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nephew marrying Susannah. That was as obvious as the mud on his handsome, chiseled face. So, no, Katie should not be feeling the slightest shiver in her smallest toe for such a man, not even if he had fallen practically at her feet. No, not even if he was rich and titled and unmarried. He was as out of her reach as if he’d truly tumbled off Mount Olympus. He would leave after their talk, or after the wedding, and Katie would be left wanting.
    It was trying on the unworn wedding dress that was bringing back wicked memories of her heated courtship, reminding her of warm kisses and fevered embraces, as if her long-buried passions had come out of storage along with the gown. She had put it on that very morning to check for moth holes and stains, to see if the size and style could be altered for Susannah—and to revisit her past. The shimmery thing had once made her think that the future was rosy, that fairy tales did come true, that true love was waiting for her. It still did. The gown fit perfectly; the pipe dreams did not.
    Foolish girl, foolish woman, foolish dress. Her heart’s unwise feelings and her body’s unwanted stir-rings were simply her imagination playing tricks again. They had nothing to do with his lordship. Nothing, Katie told herself. Touching the gown had always made her tingle, that was all.
    That was not all, not by half. An unattainable aristocrat had assaulted her laundry line and lost, but Viscount Forde’s visit was not so startling, considering he was Gerald’s uncle and guardian. But the gown was clean, and that was far more difficult to explain.
    Katie’s hands were filthy, her own cloak looked and smelled like low tide despite the pouring rain, but the wedding gown was ivory white, smelling of springtime. Without soaking or scrubbing or the use of fuller’s earth, not a single streak, spot, or stain remained on it by the time Katie hung the garment next to the chimney. The lace overskirt did not have one torn thread, nor did a single button dangle.
    She stepped back and murmured a quick prayer, for there was definitely some power beyond her own ken behind this work. Perhaps Susannah should not wear the gown after all? Truth be told, Katie could not be entirely comfortable with a fabric that never aged and that shed soil like a duck’s feathers shed water. And she had never discovered where the gown had come from or who had sewn it so meticulously for what lucky bride.
    Then again, the fabric was richer than any she could purchase, and the gown was more beautiful than anything the village seamstress could create, with finer stitching. The style might be out of the current mode, but Susannah was pretty enough to set her own fashion and impress the fine London guests.
    “Come, darling,” she told Susannah early the next morning, “try on the gown before you dress. It is all aired and freshened.” And wondrously dried overnight, considering the fire in the hearth was dampened. “So you cannot complain of any musty odors. We must give Mrs. Peebles time to make alterations if they are necessary. We have lost days as is, waiting on the weather, and she will be busy, I am sure. Every lady in the neighborhood will be ordering a new ensemble when they hear that Mr. Wellforde’s uncle will be attending the wedding breakfast in your honor.”
    Susannah protested, as Katie knew she would. The girl’s heart was set on the blue velvet at the linen-draper’s, far beyond their meager budget.
    “Fine,” Katie told her, too busy to waste time in useless argument. “Order the new gown. Then you must tell his lordship that your dowry has diminished from negligible to naught. Or we might sell Blossom.”
    Susannah had raised the cow herself from an orphaned calf and was horrified at the idea. “Can you not ask the storekeepers to wait for their money?”
    “Until the new year when the annuity check arrives? How shall they pay their own bills until then, pray tell me? Or what if the barn collapses this