Читать книгу His Most Suitable Bride - Renee Ryan - Страница 11

Chapter Two

The following morning, Callie woke early, with gritty eyes, a foggy brain and an uneasy heart. The bright August sunlight had yet to filter through the curtains’ seams. Considering her gray mood, she preferred the muted dawn light. The events of the previous evening had left her feeling anxious and mildly out of sorts. It was as if her world had been tilted slightly off-kilter and she couldn’t seem to regain her balance.

Whenever she found herself in need of comfort, she turned to her Bible. The Psalms especially had a way of putting matters into perspective, her favorite one reminding her to lean on the Lord and not on her own understanding.

Unfortunately, her mind kept wandering back to last night, to Reese. To the time they’d spent in his opera box.

Something had shifted between them, something new and utterly perplexing.

There’d been that awkward moment when he’d leaned forward and urged her to pick one of every dessert on display. His voice had held equal parts kindness and frustration, the odd mix of emotions confusing her even more. So she’d done as he suggested and filled her plate with sweets she had no intention of eating.

After that, he’d turned his back and avoided speaking to her directly for the rest of the intermission.

She’d been relieved. Then filled with despair.

Then relieved all over again.

Sighing, she curled her fingers around her Bible and pressed the book to her heart. Reese was so handsome, and in many ways so familiar, yet she hardly knew him. For all their interactions through the years, they’d never stepped beyond polite pleasantries.

Last night had been no different. Except...

Everything had been different. Reese had been different. The way he’d looked her directly in the eyes, as if she mattered, for herself, had left a peculiar feeling in the pit of her stomach.

Had anyone ever told her that she would one day be the center of Reese’s attention, even for a few precious moments at the opera, she would have declared them quite mad. He’d barely spared her a glance before last night.

This was getting her nowhere. Callie was reading far too much into his behavior, looking for a hidden meaning where there was none. Now she was running late for breakfast.

She dressed quickly, choosing a basic gray dress and practical, low-heeled ankle boots. She secured her hair with extra pins this morning, smoothing and tugging until every stray curl had been ruthlessly tamed into submission.

Feeling more herself, she went in search of her employer.

She found Mrs. Singletary in the morning room, perusing the Denver Chronicle, which was laid out on the table in front of her. Her treasured cat, Lady Macbeth, slumbered in the bright sunbeam at her mistress’s feet. A tray with pastries, coffee and two soft-boiled eggs in enameled cups sat untouched beside the newspaper.

“Good morning, Mrs. Singletary.”

The widow looked up, frowned. “No, dear, absolutely not.”

Callie’s feet ground to a halt. “Pardon me?”

“That dress simply will not do.” The words were spoken without meanness, but the censure was there all the same.

As if to punctuate her mistress’s disapproval, Lady Macbeth cracked open an eye and studied Callie through the narrowed slit. A delicate sniff and she returned to her nap, chin resting lightly on her front paws.

Callie tried not to feel offended. But, really, dismissed by a cat? It was beyond humiliating.

Worse, Mrs. Singletary wasn’t through inspecting Callie’s attire. “That color is all wrong for you.”

Perhaps the dull gray did clash with her skin tone. But no more than it had the other three times she’d worn the dress in Mrs. Singletary’s company.

“The fit isn’t right, either.”

Callie resisted the urge to cinch the black ribbon around her waist tighter. Mrs. Singletary was correct on both points. The color was unflattering and the dress was, indeed, too large. That had rather been the point. Still, the widow’s blunt appraisal stung. “I thought you didn’t care what I wore.”

“Now, see. That is where you went wrong. Of course I care. I care a great deal.”

“You’ve said nothing before.” Head down, Callie lowered herself into a chair facing her employer. “I don’t understand.”

“It’s quite simple. You have been in my employ for precisely four weeks since I plucked you out of the Hotel Dupree kitchens where, I might add, your talents were completely underutilized.” The widow leaned forward, trapping Callie in her gaze. “You are no longer underpaid kitchen help, but my trusted companion. It’s high time you look the part.”

Callie carefully placed a napkin in her lap. She should have known this was coming, should have prepared for this eventuality. Mrs. Singletary was the best dressed woman in Denver. Of course she would care what her companion wore.

“We will begin rethinking your wardrobe today.”

So soon? “What’s the hurry?”

“As I already mentioned, how you dress reflects directly back on me.”

Well, yes. Yet Callie couldn’t shake the notion that the widow had a different reason for wanting her to dress better.

“Besides—” she smoothed her hand over the newspaper, turned the page with a flick “—one must always be prepared for the unexpected visitor.”

Something in the way the woman made this casual remark put Callie immediately on guard. “Are you expecting anyone in particular this morning?”

“No one out of the ordinary, dear.” She picked up her spoon and tapped one of the eggs perched in its enameled cup. A perfect series of cracks webbed out in every direction. “Only my attorney.”

Callie’s heart lurched. “Reese? I mean...Mr. Bennett is coming here?” She swallowed back a gasp of dismay. “Today?”

She wasn’t ready to see him again, not yet, not until she could process their odd interaction at the opera last night.

“He will be here this morning, and I should warn you.” The widow turned another page of the newspaper. “Now that Mr. Bennett is once again overseeing my business affairs, he will be around quite often, perhaps even daily.”

Callie breathed in sharply, the only outward sign of her discomfort. Her brother Garrett had handled the widow’s business affairs until he’d married Molly and left town for a position in St. Louis. It stood to reason that Reese, as the senior partner in his firm, would take over in Garrett’s absence.

If only her brother hadn’t felt the need to strike out on his own, away from family and the prominent Mitchell name. Callie missed him so much. Molly too, nearly as much as she missed Fanny.

Oh, she was still angry at her sister, but this was the first they’d been apart for more than a few days at a time. With only a year separating them in age, they’d done everything together.

Now Fanny was living in Chicago. And Callie was here in Denver working for Mrs. Singletary. Not alone, precisely, but definitely more lonely than she’d ever been in her life.

“Did you hear what I said, dear?”

Callie started. “Er...no.”

“I said I want you to change your dress before Mr. Bennett arrives.”

Again, she wondered, why the hurry? Yet she didn’t feel comfortable enough to ask the question a second time. “Yes, Mrs. Singletary, I’ll do so immediately following breakfast.”

“Very good. Something in blue would be most preferable.” The widow went back to reading the newspaper in silence.

Left alone with her thoughts, Callie picked up her spoon and gave the egg in front of her a good hard whack. The shell exploded into a hundred little pieces.

Pushing the ruined egg aside, she selected a pastry off the tray. As she ate, she silently reviewed the contents of her closet. She didn’t own anything in blue. In truth, none of her dresses were any more exciting than what she currently wore.

The green one was the most modern in fit and style. However, the color was a sort of drab olive. Better, she supposed, than gray. Decision made, she brought the pastry to her mouth once again.

“Don’t even think about putting on your green dress.” The widow made this announcement without bothering to glance up. “The color is horrid on you.”

Callie dropped the pastry back to her plate. “Surely, it’s not...horrid.”

“Horrid.”

Trying not to feel insulted, Callie pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and thought a moment. “Perhaps the yellow one with the ivory lace collar?”

“No.”

“The soft pink—”

“Not that one, either.” At last, Mrs. Singletary removed her attention from the newspaper and looked up. Her unwavering gaze bore into Callie’s. “You are far too pretty to hide behind pale, lifeless pastels and neutrals.”

As those were the only colors in her closet, Callie frowned. “Which dress would you have me wear?”

“None in your current wardrobe.” The widow placed her hand atop Callie’s. “Those we will donate to charity.”

She jerked upright, working for breath. “But if I give away all my dresses what, then, will I wear?”

A robust smile spread across the widow’s lips. “Leave that to me.”

“I find this conversation so very strange.” She pulled her hand free from beneath Mrs. Singletary’s and placed it in her lap. “You’ve never once said a word about the way I dress.”

“We were still getting to know one another. Now we are friends.”

Callie widened her eyes. Mrs. Singletary considered her a friend?

“And from one friend to another, you need to make smarter choices in your attire. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were deliberately trying to camouflage your natural beauty.”

Callie pressed her hands together in her lap and fought off a strong desire to defend herself. Once she’d attracted the wrong man’s attention and barely avoided disgrace. Better to be safe than put herself on display and risk another mistake.

“Finish your breakfast.” Mrs. Singletary leaned back. “We have much work to do before Mr. Bennett arrives.”

What did Reese have to do with—

Oh, no. Mrs. Singletary couldn’t be thinking of making Callie more attractive for Reese. A match between them was... Why, it was impossible.

Tongues would wag all over town.

The potential for scandal made the very idea ridiculous. Reese’s business would suffer, along with his reputation. And what about Fanny? Callie would never hurt her sister, not for anything in the world. And especially not over a man.

No, Callie wouldn’t dare attract Reese’s attention. Yet she couldn’t allow anyone else to so, either, not before Fanny returned home and made things right with him.

While it wouldn’t be easy seeing Reese and Fanny together again, it would be better than seeing him with someone else. Callie really hoped Fanny would come to her senses soon.

“If you are finished eating, we will begin.”

“Begin?”

“Populating your wardrobe with more suitable gowns.”

Callie could think of no good reason to refuse her employer. She set her napkin on the table and forced a smile. “I’m at your mercy, Mrs. Singletary.”

Thirty minutes later, she stood in the widow’s private dressing room, facing a full-length mirror. Two maids hustled about her, securing buttons, fluffing material in one spot, smoothing out wrinkles in another.

The dress was supposedly one of Mrs. Singletary’s castoffs. Callie had her suspicions. Who could not want this gorgeous silk creation? The color was that of the Colorado sky, a deep, rich blue that somehow brought out the green in Callie’s eyes. The fit was perfection. The silver buttons added just enough elegance without being too much for day wear.

Even with her severe hairstyle, Callie looked beautiful. She felt beautiful. But the woman staring back at her from the mirror was not Callie Mitchell. Not anymore.

Never, never again.

“Let’s have a look at you.” The widow paraded around her, considering her from various angles. “Much better.” She nodded her head in approval. “You were born to wear jewel tones.”

Once her closet had been filled with nothing but vibrant colors, Callie thought wistfully.

The housekeeper entered the room and announced, “Mr. Bennett has arrived for your meeting, Mrs. Singletary.”

“Thank you, Jane. Tell Winston to show him to my office.”

“Yes, ma’am.” The housekeeper turned to go then caught sight of Callie. Her eyes rounded with shock. “Oh, miss. Look at you. Why, you’re positively glowing.”

Callie sighed at her reflection. She was glowing.

She’d never felt more miserable in her life.

* * *

Reese gathered up the contracts he’d brought with him and stuffed them in his leather briefcase. “I’ll make the changes you requested and send over the revised versions before the end of business today.”

“That will be fine.” Mrs. Singletary sat back in her chair, eyeing him closely, her hands primly clasped in her lap.

He’d worked with the woman long enough to know she had more to say. Something he probably wasn’t going to like.

When she remained silent, he braced himself and said, “Is there something else I can do for you, Mrs. Singletary?”

“On the contrary, it’s something I can do for you.”

He stifled a groan. Despite her unconventional reputation, the widow meant well. She had a kind heart. Her charity work spoke for itself. But she was also considered a matchmaker of the first order. A terrible thought occurred to him. Surely she wasn’t thinking of making him her latest victim.

“I’m probably going to regret this, but tell me. What is it you believe I need?”

“A wife.”

Reese pulled in a sharp breath and resisted the urge to snap back, to tell her he didn’t need—or want—her input on such a personal matter.

She is your most important client, he reminded himself. One he knew well. Her meddling was never malicious and, more often than not, had a way of bringing about good rather than harm. Eventually.

Even if he suggested, oh-so-gently, that she mind her own business, all she would say was that he was her business.

From a certain angle, she would be correct. Everyone in town knew he was her personal attorney. His actions reflected on her.

Still. She was dangerously close to crossing a line. “There are many men my age still unattached.”

She smiled at this, looking quite pleased with herself, as if his response was exactly what she’d expected from him. “True. But now that your father has stepped away from daily operations of your firm, it is up to you to ensure Bennett, Bennett and Brand remains the finest in town.”

“Agreed.”

“A wife will help you achieve that goal.”

“I had a bride picked out,” he said. “She begged off.”

“A blessing in disguise. You and Fanny Mitchell did not suit one another in the least.”

He gritted his teeth. “I disagree. We were an excellent match on many levels.”

“Not on the most important point. You weren’t in love.”

No, he hadn’t been in love with Fanny. And, as it turned out, she hadn’t been in love with him, either. But they’d liked one another, found many things on which to converse. They would have had an amiable, comfortable life together. “Love is not a necessity in marriage.”

“It is if you want a happy one.”

Again, he disagreed. Happiness was fleeting, like a wave driven and tossed by the wind. Companionship. Friendship. Those were the things that lasted. The things Reese desired most. He also wanted children, a family of his own.

He needed a wife first.

“I am not opposed to getting married,” he admitted.

“I’m glad to hear it, because your image needs improving.”

He tilted his head, fought off a surge of irritation. “I always comport myself in a manner above reproach.”

“Yes, yes.” She waved this off with a graceful sweep of her hand. “You are the quintessential man of integrity.”

“This is a good reputation to have.”

“The very best. But, Mr. Bennett, may I speak plainly?”

He doubted he could stop her. “By all means.”

“You are also considered stern and overly rigid.”

He blinked. “People think I’m...rigid?”

“I’m afraid so.”

He blinked again. Valuing lists and adhering to a tight schedule merely meant he knew how to plan ahead.

“I daresay a wife will soften your image.”

“Yes, you alluded to that already. I don’t have time to court a woman, especially now that Garrett Mitchell has left the firm.”

“Ah, now we’re getting somewhere. You see, my good boy—”

“Boy?” He let out a humorless laugh. He’d left his youth behind him a long time ago, the day Miranda had died in his arms. “I’m thirty-two years old and—”

“A very busy man.” She beamed at him, as if announcing something he didn’t already know. “That, Mr. Bennett, is where I come in. I will assist you in your search for a wife.”

He didn’t like the idea of this woman meddling in his life. But this was Beatrix Singletary, a determined matchmaker. Now that the notion was in her head, she would persist. Perhaps even go behind his back. He shuddered at the thought. “Define...assist.”

“I will find your one true soul mate.”

He’d already found her, when he was eighteen years old. “I’m not looking for a love match.”

“Now, Mr. Bennett—”

“I am firm on this point.”

She titled her head at an angle, her thoughts whirling in her gaze. She wasn’t going to let the matter drop. “Perhaps if you explained why you don’t wish to fall in love—”

“If I allow you to help me...” Was he really considering this? “I will expect you to adhere to my rules.”

“That goes without saying.”

Nevertheless, it needed to be said. “I mean it. Attempt to do things your way, or act on my behalf without my knowledge, and we’re done.”

“I understand completely.”

Did she? Time would tell.

“I will draw up a list of the most important qualities I want in my future bride.” Giving her specific requirements appeared the best way to retain control of the situation. “You will stick to the list.”

“Mr. Bennett.” She looked up at the ceiling and sighed dramatically. “Finding a suitable woman for you to marry cannot be approached with studied calculation.”

He stood. “Then I will bid you good day.”

“Now, now.” The widow sprang to her feet with less grace than usual. “Let’s not be hasty.”

He paused, eyebrows lifted.

“Oh, very well.” She puffed out her cheeks. “Draw up your list, if you must. I will look it over and see what I can do.”

“Very good.” He made his way to the door.

The widow joined him halfway across the room. “You will not regret putting me in charge of your bride hunt.”

He offered a bland smile. “We shall see.”

A tentative knock on the door had him turning at the sound.

“Come in,” Mrs. Singletary called out in a cheerful voice.

The doorknob twisted. The hinges creaked. And then...

Callie Mitchell popped her head through the open slit, only her head, not any other part of her body. Odd. “You wanted me to let you know when it was noon.”

“Yes. Thank you, Callie. But my dear, there is no cause for you to hover in the hallway. Join us.”

Giving her no time to argue, the widow reached around the door and pulled her companion into the room. For several beats, the two women stared at one another. It was one of those silences far more eloquent than words. Clearly something had put them at odds.

Finally, Callie floated deeper into the room. She caught sight of him and froze. “G-good afternoon, Mr. Bennett.”

He gave her a curt nod. “Miss Mitchell.”

Breaking eye contact, she reached down to pick up the large tabby cat threading around her skirts like a black-and-white ribbon. Despite the added weight in her arms, she stood perfectly straight, her spine as unbending as a board, her lips pressed in a flat line.

While she held completely still, and silent, he took the opportunity to study her more closely. She’d pinned back her hair too tightly again. And the dull gray of her dress made her look almost sickly. All she needed was a pair of spectacles perched on the bridge of her nose to complete the masquerade of a spinster twice her age.

Reese’s lips twisted in annoyance.

Callie Mitchell was deliberately masking her beauty. A gorgeous swan draped in ugly duckling’s clothing. And she was doing so on purpose. But why?

Why did the woman wish to make herself unattractive?

What was she hiding?