"Not if we grease the right palms, boy. We could keep it quiet. Of course, she'd need a good reason to get a divorce. She'd have to be in love with someone else," Henry added meaningfully.

Richard smiled slowly. "She will be."

Felicity was sitting in the front parlor staring out the window at the park that was Rittenhouse Square when Richard found her. He winced slightly when he saw that she had been crying, but he forced himself to smile. "I'm sorry I missed saying goodby to Joshua," he lied.

"I'm sure he was sorry he didn't get to see you before he left, too," Felicity lied back, listlessly returning her gaze to the park, where the nannies were sunning their tiny charges in elaborate baby buggies. She usually avoided this view because of the heartache the sight of the happy, living infants caused her. But today she felt some masochistic urge to plumb the depths of her pain, as if to test her capacity for suffering. With Joshua gone, how could she possibly feel any worse?

"You are still planning to go to the concert with me tonight, aren't you?" Richard inquired cheerfully.

"What concert?" Felicity asked with little interest, still watching the prams with their precious burdens.

"You remember," he prodded. "The Women's Centennial Committee is putting on one of their concerts at the Edwin Forrest mansion. I believe it's to be a choral concert tonight. You enjoy those so much," he reminded her.

"I don't know…" she said vaguely.

"But you can't just sit here by the window moping," Richard protested. "He's not coming back."

Stung, Felicity whirled to face Richard. She searched his beautiful face for some hint of a deeper meaning to his words, but she found none. He was simply warning her that Joshua was on his way to Texas and would not be returning before the concert tonight. And he was right. She was foolish to stand here by the window as if she expected to see her husband coming down the street at any moment.

"There will be lots of people at the concert whom you know. Some of the ladies are involved with the plans for the Exposition. I told you there's going to be a Women's Pavilion, didn't I? I'm sure they could use your help on a committee," Richard assured her.

"They could?" Felicity asked, unconvinced.

"Certainly," Richard said enthusiastically. "Of course, you don't have to get involved if you don't want to, but just think, you'd be a part of history. You don't want to pass up an opportunity to help with such an important international event, do you?"

"Well, I…" Felicity began, not entirely certain whether she would or not, but Richard interrupted her.

"At least say you'll go to the concert tonight. I can't stand the thought of you sitting here all alone."

"All right," she agreed, realizing how little the idea of being alone appealed to her.

She enjoyed the concert every bit as much as Richard had predicted,.and afterward Richard introduced her to the conductor, Theodore Thomas. She also saw many people to whom she had been introduced previously and who made a point of seeking her out. Also as Richard had predicted, she received several invitations to help with the Exposition, to which she gave vague replies. She was struggling with the uneasy impression that all these people expected her to remain in Philadelphia indefinitely. Not one of them inquired about Joshua's whereabouts.

After the concert, Richard escorted her home. As was his custom, he came inside with her. He was behaving just the way he always did when he had taken her and Joshua out somewhere, except that Joshua was no longer with them. Suddenly she felt uneasy as Bellwood conducted them to the front parlor and closed the door behind them, creating an air of intimacy that disturbed her. Something was wrong, something more than just the fact that Joshua was no longer here.

"Would you like some sherry?" Richard asked. Was his smile more friendly than usual, or was it just her imagination?

"Yes, please," she said, hoping that by following what had become a familiar ritual, she could overcome her unease.

Felicity moved self-consciously over to the fire and held out her hands to warm them while Richard searched in an ornate cabinet until he located the bottle of sherry and poured two glasses.

She accepted the one he offered, but when she would have taken a sip, he said, "First, a toast: To my beautiful cousin." As he clinked his delicate cordial glass to hers, she reflected that this was a toast she, too, could have given to her cousin. Richard's elegant face seemed almost to glow with a warmth that had nothing to do with the fire, and his dark eyes glittered down into hers with some secret message she was afraid to decode.

What was happening, she wondered frantically, too disturbed to even taste the sweet liqueur. There was something far too intimate about this scene.

"You haven't drunk to my toast," he chided gently, his voice pouring over her like warm honey.

"I think that would be immodest of me," she replied, moving quickly away from him toward the relative safety of a nearby sofa. "You can't expect a woman to drink to her own beauty," she added with a smile to lighten the mood as she sank down on the sofa in a billow of skirts.

She was wearing one of Mademoiselle Fabian's creations, a confection of violet silk. Richard paused one moment to admire the picture she made sitting there before joining her. Sensing her skittishness, he did not sit as close as he desired, but left a discreet space between them. "Joshua left rather suddenly, didn't he?" he said as if the thought had just occurred to him, although he had been planning this conversation all evening. "I hope there's nothing wrong."

"Oh, no," Felicity hastily assured him, trying not to think how painful such an admission was. "He… he had to start the spring roundup. That's when they gather up all the calves that have been born over the winter and brand them. Then they separate out the cattle they want to sell this year."

"That doesn't sound very complicated," Richard remarked. "I would think his men could get along without him for a while. But then, he didn't seem to be enjoying his visit here. Perhaps he was glad for an excuse to get back home," he mused.

Alarmed at hearing her own thoughts spoken aloud, Felicity jumped up, responding to some primitive urge to flee. But of course she couldn't actually run away. She settled for walking around the room and changing the subject. "Are you really going to take me to a wild West show tomorrow?" she asked with false enthusiasm.

Richard watched her drain her glass in one gulp and stifled a satisfied grin. She already had doubts about her husband's departure. Logan was a fool for not telling her his real reason for leaving. She was hurt now, but Richard was only too willing to comfort her.

"Yes, Buffalo Bill is putting on a show at the American Theater. It's called 'Scouts of the Plains.' He even has Kit Carson, Jr., in the cast. I hear it's quite exciting. I believe they even have an authentic Indian attack. Do you think it will make you too homesick?" he asked solicitously.

"Homesick?" she scoffed playfully. "My home has never been attacked by Indians." For one instant she remembered the day Joshua had shown her the chinks in the adobe of that home where Comanche arrows had struck during an attack long ago. She could almost feel his strong fingers guiding her hand over the jagged marks. Then, with equal clarity, she recalled the way those strong fingers had moved over her flesh last night, awakening long-dormant passions. The fulfillment he had given her had barely touched the craving he had aroused. And now he was gone. She trembled slightly.

"Felicity? Is something wrong?" Richard asked, genuinely concerned. Her face had gone pale.