"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.

At last she said, "Please, Grandfather, don't make me choose between you."

Henry's step faltered as he paced across the room, and he stopped and stared at her in wonder. When he had studied her face for a moment, he shook his head resignedly. "That is what I'm asking you to do, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is, and it isn't fair," Felicity said, kindly but with iron determination. "I love you both, but Joshua is my husband and my place is with him. That doesn't mean I'll never see you again. We'll come back to visit you often, and you can come to Texas to see us, too, now that you're well."

Henry's shoulders slumped in the face of her determination. "Yes, you've given me back my health. I suppose I should be grateful for that, at least. But I was hoping… I thought perhaps you and Richard…"

But Felicity shook her head. "No, Grandfather, never me and Richard. I like Richard very much, but I love Joshua and he's my husband. I want to be with him."

"But what about your photographs and the Exposition? Surely you want to be here for your moment of glory," he tried desperately.

That was her one real regret, but she had already decided where her priorities lay. "Mr. and Mrs. Evans will be only too glad to oversee the exhibit for me. I don't have to be here. The photographs will stand on their own merit."

Henry reluctantly agreed. "It's just that I can't stand the thought of losing you…"

"I'm not Claire, Grandfather," Felicity assured him. "I'm not going to disappear from your life."

"No, you're not Claire," Henry agreed at last, lifting a hand to stroke the golden cloud of her hair. "You have her spirit, but you have a lot more sense than she or her father ever had."

"You have plenty of sense when you choose to use it," Felicity pointed out with a small smile.

She watched unnamed emotions play across his face for a moment, and then he said, "I think I'd better use some now, then. There's something you need to know about Joshua, about why he left here. He made me promise not to tell you, but I should have told you anyway. The reason I didn't was because I wanted you to be unhappy with him, and I'm sorry for that now. It seems there's some kind of trouble at his ranch. It may not be safe for you to go back yet…"

Felicity listened to his explanation, letting him show his concern for her, before she told him she already knew about everything. She did not leave him until much later, after she had assured him the trouble at the ranch was solved and he had helped her plan her trip and they had made promises to see each other again very soon. As she closed the door of his room behind her, she realized that she only had one more thing to do before leaving Philadelphia. She had to see Dr. Strong.


Josh roamed aimlessly around the empty house as twilight began to shadow the rooms. How he hated the long, lonely evenings when the men had retired to the bunkhouse and Candace had returned to her cabin. This was the time he used to spend with Felicity, and memories of her were everywhere in the echoing house.

In his restlessness, he carefully avoided the corner of the parlor where his desk sat, the desk where he had composed so many unmailed letters to his absent wife. Since the night of the fire, when he and his men had finally destroyed Ortega's gang and driven them off for good, Josh had changed his mind a dozen times about the best way to get Felicity home.

At first he had decided the only thing to do was go to Philadelphia and fetch her, but events had prohibited him from such an action. He and his men had spent several days combing the countryside for Ortega and the few outlaws who had escaped.

Josh had conducted the search with mixed hopes for success. While he wanted to capture Ortega once and for all, he was afraid that Jeremiah would be with the bandit. Even though his half-brother was far from innocent, Josh could not have brought him to justice, not when he owed the man his life.

But circumstances had spared him such a duty. Ortega and Jeremiah seemed to have vanished into thin air. Eventually Josh and his men returned home, content to know that although Ortega was not captured, at least he was conquered.

After that, Josh had to clear away what was left of the barn and oversee the raising of a new one. The whole community turned out for the event, and yesterday the new barn had been completed.

During all that time, Josh had begun to realize how foolish he would look if he returned to Philadelphia like a supplicant to beg Felicity to come home. By now she must be a veritable fixture in Philadelphia society, Henry Maxwell's protegee and Richard Winthrop's constant companion. The thought infuriated him. During those days, he had drafted several summonses which demanded she leave her grandfather and come home to Texas. All of them had ended up in the fire because he had known, however much he might deny it, that calling her home by mail was the coward's way out.

No, if he wanted his wife back, he must go to Philadelphia himself. If she was angry with him-as well she might be judging from her silence-then she could be angry in person. And if she still refused to come home, then he would simply bring her. A husband had certain legal rights that even Henry Maxwell's influence could not negate.

Damn it, yes, that's what he would do. He would go to Philadelphia. In fact, he decided, heading for his bedroom, he would leave tonight. There was no sense in waiting for the stage from Prospect. He could be halfway to San Antonio by morning if he left now on a good horse.

He was throwing things into a carpetbag when he heard a wagon rattling into the ranch yard.

"Hello, the house!" Blanche called.

Josh swore. Not Blanche, not now. She'd just stopped by this afternoon on her way to town. She'd been nosing around, asking questions about when Felicity was coming home. What in the hell could she want again so soon?

"Joshua!" Her voice seemed to reverberate through the evening stillness. "Come out here! I've brought you something from town!"


Blanche had indeed stopped by the ranch earlier. Her main purpose had been to make sure Josh was home, and to inform Candace of Felicity's arrival. Then, as instructed, she had gone to Prospect to await the stagecoach.

Felicity leaned out the window of the stage as the town of Prospect came into view. Miraculously, it was unchanged, although how that could be when she herself was so changed, Felicity could not imagine.

And Blanche was waiting for her, just as her telegram had requested.

"I see you got my message," Felicity said breathlessly when Blanche at last released her from a bear-hug greeting.

"Of course I got your message," Blanche said, looking exasperated. "But did you have to sign it, "Your Dearest Friend"? "Why didn't you use your name?"

"Because," Felicity said with a grin, "then my return would have been public knowledge. There's nothing private about telegrams."

"No, not when Oscar is the telegraph operator," Blanche agreed. "But why all the secrecy?"

"I told you, I want to surprise Joshua," Felicity said. She hadn't allowed herself to examine the motives for such a surprise. Perhaps she just wanted to be there to see his face that first moment when he realized she had come back to him. If she had sent the telegram to him, that moment would have occurred when she was a thousand miles away. If he had been the one to meet her, his true feelings would have been disguised behind a polite veneer. This way, she would see every one of those feelings just as Joshua experienced them.

By the time Felicity's trunks had been loaded into Blanche's wagon, everyone in town knew she had returned. She kept telling well-wishers that she wanted to surprise her husband. She only hoped that the news did not beat her out to the ranch.