His Most Suitable Bride

by Renee Ryan

  With nothing to add to either topic, Callie listened in silence. The brief interlude with Marshall had given her time to recover her equilibrium and she was grateful to the man.

  She glanced at him from beneath her lashes.

  In temperament and in looks, he reminded her of her brother Garrett. Marshall’s tawny hair was a bit more unruly, and his brown eyes were several shades darker, but they could almost pass for brothers.

  There was another glaring similarity between the two men. Marshall had once been engaged to Garrett’s wife, Molly. Did he pine for his lost love? Callie wondered.

  How did one ask such a question?

  One didn’t ask such a question.

  Yet she’d practically done so with Reese the other day in his office.

  Callie cut a glance across the table, noticed Reese was no longer engaged in conversation with either of the Ferguson sisters. Instead, he was watching her. Closely. Intently.

  She looked down at her plate then just as quickly glanced back up. Reese was still watching her, just as closely, just as intently. She wished he would look away. Then, perversely, wished he would continue looking at her all night.

  At least he wasn’t conversing with either of the Ferguson sisters anymore.

  Why not?

  They were both very beautiful, educated, came from a good family and...

  Callie suddenly remembered the words written in a bold, masculine hand she’d fished out from beneath Lady Macbeth. Loves children...must come from a good family and...value strong family ties.

  Qualities a man might look for in a wife.

  Alarm filled her.

  Was Reese actively seeking a woman to take Fanny’s place in his heart? Had he enlisted Mrs. Singletary’s assistance?

  No. It was too soon. Fanny had barely left town.

  “I understand your brother is practicing law in St. Louis,” Marshall said, the gently spoken question sufficiently breaking through Callie’s growing panic.

  “Yes.” She rummaged up a smile for her dinner companion. “I received a letter from his wife just today.”

  “You and Molly are still close, I presume?”

  “Very. It was hard to say goodbye to her after the wedding, but the ever-faithful postal service keeps us in touch.”

  If only Fanny would write, as well. One letter. Callie yearned for nothing more than one, short letter from her sister.

  “Is Molly...” Marshall hesitated, his smile dropping slightly. “Is she happy living in St. Louis with your brother?”

  How best to answer such a loaded question? The truth, she told herself. Stick with the truth. “She has settled into her new life with Garrett rather nicely. She’s even started her own millinery shop.”

  “I’m pleased for her.” The relief in his eyes was more powerful than the words. “And your brother.”

  “I believe you truly mean that.”

  He turned thoughtful a moment, lifted a shoulder. “Though Molly is a generous, beautiful woman, she was not the woman for me. We would never have truly happy together. Content, perhaps. But not happy.”

  Something sad came and went in his eyes.

  Wanting to soothe, she reached out and touched her fingers to his forearm. “I’m sorry, Mr. Ferguson.”

  He placed his hand atop hers and squeezed gently. “Molly and I parted ways amicably. We will always be friends.”

  Friends?

  There was that awful word again, spoken by another man in reference to his former fiancée. Why would anyone propose to a woman he considered nothing more than a friend?

  Oh, she knew many marriages were based on far less, and were entered into for a vast array of reasons. But in her family love was the most important foundation to marriage.

  And now abide faith, hope, love, these three; but the greatest of these is love. The Bible verse was practically a family motto.

  Realizing she’d been silent too long, Callie drew in a steadying breath. “I’m glad there are no hard feelings between you and Molly.”

  “You are different tonight, Miss Mitchell. More...” His words trailed off.

  When several seconds passed and he didn’t continue, she lifted a brow. “More?” she prompted.

  “Charming,” he said with a smile. “Engaging. Quite wonderful, really. Until tonight, I hadn’t realized how...” His gaze fell over her face. “What I mean is, you are a very beautiful woman.”

  A rather inconvenient surge of pleasure surfaced at the unexpected compliment. Callie had forgotten how lovely it felt to be called beautiful.

  She shifted uneasily in her chair.

  “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

  “You didn’t,” she assured him. “It’s just—” she lifted her chin “—I’m not used to compliments.”

  “Then I shall make it my mission to pay you several more throughout the night.”

  “Please,” she whispered, absently shoving at her hair, shifting in her seat again. “You really don’t have to do that.”

  “I have made you uncomfortable again.” He focused on his plate a moment, then turned back to her. “Did you notice how the rain earlier this evening brought a surprising chill to the night air?”

  What a kind, sweet man, changing the subject to the universally innocuous topic of the weather.

  For the rest of the meal, they spoke of nothing more substantial. Callie found Marshall Ferguson witty, amiable and handsome. She quite enjoyed his company. And decided to be glad for her position at the table.

  As the servers began clearing away empty dishes and plates, one of the Ferguson sisters, in an overly loud voice, asked Reese if he’d heard from Fanny since she’d left town.

  A full five seconds of silence met the question, whereby the girl’s father cleared his throat.

  “No, I haven’t,” Reese said without inflection. “Nor would I expect to hear from her since we are no longer engaged.”

  Though he didn’t appear especially agitated, his icy tone said the conversation was over.

  The girl missed the obvious cue. “Oh, but surely, after what you meant to one another you would wish to know how she’s faring in Chicago?”

  “She is faring very well” came a deep, masculine reply.

  All heads turned toward Jonathon Hawkins and an expectant hush filled the air.

  “You know Fanny?” the Ferguson sisters asked in unison.

  He gave a brief nod. “Miss Mitchell is an invaluable member of my Chicago hotel operation, our operation,” he amended with a nod in deference toward Mrs. Singletary. “With her attention to detail, she’s all but running the place on her own.”

  “Isn’t that lovely.” Mrs. Singletary set her napkin on the table and stood. “Let us adjourn to the parlor for coffee and dessert.”

  And that, the widow’s turned back communicated to the room, was the end of that.

  The rest of the evening went by pleasantly for Callie. Until Jonathon Hawkins approached her.

  “Miss Mitchell, it’s a pleasure seeing you again.”

  Everything around her went still. Though she’d once worked at this man’s hotel, she’d hardly interacted with him. Once, maybe twice, and only in passing, yet he acted as though they were old friends.

  “Thank you, Mr. Hawkins.” She gave him a brief nod and a forced smile. “It’s nice to see you again, too.”

  “From what I understand,” he continued, his gray eyes smiling, “your absence has left a considerable hole in the Hotel Dupree’s kitchen operations.”

  Emotion threatened to overtake her. Now that she had his attention, there were many things Callie wanted to say to this man. A discussion of her former position in his hotel was not one of them.

  “I’m sure you’ll find a suitable replacement soo
n.”

  “Let us hope you are right.” He fished inside the interior of his jacket. “Your sister asked that I give this to you.”

  Callie stared at him suspiciously. Then realized he was holding a letter in his hand from Fanny, folded in the special way they’d designed back in school. So happy to receive word from her sister, the annoyance she felt toward this man was nearly forgotten.

  “Thank you.” She plucked the letter from between his fingers and—feeling bold—asked the pressing question running through her mind. “Is Fanny truly well, Mr. Hawkins?”

  “She’s thriving.” His eyes filled with pride and something else, something almost tender, a look that set Callie’s teeth on edge.

  “I recently promoted your sister to front desk manager.”

  Callie’s heart dipped. No. No, no, no. Fanny would never come home now. She’d been reasonably happy working at the Hotel Dupree. But, Callie admitted to herself, Fanny hadn’t thrived.

  Sighing, she fingered the letter in her hand. She desperately wanted to read the words her sister had penned on the page. She didn’t dare exit the party, though, not yet.

  As if matters weren’t already tense enough, Reese materialized by her side. “Callie? Are you unwell?”

  She smiled thinly. “I’m fine.”

  Reese’s eyebrows lifted in silent challenge.

  Stuffing the letter from Fanny in her sleeve, she explained further. “Mr. Hawkins has promoted Fanny to front desk manager.”

  “Ah.” Reese turned his attention to the other man. “So she’s truly happy living and working in Chicago?”

  “Quite.”

  “That’s good to know.”

  Awkward silence fell over their tiny group.

  “I see Mrs. Singletary motioning to me,” Hawkins declared. “I should go see what she wants.”

  “I’ll join you,” Reese said, deserting Callie without a backward glance.

  The two men fell into step with one another, their heads bent in conversation. Both were of an equal height and build, their hair nearly the same color. Callie hadn’t noticed the similarities before and wasn’t sure what to make of them now.

  Were they discussing business as they made their way across the room? Callie would never know.

  Soon the guests began to leave, Jonathon Hawkins first, the rest not long after him. Marshall Ferguson made a special effort to approach Callie and assure her he’d enjoyed sitting beside her at dinner.

  “I had a lovely time, as well,” she said, meaning every word.

  “Perhaps we will do it again sometime soon.”

  “I’d like that.”

  She watched him depart with his family, wondering why she felt no sense of loss as he exited the room. Because, she realized, there’d been nothing special between them, at least not from her end. No spark, not one ounce of interest.

  Had she learned her lesson with Simon? Was she finally safe from making another, impetuous mistake where a man was concerned?

  As if to test her theory, Reese came up beside her once again. Her heart skipped two full beats. Her throat tightened.

  Her knees wobbled.

  So much for that theory.

  Before she could think how to break the silence between them, Reese’s father joined them. “My dear, dear, girl, I have come to bid you good evening.”

  “Good night, Mr. Bennett.” She lifted onto her toes and kissed his weathered cheek.

  Smiling broadly, he nodded at Reese. “Son.”

  “Father.”

  With a strange, satisfied gleam in his eyes, the elder Mr. Bennett approached Mrs. Singletary. They spoke no longer than a minute and then he, too, quit the room.

  The widow frowned after him, even as she worked her way over to where Callie and Reese still stood.

  “It is my turn to say thank you, Mrs. Singletary.” Reese took her hands. “The food was wonderful, the company—” he paused “—interesting and—”

  “Before we say good-night, there is a matter of some importance we must discuss.”

  “Can it not wait until our Monday morning meeting?”

  “It cannot.”

  He released her hands and took a step back. “Carry on, then. Say what you need to say.”

  “I have concerns about your list.”

  His eyes cut to Callie and filled with what could only be described as alarm, or perhaps cynicism, or perhaps he was simply looking at her as he always did and she was reading too much into the moment.

  “What concerns?” he asked tensely.

  Mrs. Singletary made an airy, circular gesture with her hand. “I believe several of your requirements need revising or, at the very least, expanding.”

  A muscle jerked in his jaw. “Those changes can be addressed on Monday.”

  By his stiff tone alone, Callie had a bad feeling about this alleged list. Then she caught sight of Reese’s thunderous expression.

  Oh, yes, a very bad feeling indeed.

  Chapter Seven

  Reese relaxed his jaw, inch by deliberate inch. All the evening needed was a discussion concerning his requirements for a bride. He’d already endured one of the Ferguson girl’s intrusive questions, while fending off her sister’s attempts to place her hand on his arm at inappropriate moments.

  As if that hadn’t been enough, he’d been forced to witness Callie share smiles with Marshall Ferguson. She’d blossomed under the man’s attentiveness. Reese didn’t fully understand why this bothered him, but it did. Massively. No matter how irrational, he didn’t like knowing another man could make her smile.

  She wasn’t smiling now.

  Her eyebrows were pulled together in a sweet, delicate frown. The same expression she’d worn at the opera when she’d agonized over her choice of dessert.

  She looked equally adorable this evening, which inexplicably put Reese further on edge.

  “This is not an appropriate time to revise my list.” He spoke firmly, decisively, as he would in a courtroom, looking meaningfully at the widow in case she missed his meaning.

  True to form, the contrary woman refused to give an inch of ground. “There is no better time than the present, while all three of us are together.”

  The three of them? “Callie has no cause to hear—”

  “So, it’s Callie now?”

  Reese gritted his teeth.

  “Oh, dear.” Mrs. Singletary laughed softly. “You look quite put out. Perhaps we should sit down.

  “Please, Mr. Bennett.” Her tone took on an apologetic air, and her eyes filled with silent appeal. “All I ask is that you hear me out. I promise to be brief and—” her gaze shifted to her companion “—circumspect.”

  Had the widow continued wrestling for control of the situation, Reese would have left without another word. But she’d switched tactics. Short of being rude, which went against the grain, he was stuck.

  He would prefer Callie not be nearby. But if Mrs. Singletary followed through with her promise and chose her words carefully, he had no cause for concern.

  “Very well,” he said. “I will hear you out.”

  He narrowed his eyes so the widow would understand that if she pushed too hard or revealed too much he would end the conversation immediately.

  Her brief nod indicated she caught his silent warning.

  Hands clasped behind his back, Reese waited for the women to choose their seats. Mrs. Singletary sat in a wing-back chair, while Callie lowered onto the brocade divan facing her.

  After only a moment’s consideration, he settled on the divan beside Callie.

  He did not look at her. She did not look at him.

  Awkwardness had returned to their relationship.

  He started to push to his feet. Anticipating the move, Mrs. Singletary
held up a hand to stop him.

  “Callie.” Lowering her hand, she smiled at the younger woman. “Would you be so kind as to retrieve a piece of paper off my desk?”

  Callie blinked at her employer. “Which one do you mean?”

  “You’ll know it when you see it. It is a list of seven items penned in Mr. Bennett’s handwriting.”

  “A list?” Callie’s gaze whipped to Reese. “But—”

  “Off you go, dear. The man doesn’t have all night.”

  “Yes, Mrs. Singletary.” Mouth pressed in a firm line, Callie marched to the door. At the threshold, she looked over her shoulder, sighed and then continued on her way.

  The moment she disappeared into the hallway, the widow broke her silence. “I’m sorry to tell you, Mr. Bennett, but I will be unable to help with your bride search.”

  Reese blinked in stunned silence. This woman, who prided herself for being a consummate matchmaker, was relinquishing her duties? Before she’d even begun?

  He should be relieved. He’d only cooperated with the widow’s scheme to appease her and to maintain control of the situation.

  Yet, now, as she attempted to step away from the project, Reese realized he wanted to find a suitable woman to marry. But with his schedule full and his time limited, Mrs. Singletary’s assistance would have greatly expedited the process.

  “Why are you begging off?” he asked.

  “It’s not that I don’t wish to see you happily settled. I do, indeed.” She picked up her cat and settled the overweight animal atop her voluminous skirt. “At the moment, I am overtaxed and am unable to give the matter my full attention.”

  It was a flimsy excuse at best. Reese had seen the widow orchestrate matches while simultaneously negotiating highly volatile business deals. Clearly, she was up to something.

  “What other commitments are you referring to?”

  “Oh, this and that, which will require me to go here and there.”

  The intentionally vague response had him reaching for a calm that didn’t exist. “Perhaps you could be more specific.”