The True Love Wedding Dress by Catherine Anderson

him. He kept his house, his assets, and his family safe and without scandal.
    So what did he do now?
    He could not let Gerald live a lie, marrying a woman whose very name was a fabrication. The truth was bound to come out sometime, when the first rush of infatuation was faded. Then the young man would have a lifetime of regret ahead of him. Nor could Forde betray a woman who had given up her way of life to protect that lie and her own family. Besides, he liked Mrs. Katie Cole.
    He had to respect what she had done, with courage, by all accounts, raising chickens and a baby when she ought to have been raising her fan to call a beau to her side at some ball or other. Few other pampered daughters of the polite world could have done as much with so little, all on her own. No other fallen woman would have sold her musical skills and her eggs instead of her body, her lush and lovely womanly body.
    He also admired the fact that she had not lost her spirit when she lost her family, wealth, and prospects. Every inch an earl’s daughter, she would not bow down to the demands of a mere viscount, even though he could rend apart her world the way she cracked one of her eggs. She had bottom, did Katie Cole, and a nice one it was, too. Her top was not bad, either, Forde reflected over a glass of cognac back at the inn. He liked her ample breasts and the way they filled her gown, the way they would fill a man’s hands when he—
    He wouldn’t. But he’d have one hell of hard time sleeping tonight while he tried to decide what to do about the wedding.
    He was still trying to decide when his sister-in-law arrived at the inn the next day.
    She commandeered the second-best suite of rooms, which were reserved for Gerald, which meant Gerald would be sharing Forde’s chambers. Then she demanded the viscount’s presence in her private parlor, where maids and footmen were busy carrying in bags and trunks, jewel cases and hatboxes, enough for a small army, much less one woman and two daughters. Before he could greet her—actually, he was going to ask after Gerald, so he could wring the young man’s neck—she began shouting at him from the chaise longue where she reclined, one hand on her dog, the other clutching a vinaigrette.
    “My stars, Forde, what kind of uncaring uncle are you? I thought you were going to do something about this awful idea of Gerald’s. You must! He cannot be permitted to marry into that family. Why, the woman is—”
    “She told you, then?”
    “She told me to leave, and in the rudest way possible.”
    “Mrs. Cole?” Forde could not imagine the widow being so impolite to a stranger, and her daughter’s future mother-in-law at that. She had been rude to him, but he deserved it. “She was happily preparing for your arrival when I saw her last.” Actually, she was holding that blasted dress to her bosom when he left. She was furious and frightened, and he wanted nothing more than to take her into his arms and tell her everything would be fine. But everything would not be all rosy and romantic, because the world was the way it was, cruel and unforgiving. That was unfortunate, but not likely to change, especially if she had insulted Agnes at the first meeting. He did his best to smooth those waters. “You did arrive a week early, you know.”
    “That is as may be, but she said she had no room for my dresser, the girls’ maid, and the governess. Or time for anyone’s megrims.” She sniffed. “As if I were wont to suffer the vapors. All I requested was a cup of tea, some lavender water for my brow, perhaps a posset, and a bit of steak for Ruffles. She claimed my darling barked at her chickens so they would not lay, then she said she had no time, not with a sick child in the house.”
    Forde stopped his pacing around the parlor. “What, has one of the girls taken ill? And you left her for Mrs. Cole to tend?”
    “My daughters are fine, and in their own chambers here at this tawdry inn, resting. There is nothing