When Josh had laid Isabel down, Felicity examined her aunt's pale face in dismay. "Good heavens, what should we do?" she asked, appalled at the havoc her arrival had caused.

"Perhaps you should throw some water in her face, madam," Bellwood suggested calmly.

"Water?" Felicity asked incredulously, turning on him. That was when she noticed the twinkle in his eye. No sooner had she registered this incongruity than she heard her aunt moan, loudly and dramatically.

"My salts, Richard," Isabel said feebly.

"It works every time, madam," Bellwood informed Felicity in a whisper.

Wide-eyed with amazement, Felicity looked back to observe her cousin Richard handing a vial to her aunt. He was as unmoved as Bellwood. She glanced at Josh. He, too, seemed unnaturally calm for a man who had just caught an unconscious woman. Was she the only one in the room who felt sympathy for her poor aunt… or did her aunt really need any sympathy? She turned a suspicious gaze back toward the small lady on the fainting couch.

"Are you all right, Aunt Isabel?" Felicity felt compelled to ask.

Isabel inhaled of her smelling salts and sighed. "Yes…yes, I'm fine now," she said with a weak smile. "How fortunate that handsome young man was there to catch me. Who did you say he was again, Richard?"

"He's my husband, Aunt Isabel," Felicity replied for him, stepping closer to the couch where her aunt lay so she could better judge her condition.

"Husband?" Isabel repeated, forgetting to sound faint. "We heard nothing about any husband. Why, you're much too young to be married, my dear," she added with a frown.

"I'm nineteen, and I've been married almost a year," Felicity said, certain now that Isabel's faint had been faked. What she could not figure out was why.

Isabel's cornflower eyes took Joshua in from head to toe and back again. "A year," she echoed, and looked as if she might faint again. "Oh, my…"

"Isabel," Richard said impatiently.

But she ignored him. "I'm so sorry I fainted. Such a silly thing to do, but you see, you look exactly like my sister, Claire… your mother, that is. It was such a shock. I had no idea…"

"Isabel," Richard repeated, more firmly this time. "Does Uncle Henry want me to bring them up?"

"What? Oh yes," Isabel suddenly recalled. "Bellwood will take you. Bellwood?"

"This way, please," Bellwood said, the twinkle gone from his eyes. Perhaps Felicity had only imagined it the first time.

"Will you be all right, Aunt Isabel?" Felicity inquired perfunctorily, anxious to get to her grandfather at last.

"Oh yes, dear. You go on. Papa will be furious with me if I detain you a moment longer," Isabel assured them.

Once more Bellwood led them. This time he crossed the entrance hall and started up a magnificently carved mahogany staircase carpeted in maroon to harmonize with the marble on the entry floor.

Josh took Felicity's arm and looked down to check her expression. She was frowning, and he was afraid she might still be concerned about her aunt. He leaned down close to her ear and whispered, "Your aunt didn't really faint… And she threw herself at me on purpose," he added.

Felicity glanced up at his disgruntled expression and grinned conspiratorily. "I know," she whispered back. "You should be flattered." She knew from the disgusted sound he made that he wasn't.

The upstairs hall was polished parquet covered with intricately woven runners. Felicity noticed everything, the vastness of the house that went on and on in every direction, the cavernous stairwell that extended up yet another story to a stained-glass skylight, and the plaster molding that adorned even the hallways. She could not begin to imagine the wealth required to build such a splendid dwelling or the labor it would take to maintain it. Vaguely, she realized that her grandfather must employ more people to run his house than she and Joshua required to operate their entire ranch.

What kind of a man could amass such a fortune? What kind of a man would live in such solitary splendor? She had tried not to think of him as the ruthless businessman Blanche had hinted about. She had even tried not to think of him as the man who had disowned her mother for choosing to follow her heart instead of his edict. Instead she had pictured a frail old man, humbled by his own mortality and compelled by love to locate his only granddaughter.

Had she deceived herself? She knew from experience that love was like a delicate flower-it needed warmth in which to grow. As Felicity looked around this flamboyant palace, she sensed no warmth at all. Could love survive here? Was that why her mother had fled with Caleb Storm?

But if her grandfather did not love her, why had he sent for her?

Bellwood paused before a set of double doors and knocked.

"Come in," a muffled voice called from within.

Bellwood opened the door and stepped back again, but this time Richard motioned for Felicity to precede him into the room. Hesitantly, she entered, her thoughts a jumbled mess she had no hope of sorting through now. Perhaps meeting the man himself would give her the answers. Blinking a little to accustom herself to the dim light in the room, she looked around. It was a bedroom, constructed on the same mammoth proportions as the drawing room and with the same overdone decor. But before she could take in any details, she saw a small man in a blue brocade dressing gown rise from a chair across the room. "My God," he said. "Claire!"

"No, Uncle Henry, this is your granddaughter, Felicity," Richard quickly corrected, rushing to her side.

Felicity stared at the old man, half expecting him to faint as Isabel had done. But he did not. Instead, he cast Richard an irritated glance. "Of course she's Felicity! I know that! I'm not senile yet!"

Then he returned his gaze to Felicity, and the irritation disappeared. He smiled and held out his hand to her. "Come here, child."

Somewhat relieved, Felicity went to him, taking the hand he offered. It was surprisingly warm; his grip, strong and sure. She studied him more closely. He was quite old, even older than she had expected, and he looked as if he had been sick for a while. His skin was pale and slack from loss of weight. But his blue eyes-a faded version of her own- sparkled when he looked at her.

"You do look like your mother, you know. The resemblance is remarkable," he said after a moment.

"So I've been told," Felicity remarked, dimpling.

At her grandfather's puzzled frown, Richard explained. "Isabel fainted when she saw her."

Maxwell nodded his understanding. "Isabel faints quite frequently. She's a spiritless girl. Never did learn how to behave in company, so she faints when she can't think of anything to say."

So that explained it, Felicity thought, reflecting how such a habit must at times be a very useful device. But of course, she did not say so. She would have to be very careful to mind her tongue, as her father had often tried to teach her. She did not want to scandalize her grandfather or tarnish her mother's sterling memory by behaving improperly. Instead, she smiled sweetly and took the seat he offered her. He had been sitting at a small table by the window, and she sat opposite him.

Maxwell glanced up impatiently at Richard, who hovered nearby, and caught a glimpse of Josh, who still stood in the doorway. "Who's that?" he demanded.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Grandfather," Felicity said quickly, abashed at having forgotten to introduce Joshua. "This is my husband, Joshua Logan."

"Husband!" Maxwell protested. "Gordon didn't say anything about a husband."

"He forgot," Richard explained sarcastically.

Maxwell snorted in disbelief. "Well, don't just stand there. Pull up a chair, young man," he commanded, motioning Josh into the room. "Richard, open the drapes so I can see these people."