The Matrimony Plan. Christine JohnsonЧитать онлайн книгу.
a derisive cackle, he said, “I was jess going for a squirrel.”
Gabriel’s heart pounded so hard that he could barely speak. “Did you get it?” The question barely fit through his constricted throat.
“Naw. Too devilish fast for this old gun.” He shook the discharged shotgun. “R’member. You stay on your side, and I stay on mine.” With that declaration, he headed across the field to the distant ramshackle farmhouse.
“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Coughlin,” Gabriel called out.
The man either didn’t hear or didn’t want to. Peculiar man. Peculiar town.
Chapter Three
“You did what?” Mother’s screech carried all the way upstairs.
Felicity checked the clock. It was not yet five forty-five. Mother’s conniption fit couldn’t be about her. She eased the emerald-colored taffeta jacket over her shoulders. Conservative would no longer do. She had to dazzle Robert Blevins tonight, before he heard any malicious gossip connecting her to Gabriel Meeks.
She pulled a matching ribbon from her vanity drawer and wove it into her hair. A diamond-headed hairpin secured it and added the necessary bit of sparkle. Robert had to fall for her. He just had to.
“How could you?” Mother wailed downstairs.
Felicity inched noiselessly to the stairway landing and from that perch saw that Mother had pinned Daddy and Blake at the front door. Blake’s wife, Beatrice, a pretty blonde, hovered near the parlor entrance, anxiously waiting for Mother to vent the rest of her anger.
“That makes an odd number of guests,” Mother cried.
“What’s one more?” Daddy waved off her concern. “The more the merrier, eh, Blake?” He gave a little laugh, meant to calm her.
Felicity’s brother shrugged. “Fine with me. We’ll have plenty to discuss.”
Apparently Daddy had invited someone else, probably Jack Hunter, since the airfield project most directly involved him. Ever since Jack and Darcy Hunter had attempted the transatlantic crossing last year, Blake and Daddy wanted to bring aviation to Pearlman. Blake had come up with the idea of the airfield and flight school, and Daddy had supplied the funds. Jack Hunter would do the training. Most importantly, Daddy had hired Mr. Robert Blevins to engineer the project, and now Felicity would engineer a marriage.
Mother threw up her hands. “But an odd number means one person won’t be paired.”
That was strange. If Jack Hunter were coming, wouldn’t he bring his wife? Perhaps Daddy hadn’t invited Mr. Hunter. A horrible thought raced through Felicity’s mind. What if Daddy had invited a lady? And what if that lady was unmarried? Felicity did not need more competition for Mr. Blevins’s attention.
Mother pouted. “Fine. Don’t consider me. Don’t ever consider me. How am I supposed to arrange the table? One gentleman will inevitably be left out.”
Thank goodness…another man. It must be Jack Hunter after all. With a smile of satisfaction, Felicity glided down the staircase. “Has our guest arrived?”
“Branford,” Mother scolded, “what will people say when they hear we invited an extra guest?”
“They’ll think we’re generous.” Daddy downed his lemonade in one swallow and patted Mother’s arm. “It’ll be fine, Eugenia.” He slipped into the parlor to refill his glass.
Mother’s lips had set into a grim line that only grew thinner the moment she saw Felicity. “That jacket doesn’t match your gown.”
Beatrice shot Felicity a sympathetic look. Everyone in the family knew how unbearable Mother could be when she was nervous.
“Take it off.” Mother waved Felicity upstairs and then glanced at the clock. “Stop. There’s not enough time. We’ll have to make do. But take that ridiculous ribbon out of your hair. You look like a floozy.”
“I think it’s lovely,” Beatrice said softly, but of course Mother ignored her opinion. She ignored everything about Beatrice except the children.
Before Felicity could remove the offensive ribbon, Daddy returned with his drink and whistled. “Don’t you look pretty, little one.”
Felicity could always count on him to lift her spirits. “It’s just an old gown.”
“It looks beautiful to me.” He pecked her cheek and escorted her into the parlor with the pomp of a princess to a ball.
“It might be acceptable for a masquerade,” Mother sniffed on their heels. “This is merely dinner.”
Felicity tried to let the slight bounce off her, but Mother’s comments had a way of sticking to her like a burr. No matter how quickly she pulled them away, some of the barbs stuck tight.
“I think I’m past the morning sickness,” Beatrice said in an obvious attempt to change the topic. She was expecting her second baby in December.
“I was never sick,” said Mother. “Not a single day.”
Felicity felt sorry for her sister-in-law, who bravely bore Mother’s snubs. Beatrice didn’t come from a good enough family to suit Mother. The Foxes ran a dress shop—respectable but not the upper-class connections Mother wanted for her only son.
“How is little Tillie?” Felicity asked. Beatrice had named her first child Matilda after her grandmother, again irritating Mother.
Beatrice brightened. “She’s such a dear, cooing away in her own special language. My mother loves watching her, but I do miss her, even for a few hours.”
Blake laughed. “I don’t think we’ll ever untie Tillie from her mother’s apron strings. It was hard enough getting Beattie to turn her over to Grandma so we could come to dinner tonight.”
Beatrice blushed. “She’s just a baby, dearest.”
“Speaking of dinner,” Mother said, cutting off the line of conversation, “apparently my wishes are to be ignored. Felicity, set another place at the table.”
Despite having a cook, housekeeper, gardener and butler on staff, Mother always expected Felicity to take care of any last-minute changes. Felicity chafed at the directive, but getting upset would not change Mother or charm Robert. She stifled her resentment and obeyed.
Once in the dining room, she discovered the housekeeper had heard Mother’s fit and already added a place setting between Felicity and Robert. All Felicity had to do was rearrange the sterling place card holders to put Robert on her right.
Within two minutes, she returned to the foyer to find that Mr. Robert Blevins had arrived. Tall with strawberry blond hair, Mr. Blevins lacked the ideal figure extolled in the ladies’ magazines. He was a bit too broad across the midsection and narrow in the shoulders. A little too much brilliantine for her taste, but elegantly coiffed, his wavy hair was parted down the center. He sported a mustache with the tips curled and waxed. The red-and-white-striped silk waistcoat and white linen suit weren’t quite appropriate for dinner, which Mother thankfully did not point out.
He tapped his gold-knobbed cane on the slate floor, and with a flick of the wrist, he caught it midlength before depositing it into the umbrella stand.
Mother batted her eyelashes like a debutante. “Call me Eugenia. Everyone does.”
He gave her his full attention. “Very well, Eugenia. And if I may say so, your gown would disgrace every lady at Carnegie Hall.”
Mother fairly warbled. “And you are quite handsomely dressed yourself. Blevins, you said? Any relation to the Blevinses of Newport?”
Felicity blushed at her mother’s lack of tact, but he didn’t seem to notice.
“The very ones,” he beamed, chest thrust out.
“You