His Most Suitable Bride (3 page)

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?

Chapter Three

C
allie held Lady Macbeth tightly against her for two equally important reasons. The first was so the cat could serve as a kind of furry shield between her and Reese. The other was a bit more practical. Holding the overweight animal gave Callie something to do with her hands.

Oh, but she desperately wanted to reach up and smooth her palm over her hair, to tuck away any stray curls. The gesture would only reveal her nervousness.

No one could know how anxious she felt in Reese’s company, least of all the man himself.

But, really, why was he watching her so intently?

His unwavering focus made her beyond uncomfortable, slightly breathless. Perhaps a little afraid.

Not of him—never of him—but of herself. Of what she might do if he continued looking at her like...like
that.
His eyes practically bore into her, as though she was a puzzle that needed solving. That if he looked long enough and hard enough he could uncover her secrets.

She shivered at the prospect. He could never know the terrible mistake she’d made in Boston.

If only he wasn’t standing so close, Callie might have a better chance of regaining her composure. She could smell his familiar scent, a pleasant mixture of books and leather and some woodsy spice all his own.

The man should not smell so good. The result left her poised in stunned immobility. And badly wanting to fidget.

At least he seemed equally uncomfortable. He was as self-possessed as ever, but also appeared wary. Of her? Possibly.

Probably.

No doubt her being Fanny’s sister accounted for Reese’s discomfort. But there was something else, too, something much more disquieting than their connection through his ex-fiancée.

“Mr. Bennett.” Mrs. Singletary’s voice broke through the tension hanging in the air. “Was there anything else you wished to discuss before you depart for your office?”

Jerking slightly at the question, he turned to face the widow directly. “No. Our business is sufficiently concluded.”

“I assume I can expect your list by this afternoon.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I will work on it later today, as soon as I’ve revised the contracts.”

“That will be acceptable.”

Tucking his leather briefcase under his arm, he squared his shoulders. “Good day, Mrs. Singletary.” He nodded in Callie’s direction. “Miss Mitchell, always a pleasure.”

His stilted tone said otherwise.

Callie didn’t know whether to laugh or cry as she watched him leave the room. The moment he stepped into the hallway and shut the door behind him with a determined snap, she set Lady Macbeth back on the floor.

The cat waddled over to her mistress, pawing at the widow’s skirt. Mrs. Singletary ignored the animal and fixed a scowl on Callie.

She winced. “Is something the matter, Mrs. Singletary?”

Fists jammed on her hips, the widow circled Callie, her gaze narrowing over the dress she wore. “I am waiting for an explanation.”

Callie feigned ignorance. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

“You are an impertinent, headstrong young woman, Callie Mitchell.” Although she attempted a stern tone, the widow’s lips twitched, as if fighting back a smile. “If you didn’t remind me so much of myself I would be seriously displeased with you right now.”

“Your disappointment would be no less than I deserve.”

The widow’s smile came fully now. “Indeed.”

“So you are not angry with me?”

“I should be, but no.”

Best not to push the subject, Callie decided.

“Cook has several questions about the menu for Friday evening.” Callie moved casually through the room, running her fingers along a stack of books on the shelving to her left. “She seems to be confused as to how many guests will be attending. I told her twelve. She thought it was only ten.”

“Cook is right. You are wrong.” The widow wagged a finger at her. “And that was a wonderful attempt at distracting me, but it won’t work.”

“It was worth a try,” she muttered.

“You changed back into that ugly gray dress, and I want to know why.”

“It’s not ugly. It’s just—”

“Dismal, drab,
dreary.
All three apply equally.”

Yes, she supposed they did. “I was going to say respectable.”

“I thought I made myself clear.” Mrs. Singletary circled her again, clicking her tongue as she made a second, slower pass. “You were supposed to remain in the blue dress all day.”

“It needed several alterations.”

“Not even one.”

Callie pressed her lips together, but refrained from responding. What could she say, anyway? That she felt too pretty in the dress? That would only encourage the woman in her efforts to update her style.

“At the risk of being redundant, and I do so hate to be redundant, I will say it again. The way you dress reflects directly back on me.”

“I know, Mrs. Singletary. But my goal is to blend in with the crowd, not stand out.” She attempted a smile. “It would be unseemly of me to attract attention away from you.”

“That’s utter nonsense. With the right clothing and hairstyle you would, I think, be a great beauty, even more attractive than your sister.”

Callie felt panic gnawing at her, tearing at her composure. No one was more beautiful than Fanny. “Please don’t say such a thing.”

After
the incident
in Boston, Callie had made sure her sister outshone all others, including Callie. Especially Callie. She’d chosen Fanny’s dresses and steered her toward the proper hairstyles to set off her unusual amber eyes and doll-like features.

How she missed her sister. As the only two girls in a house full of brothers they’d grown up with a special bond between them. They’d had their share of arguments through the years, the majority following Fanny’s broken engagement. Nevertheless, Fanny was Callie’s favorite person in the world. She missed her so much she thought she might weep.

As if sensing her fragile state, Mrs. Singletary pulled Callie to a chair and urged her to sit with gentle pressure on her shoulders. “Why do you insist on playing down your assets?” Her gaze softened, her tone warmed. “When there are so many to highlight?”

“Scripture teaches us that we are not to focus on external adornment.” Callie lifted her chin. “The Lord doesn’t look at outward appearances but what is in our heart.”

Could she sound any more pompous, prudish and self-righteous? The moral high ground was a dangerous place for a woman like her...with her sordid past.

“I’ll not deny God doesn’t look at the things we humans look at. But Scripture also teaches that we are not to hide our light under a bushel. And, Callie, my dear, you are the very essence of light.”

Simon had said something similar to Callie when they’d first met at a theater production of
As You Like It.
His leading-man good looks and smooth, practiced words had turned her head. Only when it was too late had she discovered his declarations of love held no substance. He’d been playing a role with her, merely acting a part as he did on the stage.

As a result, she carried the shame of her foolishness with her every minute of every day. “There’s nothing special about me. I am a very ordinary woman.”

“Now that’s just false humility.” Mrs. Singletary all but stomped her foot in outrage. “You are anything but ordinary. I never want to hear you say such a thing again.”

Callie bristled.

Mrs. Singletary laid a gentle hand on Callie’s shoulder, her gaze holding her eyes with deep sincerity. “You are a beautiful child of God, never think otherwise.”

What a lovely thing to say. How she adored this woman. Mrs. Singletary had come into Callie’s life when she’d been at her lowest, when the three most important people in her life had left her without a backward glance.

She could have returned to her family’s ranch. But she couldn’t see herself there anymore.

She couldn’t see herself anywhere.

Where do I belong, Lord?

“Tell me, dear, why do you hide your true self from the world? What are you afraid of?”

If the widow knew what Callie had done, she would dismiss her on the spot. Mrs. Singletary may have a reputation for being unconventional in business matters. But she was an upright, faithful Christian woman who lived a blameless life. She would expect nothing less of her companion.

“I asked you a question.” The words were spoken as gently as if she was speaking to a hurting child.

She knew Mrs. Singletary meant well. The widow only wanted to help, but Callie hesitated still, fearful of relaxing her guard and thereby spilling the entire story.

Her foolishness was not something she wanted to revisit, ever. The gullible belief that she was the most important woman in a man’s eyes had nearly been her ruin. How foolish she’d been, falling for the famous actor’s ploy. But Simon had only wanted her as a temporary substitute, until he could marry the woman he truly loved.

“I dress this way because it is respectable.”
Too late,
an ugly voice in her head whispered.
It is far too late to regain respectability now.

“What happened to you? What terrible trauma did you suffer that has made you afraid to embrace who you really are?”

“You...you wouldn’t understand.”

“You might be surprised.” The widow closed her hand over Callie’s. “I have my share of secrets and I’ve certainly made mistakes in my day. You’ll find no judgment from me, no condemnation. You can tell me anything.”

“I...I...wouldn’t know where to start.” That was certainly true. “It’s complicated.”

“Now I understand. The cause was a man.”

“Yes.” The cost of admitting that was so great tears welled in Callie’s eyes. She stiffened her spine, refusing to allow even one to fall.

“However he betrayed you—”

“I didn’t say he betrayed me.”

“You didn’t have to.”

As if sensing her distress, Lady Macbeth hopped on her lap. Callie hugged the animal close, burying her nose in the thick, silky fur.

In much the same way she would pet the cat, Mrs. Singletary ran a hand over Callie’s hair. “Whoever he was, he didn’t deserve you.”

Callie lifted her head, felt the burn of tears in her throat and dropped her face back to the cat’s neck.

“There is a man out there just for you,” the widow said. “He will love you and care for you. Even the most mundane details of your life will matter to him. He is out there, Callie, and I will find him for you. I promise.”

“No, Mrs. Singletary.” Callie’s voice hitched over the words. “Please, don’t try to match me with anyone. I—”
Give her a reason. Any will do, even the truth.
“I...I’m not ready.”

Crouching in front of her, the widow waited for her to look into her eyes. She studied Callie’s face longer than was comfortable, her eyes searching, boring in as if she could read the very secrets of her soul. “No, perhaps you aren’t ready,” she decided at last. “Not yet. But you will be soon.”

* * *

Reese went straight to his office after leaving Mrs. Singletary’s home and shut the door behind him. He needed privacy, craved it as badly as air.

He laid out the contracts on his mahogany desk and began reviewing the changes he’d scribbled along the margins. He lost himself in the process, managing to focus for several hours before his mind wandered back to his morning meeting across town.

What had he been thinking? Agreeing to allow Beatrix Singletary to help him find a suitable bride?

He blamed the weak moment on the melancholy he’d been unable to shake since his disastrous evening at the opera.

Now he was stuck.

If he cried off from their agreement at this point, Mrs. Singletary would only continue her quest without his assistance. He’d seen her do it before. Several times, in fact. She wouldn’t rest until she had him happily married off.

Reese wasn’t opposed to getting married again. But he’d already had his chance at happiness. It had slipped away like water through splayed fingers. A split second had been all it took. One unseen root in the ground and Miranda’s horse had gone down hard, landing on top of her after the initial tumble, crushing her delicate body.

Reese had spent the next three days at her bedside, holding her in his arms even as it tore at his heart to watch her life slip away one strangled breath at a time.

Shutting his eyes against the memory, Reese drew in a slow breath of air. He would never love again. Not because he didn’t want to, but because he didn’t know how to go at it half measure. He’d learned during his brief marriage to Miranda that he was a man who felt too much, gave too much, needed too much in return. Unspeakable pain accompanied such uninhibited emotion.

Thus, he would insist the widow keep to their agreement, and only suggest women who met his specific requirements.

With that in mind, he pulled out a fresh piece of paper and began constructing his list. He came up with seven items, the number of completion.

Fitting.

A familiar, rapid
knock, knock, knock
had him folding the list and setting it aside. “Enter.”

The door swung open and his father’s broad shoulders filled the gap. Other than the graying at the temples and the slightly leaner frame, it was like looking into a mirror and seeing himself twenty-five years from now.

As always, Reese Sr. got straight to the point. “I need to speak with you immediately.”

Unsure what he heard in the other man’s tone, Reese pushed away from his desk. “Of course.”

He started to rise.

His father stopped him with a hand in the air. “Don’t stand on my account.”

Reese settled back in his chair.

Face pinched, his father strode through the room, then flattened his palms on Reese’s desk and leaned forward. “I’m worried about you, son.”

“There’s no need to be.”

“You left the theater abruptly last night.” He searched Reese’s face. “I need to assure myself you are well.”

“I had contracts that required my final review.”

“That wasn’t the reason you left early.” Pushing back, the older man stood tall. “I haven’t seen that look on your face since...”