The True Love Wedding Dress Read Online Free

all in a frizz. That last might have been because Agnes was nervously pulling at it—her hair, that was, not the dog—when she was not eating. Now she swallowed, moaned, and declared, “You have to stop the wedding. That Woman is a fortune hunter. She will make poor Gerald’s life a misery.”
    Wasn’t that a wife’s job? Forde took a slice of poppyseed cake. “But you were the one who told me to give my blessings to the match. I said at the time I thought Gerald was too young.”
    “He swore he was in love. What else could I do but approve his betrothal? Besides, I never thought he would actually go through with the marriage. Young men’s infatuations do not last long, you must know.”
    Forde did not. His heart had never been affected by any of his amours, not past dawn, at any rate. Young Gerald had vowed Miss Susannah Cole was the only love of his life. Who was his uncle to tell him such a notion was rubbish?
    Agnes had a lemon tart in one hand and a lock of her hair in the other. Forde watched as carefully as the pop-eyed Pekingese, but his sister-in-law managed to eat, feed the dog, and muss her hair all at the same time. He was impressed, but not by her reasoning.
    “I was certain that when he returned to London after his walking tour, he would forget all about the chit. He was bound to meet the perfect bride at one of the come-out balls.”
    “Gerald does not care much for social doings. You must know that.”
    If she did, she ignored it. “He would have found the ideal wife among this year’s debutantes. A female of substance, not some rural hayseed. He might have wed an heiress, who knows? A fine-looking young man, if I have to say so myself, with lovely manners and an excellent education.”
    Which Forde had paid for. He nodded. “I am sure Gerald would be a good catch on the marriage market, but he does not need to wed for money. He has that profitable property from my grandfather and a tidy sum from my mother.”
    “He needs a young lady of consequence,” Agnes insisted. “One who can take her place in the beau monde as a viscountess. After all, Gerald is your heir, after Crispin, of course. If anything should happen to the boy . . .”
    Forde dropped the slice of cake. The dog leaped off the sofa after it. “That is my son you are speaking of, madam. Nothing is going to happen to him.”
    She sniffed. “The child is all of ten years old, and puny.”
    “He is wiry, not puny.”
    She sniffed again. “Who knows what kind of care he is receiving at that school you sent him to?”
    Crispin attended the same academy Forde and his brother had. He was young, but the viscount had thought anything was better than leaving him to be smothered by petticoat rule here in London with Agnes and her two daughters. Still, he worried about that nagging cough the boy had all last winter. No, Cris would do. He had to. The alternative was too dreadful to contemplate.
    “Gerald is not my heir. With the grace of God, he shall never be. Therefore, he is free to wed any lady he chooses.”
    “Any lady. Precisely. Who knows but that Miss Cole is nothing more than a dairy maid? I was certain Gerald would see reason once her pretty looks faded from his memory.” Agnes needed another macaroon to continue. Raffles the Pekingese needed a lift back onto the sofa, he was so fat. “According to my son, the girl has blond hair and big blue eyes, a heart-shaped face, and a fair complexion, despite enjoying tramping through the countryside.” Agnes shuddered at the thought. So did the dog in her arms.
    Forde had heard all about Miss Cole’s myriad attractions, endlessly, it seemed. “Gerald does not seem to have forgotten anything about the young woman.”
    “How could he when he keeps going back for visits to that young man with whom he was on the walking tour? A squire’s son or some such, from university. I do not doubt they are in clandestine correspondence besides, Gerald and the hoyden.”
    “In fairness, I do not