But she did know her work was good, and here was someone well qualified to judge it who confirmed that opinion. She smiled gratefully. "As Grandfather said, I'm modest," she excused herself.

"What a waste of energy," Evans said, smiling back. "The reason that I'm here today is to ask your permission to display your work in the Photography Pavilion at the Centennial Exposition."

"What!" Felicity cried, incredulous. As confident as she was about her work, she had never dreamed it deserved such an honor. "Now you really are flattering me."

"Not at all," Evans replied. "I am on the selection committee, and the other members agree that your work merits inclusion in the display."

"Oh, Grandfather," Felicity said in frustration, turning to the old man. She knew he would understand her feelings, how all her training rebelled at such a public show of what was a very private pleasure for her.

Maxwell understood, but he did not let that influence him. "It would be very selfish of you to refuse Alex's offer."

"Selfish?" Felicity could not follow his logic.

"Yes, just think how proud Josh will be of you. And think of the future. Your children and grandchildren can brag that your work appeared at the Exposition," Henry explained persuasively.

Felicity stared at him in shock. Her children? How could he say such a thing? But then she remembered that he did not know the details of her baby's death. All she had told him was that the baby was stillborn. Her grandfather would naturally assume that she would have other children. Even she herself had not yet given up hope completely. But what if Joshua's predictions were true? What if Caleb Joshua was the only child she would ever produce? What then would she leave behind her when her life came to an end? The answer was ridiculously simple: her pictures. For now, at least, they were her babies, the only thing she could produce of lasting value.

Feeling an unfamiliar surge of determination, Felicity turned back to Mr. Evans, who seemed a little surprised at the sudden change in her. "Thank you for your offer, Mr. Evans. I would be honored to have my pictures displayed in the Photography Pavilion."

Mr. Evans was absurdly grateful, at least to Felicity's mind. After he left, her grandfather was, too.

"Thank you for humoring me, my dear," he said. "I know how difficult it was for you to agree."

But she smiled reassuringly. "I simply decided you were right. Pride is a sin, but it's a sin to hide your light under a bushel, too."

Maxwell thought it best not to comment on that remark. Instead he said, "I suppose this means you'll stay at least until the Exposition opens. You'll have to be here to receive your accolades."

Her smile flickered only slightly. "If there are any accolades," she replied, but she was really thinking about the other part of his statement, the part about her staying until May. It was certainly a reasonable expectation. What disturbed her was the thought that if Joshua did not want her back, she would be staying long past May.

How happy her grandfather would be if that was the case. He would gladly keep her here. He had often mentioned wistfully that he wished he could do so. And Richard, too, would be pleased. More than pleased, she realized sadly. Although he had not tried to kiss her again, he had managed to make his feelings for her obvious nonetheless. He would be delighted to take Joshua's place in her life.

The problem was that no one could ever take Joshua's place.

"I'd better go now so you can get some rest," she said, eager to escape her grandfather's perceptive gaze. He was watching her as if he could read her thoughts.

He made an impatient noise. "There'll be time enough for rest when I'm dead. Right now I have a chance to look at the prettiest young woman in this city, and I'm going to take it. Sit down and we'll talk for a while."

Felicity frowned at the reference to his death, a reference he made rather too frequently for her peace of mind. "Dr. Lowell said that if you take care of yourself, you can live a long time," she reminded him.

"Pshaw, a few months one way or the other won't make that much difference to a man my age. I say, enjoy the time you've got. Better to live a short while and have fun than a long time and die of boredom," he told her with a wink that brought a grudging smile back to her mouth. She had come to love him very much in the few weeks she had known him, and the thought of his death disturbed her greatly, although she knew he did not want her to show it.

"In fact," he continued thoughtfully, adjusting the bedclothes with the air of one who has an important announcement to make, "I've been thinking about having a party."

"A party!" Felicity echoed, thoroughly shocked. How did he think he could host a party from his bed?

"Well, I wouldn't attend, of course, but Richard could serve as host," he explained, anticipating her objections. "And Isabel can muddle through as hostess if you stand beside her and make sure she doesn't faint," he added with a wink. "I want you to be introduced into Philadelphia society properly."

"But there's no need to introduce me into society," Felicity assured him quickly, once again fighting the sudden fear that she might indeed find herself a permanent resident of this fair city.

He frowned at that but decided not to pursue the argument. Instead he offered one against which she could make no protest. "And I'd like to hear music in this old house once more before I die."

Felicity frowned again at the mention of his death, but she could not object to his request. "If you want to have a party, I'm sure Richard would be glad to host it for you." Of that much she was certain. "And I'll help Isabel any way I can."

"Good," he said, grinning slyly. "And we can use the occasion to announce that your pictures will be displayed at the Exposition."

"You wouldn't dare!" Felicity cried, horrified at the very thought of having such a fuss made over her. Having the party in her honor was already more than she should allow.

"We'll talk about it later," he conceded, wisely not pressing her. She had already given him more than he had expected today. If he did not mention this again, she would think he had forgotten. "Now, why don't you read to me awhile?" he suggested with an innocent smile.

Felicity gave him a reproving glance and picked up the book lying on the bedside table. She took her customary chair beside the bed, but before she could begin reading, a discreet knock at the door interrupted her. It was Bellwood, who announced that Dr. Strong was here to see Mr. Maxwell.

"Well, send him right in," Henry exclaimed with a pleased smile.

"A new doctor?" Felicity inquired when Bellwood stepped out to summon the guest.

"An old friend," Henry said, still smiling.

A moment later, a stocky, middle-aged man with graying hair and muttonchop whiskers burst into the room and greeted Henry boisterously.

"How did you find Paris, Ezra?" Henry asked when he had returned the greeting.

"With very little difficulty," Ezra Strong replied, grinning slyly. "The trains stop there now, you know."

"Humph, thanks to me," Henry replied huffily.

Ezra chuckled, but he had lost interest in the banter. Instead, he was looking intently at Henry's face. "You're looking awfully chipper for a man who's supposed to be at death's door, Henry," he remarked after a moment. "How have you been feeling lately?"

"Always the doctor," Henry muttered in good-natured complaint. "I've been very well indeed, and it's because I've had such good nursing care." He gestured toward Felicity, who had risen from her chair and now stood beside the bed.

"By heaven," Dr. Strong exclaimed, noticing Felicity for the first time. "I'd look a lot better, too, if I got to see that face every day. Where'd you ever find her?"