fresh wound by riding in a coach.”

  Felicity sat ramrod straight and faced Thomas, her voice stern. “You’re going nowhere until I see to the wound and judge you fit.”

  “Felicity attended injured soldiers in the Peninsula,” Glee added proudly.

  “Then we are fortunate to have her,” Dianna said in a shaky voice, “for I admit to being wholly unable even to look at wounds without losing the contents of my stomach.”