The Winter Laird
Mists of Fate - Book One
Nancy Scanlon
Copyright
Diversion Books
A Division of Diversion Publishing Corp.
443 Park Avenue South, Suite 1008
New York, NY 10016
www.DiversionBooks.com
Copyright © 2015 by Nancy Scanlon
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
For more information, email [email protected]
First Diversion Books edition November 2015
ISBN: 978-1-62681-724-1
Table of Contents
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
Connect with Diversion Books
For Dorothy and Sean
Chapter 1
Brianagh O’Rourke carefully adjusted the elbow-length veil. She smoothed the ribbon-lined edges into place, and then blew out a shaky breath.
Taking a final, critical look in the mirror, Bri felt a flash of triumph overcome her nerves. This moment was almost two years in the making. A difficult courtship almost failed at the last moment, mostly because of one partner’s inability to commit, threatening their happily-ever-after. Brianagh redoubled her efforts, giving the relationship the lion’s share of her time. Late nights, early mornings, frantic phone calls…and in the end, it worked out.
It always did, she thought proudly.
She met Kristen’s clear gaze in the mirror. “You made it.”
“I did,” her client said dreamily.
“You look lovely.” Brianagh smoothed her hand over the veil again, drawing a smile from Kristen Bouchement, her most difficult client to date.
“I hope Justin thinks so. I can’t believe I found my soul mate…and it’s all thanks to you,” Kristen said softly. “I wish I listened to you sooner. I would’ve been married a year already.”
“Justin would wait an eternity for you.” Brianagh infused just the right amount of happiness before switching back to professionalism. “But let’s not make him wait any longer, okay?”
Kristen laughed, a sound Bri was more than happy to hear after the panicked phone calls just the week before, when Kristen decided she couldn’t possibly love Justin as much as he did her, and how did one go about breaking off an engagement as high-profile as theirs?
Two years ago, Boston’s most talked-about socialite—and only daughter of the state senator—waltzed into Bri’s then up-and-coming matchmaking service, Celtic Connections. Kristen presented Brianagh with a massive challenge: take a list of must-have “husband qualities” and find Kristen the perfect husband…before her father ran in the next presidential election.
The “husband qualities” included old wealth, politics, good looks, more than two estates—preferably on both coasts—no false teeth, limited use of hair product, and family ties to oil.
“Well, I think it’s safe to say that your company’s one hundred percent success rate holds true.”
Brianagh stepped back to let the wedding planner fuss with Kristen’s earrings and allowed herself a true smile. “I’m happy to agree with you.”
Celtic Connections was now Boston’s most selective and successful matchmaking service. As they took on only a few select clients per year, they could dedicate a significant amount of time and resources to finding the perfect match. And Brianagh O’Rourke always found the perfect match.
Kristen’s match, Justin, had exactly what Bri knew she needed—a level-headed, easygoing personality and the patience of a saint. Kristen resisted, as his money was “new” and he hadn’t any ties to politics, but in the end, love and common sense prevailed, and Justin, the CFO of a local banking chain without any ties to oil—but with a full set of natural teeth—stood ready for his bride.
Brianagh checked on him earlier in the afternoon, when he was pacing and damning the fact that he agreed to a three o’clock wedding, wishing he had pushed for a brunch.
“Because we’d be married already, and I can’t wait a minute longer!” he burst out in frustration.
Bri gave him her usual speech about how long he’d waited, that another two hours wasn’t going to kill him, that Kristen was also dying to see him in the church…it was the same song and dance she played at each wedding she attended.
Kristen and Justin were her sixteenth match—her eighth high profile match—in four years.
“It’s your turn now, Brianagh,” Kristen said suddenly, breaking into her thoughts.
Bri smiled, a touch of practiced understanding in her gaze. “It’s every bride’s wish to see everyone around them happy.” Every happy bride’s wish, she amended silently.
This part of the job, she recognized, was possibly the worst. Her unmarried state didn’t deter any of her clients, but, when she stood with them in their dressing room before the nuptials, most of them made a statement similar to Kristen’s. And it wasn’t as though she didn’t believe in happily-ever-afters. She most certainly did, and refused to match anyone whom she believed wouldn’t be a true and loving spouse to someone.
She just didn’t believe in her own happily-ever-after. It wasn’t for a lack of trying, but she was too busy ensuring everyone else got their fairytale ending.
“Matthew simply fawns over you. I think he might be the one,” Kristen added conspiratorially. “I wish you the same kind of happiness you found for me!”
Bri forced a smile. Fawning was a gross overstatement. She was lucky if she garnered her boyfriend’s attention for more than it took for the next phone call to come in.
Matthew de Burgh moved in the same circles as Kristen. He was a huge supporter of Senator Bouchement, and when Kristen introduced him to Bri…well, if sparks didn’t exactly fly, she felt more for Matthew than she had for anyone else, and that was enough for her. As the founder of a matchmaking service, she knew there was a lot to be said for a comfortable relationship. All-consuming lust wasn’t on her must-have list of husband qualities.
Her Director of Registration strongly disagreed with her line of thinking, but as he was also her cousin, Brianagh ignored his opinions of her life as often as possible.
“That is so sweet of you to say, Kristen. All I did was introduce you to each other. You and Justin followed your hearts…and now, it’s time to follow that heart down the aisle.”
The wedding planner, whom Brianagh recommended to Kristen, seamlessly took over the interaction and directed Kristen out of the room, into her teary-eyed father’s arms. A moment later, the bride, her father, and her wedding planner were gone.
Brianagh tiptoed down the hall of the enormous church and peeked in, where Kristen was nearly to the end
of the aisle. Justin’s face was alight with wonder, and his eyes were only for his bride. Bri let out a little sigh of happiness for the couple.
Her phone buzzed discreetly, and she fumbled through her purse. Pulling it out, her shoulders dropped at the message.
Dinner tonight at seven. Semi-formal, wear heels. Xoxo
She tamped down an annoyed sigh. Lately, Matthew had been offering her suggestions as to what she ought to wear when they were out in public together.
“I have a reputation to consider,” he’d said, slipping her the business card of a personal shopper at Neiman Marcus. “You know how we’re always being photographed.”
Actually, she didn’t—she only saw photographers at the philanthropic events they attended together—but she’d taken the card. She hadn’t made use of the service yet, though.
Brianagh glanced again into the church, unable to ignore the small pang in her chest when she again caught sight of Justin, unable to remove his eyes from his bride who, even from here, was blushing.
Just once I’d like someone to look at me like that, Brianagh thought. She squared her shoulders and pushed away the thought. She was twenty-nine years old; the time for starry-eyed fairy tales was over. Passion and swept-off-her-feet love didn’t exist for her, and she had made her peace with it.
Almost.
• • •
Brianagh reminded herself that she whole-heartedly believed in happily-ever-afters, despite the sparkling engagement ring at which she was currently gaping.
The night started innocently enough. Matthew surprised her with reservations at Top of the Hub, one of Boston’s most impressive restaurants because of its unparalleled, 360-degree views of the city’s skyline.
Matthew excelled at saying romantic things, so when he claimed that he wanted nothing more than to watch the sunset together from their sky-high vantage point, she didn’t blink.
When he turned his phone off, Brianagh felt a prickle of nervousness descend upon her spine.
When he kept it off for longer than it took to restart it, she began to feel faint. And not in the way her clients claimed to feel when their significant others were near.
Glancing again at the obscenely large diamond in front of her, Bri swallowed hard. Apparently he had more than just the sunset on his mind.
“Say yes,” Matthew murmured from his knee in the middle of the very crowded, uncomfortably silent restaurant. “Make me the happiest man alive, Bri. Marry me.”
Tapping her fingers on the white tablecloth, she tried to breathe but found that simple task beyond her. She glanced out the floor-to-ceiling glass wall overlooking the harbor; the reflection of Boston’s city skyline, while beautiful, didn’t ease the tightness in her chest. The incoherent thoughts in her head buzzed with the answer he certainly did not want to hear, so she gave him the answer he did.
“Okay,” she managed to say. Not a ringing endorsement of said happily-ever-after, but Matthew’s eyes lit up as if she had declared her undying love.
Maybe she had; she didn’t know. She was in uncharted territory, no one had ever proposed to her. He gently slid the diamond onto her finger as the entire restaurant erupted into cheers.
She thought she might be sick and wondered briefly if this was a normal response.
She didn’t think so.
He kissed her, and Bri fervently hoped he didn’t notice her lack of enthusiasm. When his mouth opened, she wished that, just once, she could feel the surge of desire she’d heard about. She read enough romance novels and listened to her clients wax lyrical after a particularly successful date. But logically she knew, and Matthew knew, that lust simply wasn’t for them.
“I’m so happy,” Matthew said, pulling back suddenly and signaling for the check.
She blinked, feeling as though that kiss was more of a handshake to seal the deal. And, as she usually did, she began to rationalize her feelings. Intellectually, she knew she and Matthew worked well as a couple. She had relationships down to a science. She knew the formulas behind the hows and whys of happily-ever-afters. On paper, she and Matthew were a perfect fit.
Spark was a fleeting thing, in her opinion. Bri believed companionship, common backgrounds, and intellect kept a relationship stronger than a spark, but her coworkers argued that it took more than a formula laid out in a database. They claimed that for some, the spark was the deciding factor.
Somehow, she’d never really gotten to the point of a deciding factor when it came to Matthew.
Probably a moot point now, she thought as he led her out of the restaurant. Matthew called for his driver, and he gave a quick nod to a passing acquaintance as he herded her into the car.
“You did very well,” he said as he powered on his phone. He handed her a glass of champagne. “I wasn’t sure how you would react when I put you on the spot like that… But what I did know, from our very first date, was that you’d be my wife.”
Bri tossed back the drink as the driver pulled away from the curb. She stared at her empty flute, saying nothing for a long moment.
“What makes you so sure we’ll work, Matthew?”
His phone immediately began to ping with incoming messages, texts, and missed call notifications. “Why wouldn’t we?”
She raised an eyebrow but remained silent.
He looked up at her briefly, his eyes already distant. “We connect on a deeper level, Brianagh. Think of it as an acquisition.” He looked back at his phone, and his thumbs began to move as he answered a text. “Both parties already complement each other in some way. And together, they’ll be a force to be reckoned with. We have all the right things to make the other better, and that’s what you always say makes a match successful.”
As he spoke, Bri studied him. Matthew was so handsome—his blond highlights stood out in deep contrast to his dark brown eyes. He could’ve been a model for high-end clothing. Why can I not be more attracted to this man?
It was a question she’d been asking herself for a long time. The only conclusion she’d drawn was depressing, and after seeing Kristen—who, by all accounts, was possibly the most difficult-to-please woman in all of Boston, and perhaps in New England—find someone perfectly wonderful to love forever, Brianagh accepted the truth. She was incapable of love. Not the kind of love she had for her family—she had that in spades—but the kind of breath-stealing, mind-blowing, passionate love she found in her dreams.
She sighed to herself and poured another glass of champagne, half-listening to Matthew’s phone call about an upcoming acquisition of some sort. He flicked his eyes toward her, and she offered a wan smile. He gave her the thumbs-up, then reached into his pocket and absent-mindedly handed her the empty ring box. She accepted it and placed it in her purse wordlessly before looking out her window, catching sight of the moon’s reflection on the Charles.
It reminded her of the novel she just finished last night, where the hero climbed a tower in the moonlight to see his love one last time before she married another. A smile curved Bri’s lips as she remembered how it ended—the hero and heroine managed to be together, despite the evil fiancé, stalwart father, and society’s expectations.
Bri groaned silently, cursing books for her predicament. If only she hadn’t picked up that romance novel on that library cart all those years ago, enticed by, of all things, its cover, she wouldn’t be so stuck in her fantasy world. She loved and hated that she dreamed of the same man every night. Rationally, she knew her dream lover was a figment of her imagination, made up with various pieces of all the characters she grew to love from the myriad of novels lining her bookshelves at home. But she could picture him clearly, even here, with her boyfriend—well, now her fiancé—clasping her hand and looking every bit the charming millionaire from one of those very books. Here she was, dreaming of her fictional romance hero, when she had a real-life Prince Charming in the flesh.
“Let me conference in Jimmy, then you two can work this out. I’ll be at the office in less than an hour.” Matthew pulled
the phone away from his ear. “Brianagh, I’ll drop you at your house, okay? This merger is getting sticky, and I really don’t want it to wait until morning.”
We just became engaged, she felt like screaming. Shouldn’t there be more to this than a ring, a glass of champagne, and a business call?
Instead of voicing any of those thoughts, she merely stated, “Of course.”
She knew better than to dream of the perfect man. Such a creature didn’t exist. She made it her business to know better than that.
Matthew brought her back to the present by taking her glass out of her hand and ending his call. “I should meet your family. Other than your director…what’s his name again?”
“Colin.”
“Yes. Colin. Right.”
“My family is very important to me. You know that.”
“You can still see them, Bri. It’s not like I’ll try to keep them away from you.”
“What about children?” she asked suddenly. “Do you want children, Matthew?”
“Bri, there’s plenty of time for that discussion. Let’s just enjoy being engaged.” Matthew held his phone up to see who was calling him. He rolled his eyes. “Boston Globe already. They know to call my PR department.”
“Why would The Globe be calling you?” Brianagh asked hesitantly.
He gave a look that spoke volumes. “I’m engaged. To you.” He said it as though she should be thanking him for choosing her. An icy tendril of dread snaked up her back.
“Right,” she managed.
“I should probably take this,” Matthew said apologetically. “I don’t trust my new assistant and my PR staff won’t be in until tomorrow. The driver will walk you to your door, though.” He leaned over and bussed her cheek, then took the call.
• • •
Inside her brownstone, Brianagh slid the locks into place and slipped her shoes off. She leaned her forehead against the door. “What have I done?”
The Winter Laird Page 1
