The Matrimony Plan

“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 don’t say. Felicity!” The screech was a call to battle. “You must meet my daughter.”

Felicity glided near. “You called, Mother?”

“Ah, Felicity, there you are. I’d like you to meet the engineer for the airfield project, Mr. Robert Blevins. Do you go by Robert or Bob?”

“Whatever suits you, ma’am.” He bent elegantly over Felicity’s hand, kissing it lightly. His mustache scratched like Daddy’s, and she resisted the urge to giggle. “Or you, Ms. Felicity.”

“Ah, such manners,” Eugenia crowed. “Few young people today have good manners.”

“I can see your daughter does.” He gave Felicity a wide smile. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

Felicity returned his pleasantries, eager to remove Mother from the conversation. “You’ll be here long?”

“Some months, I imagine.”

Perfect. “Then we’ll have a lot of time to get better acquainted.”

“Come, Blevins, we’re all in the parlor,” said Daddy, clapping the man on the back. “You’ve had a look around the site, I hear. Can the project be done?”

“Of course.”

Blake added, “We’ll have the airfield completed by August.”

“Under budget?” Daddy asked.

Robert nodded. “If Mr. Hunter agrees to the smaller hangar and your figures on the cement are correct, it can be done for two thousand less than projected.”

“Two thousand, eh?” In the blink of an eye, Daddy had ripped the man from Felicity’s grasp. The three men huddled like schoolboys on a ball diamond plotting the next pitch. How on earth was she to get Robert interested in her with Daddy and Blake monopolizing his attention?

Another knock on the door meant the unwelcome guest had arrived. Felicity edged toward the parlor, looking for a means to recapture Robert’s attention. Let Mother greet Jack Hunter. The man was married and of no interest whatsoever.

Smithson opened the front door, and Mother greeted the guest with decided coolness.

“Good evening, Mrs. Kensington. Ms. Kensington.” The warm, familiar voice flowed over her like honey. That voice. His. Her heart fluttered in a most unwelcome way. It couldn’t be. “I’m glad you’ve recovered.”

“Recovered from what?” asked Mother.

Felicity tried without success to fan away the heat that rushed into her cheeks. Everyone was staring at her, expecting an answer, but what could she say? How could she explain away his comment? The only solution was to give a vague answer. She forced a slight smile, the kind used by the elite girls at Highbury. “Yes, I have. Thank you for asking.”

He smiled back with such evident pleasure that Felicity half regretted treating him so coldly. He couldn’t help his birth. In fact, he’d done well to overcome it. Why tonight Gabriel looked nothing like he had earlier in the day. His hair had been combed into submission, and he wore a perfectly cut dark gray suit. By all appearances, it had been crafted by an exceptional tailor.

“I’m so glad.” His rich baritone embraced her a little too much.

That horrible warm and tingly feeling returned with tidal force. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Mother stared at her. Who had invited him, and why had he accepted? Surely he’d known how awkward this would be. Thoughts shot through her head quicker than swallows into a barn.