by Renee Ryan
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 li
st 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
Callie 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.”
