Aye, he wanted all that, combined with the passion he’d once shared with Larena Ross.
And the loyalty of them all. He never wanted to be put in the position his brother Francis had been with his first wife. Betrayed and humiliated.
“You haven’t given the matter much thought, have you?” Maggie asked dryly.
He shrugged, surprised she hadn’t laughed outright. It was ridiculous to even mention it.
“You want the finest qualities of five different women, combined in one? Without a single flaw?” Now Maggie did laugh, shaking her head. “You know no such woman exists, don’t you?”
Aye, he knew well enough by this point what he wanted wasn’t to be found here. Or anywhere. James shoved the locket back into his pocket and took up his drink, swirling the amber contents around the glass.
“James dear...” She sighed, reaching between them to take his hand with a gentle squeeze. “You are looking for perfection. That’s what doesn’t exist. Not in any woman. Not even my own daughters. Eve, for example, might be sharp as a tack but she’s also stubborn and contrary. Too prim for her own good after what Shaftesbury did to her. Only with Francis has she been able to find balance, to give as good as she gets. You must put such expectations out of your head or you’ll never settle on a wife.”
“Indeed, that is why I have put the pursuit of a wife behind me,” he said. “I know now that what I want isn’t out there.”
“But it is, James,” she protested. “You mustn’t give up. While there may be no such thing as a perfect woman, there is a woman who will be perfect for you.
Inspiring words, but James didn’t believe them for a moment.
“You’ll see. When you fall in love, she will be perfect to you.”
What balderdash.
Now she was just spouting nonsense. But it was nonsense she believed wholeheartedly. James knew despite any declarations he might make about giving up on finding something so elusive as love or even selecting a wife who would do, Maggie would never cease her matchmaking. She would force more “opportunities” upon him to find that imperfect someone who was perfect for him until he had a foot in the grave.
As far as he could tell, he had two choices. The first was to leave the Preston home and perhaps New York entirely. Something James didn’t want to do. He hadn’t sought a home of his own yet because he loved Maggie dearly and enjoyed her friendship. The alternative had been either the engulfing silence of his own company, or replacing hers with the mindless nattering of schoolgirls or other social drivel. The latter was bad enough but the threat of the first chilled him.
Bloody hell, he didn’t want to be alone in life. He’d had enough of that already.
The second choice was to convince her that he was making a marked effort to see her hopes through to fruition.
So, what if he were to take Mrs. Eames up on her offer, after all?
No, Maggie might not have faith that such a pursuit would result in her ultimate goal...that being marriage. She didn’t believe Prim would even have him.
But then, she also knew well enough that the MacKintosh men never backed down from a challenge or a dare.
Aye, it might just be enough, and in the process, he would solve Prim’s problem and his own.
James laughed inwardly. Wasn’t that just what she had said?
Chapter 9
What would men be without women?
Scarce, sir... mighty scarce.
~ Mark Twain
The residence of Mrs. Primrose Eames
East 72nd Street between 5th & Madison
New York, New York
The following morning
“Shane, really. Must I remind you again that you’re not my keeper?”
“Someone has to be.”
Prim set down her fork and reached for her teacup with a deep, calming breath. Shane continued to help himself to her breakfast sideboard, heaping his plate with sausage and toast. Oblivious to the temper he was rousing in her.
“Why? Why is that?” she asked. “Have I proven to be dangerous to myself or others?”
“There is danger in the waters you’re treading, Prim,” he said, tucking into his repast with enthusiasm. “Whether you see it or not.”
She’d already gotten an earful from her father-in-law the previous evening before Shane had escorted her home. Shane, as had become his habit, spent the night rather than returning to his own home. So that he might once again take up their tedious squabbling? As if repetition alone would change her mind? Now this? There was no part of her that wanted to hear more about how being seen “consorting” with a man like James MacKintosh could hurt her reputation.
Again and again, she had to remind herself that the men in her life were only so overprotective because they cared...perhaps too much. But she’d also thought about James’s implication that they did so because they had little else to occupy their time.
For all her proposal to Mr. MacKintosh, perhaps what she really needed to reclaim her life was to have her brothers and even her father-in-law do some proposing of their own. The question was how to get them to do it and relieve her of this constant pressure to remarry.
To find a husband to not only look after her but to be a father to her children—what she considered their one noble intention—and to see to the management and control of the fortune Fletcher had left her.
No amount of debate over the past year had swayed them to the possibility that she might manage it satisfactorily herself. No demonstration of her abilities convincing enough.
No matter how she pointed out that legally she was in her rights to do it all herself...
“You know there are a dozen widows of our acquaintance who’ve all done quite well for themselves on their own. Mrs. Bostwick, Mrs. Huntington, even Mrs. Tumbly has taken the responsibility onto herself.”
Mrs. Tumbly was one of the vast family of Vanderbilts. Though her uncle had bought her house for her, one connected to that of another Vanderbilt widow, she did manage on her own.
“None of them have a young family to consider,” Shane pointed out. “Nor a long future to plan for. Ah, Prim...if you’d just accept Mossman’s proposal...”
Prim flicked her fork in a slashing motion between them to forestall another repetition of the plea. “Please don’t start on that again. Simply put, I don’t like Mr. Leachman. Is that plain enough? And you know he doesn’t care a fig about me.”
“Nonsense, he looks at you like you’re a treasure.
“Oh, I am, all wrapped in one splendidly large bank account,” she said dryly.
Her brother dropped his silver and ran both hands through his dark hair until it was standing up on end. His frustration was obvious, as was hers. But she was the one with something to lose by giving in.
“Are you having a go at her again?”
The question had both Prim and Shane turning to find Dennis and their other brother, Jeremy, in the dining room doorway. Both were shedding their coats as her butler, Banks, stood ready to catch them. They stomped the snow from their boots without a care for the state of her floors, but Prim didn’t bother to reprimand them as it seemed from their frowns they might be here to defend her.
Her hopes were granted when Jeremy turned his scowl upon their eldest brother. “Leave off, Shane. You’ve become a terrible bore. If I’ve gotten this tired of the entire subject, I can’t imagine how Prim feels.”
“Hear, hear,” Dennis chimed in. “Damn, but it’s cold this morning. Have you some coffee, Prim? Maybe some breakfast for us?”
“A bite might be nice,” Jeremy agreed.
Shaking her head, Prim offered up her cheek to be pecked by them both as they passed by. “And you all think I’m the one who cannot care for myself. Who would feed you if it weren’t for me?”
The two men lifted the lids of her chafing dishes with sighs of pleasure. The sight had her smiling fondly. The morning meal had always been like this when they were growing up. Their mother roping them all into some
semblance of civility, which was a difficult task when it came to three boys growing into manhood.
Since her mother’s death, the knuckle rapping and admonitions to behave like gentlemen had fallen on her. If they thought her a harridan, it was only because they made it so easy.
Shane wasn’t nearly as amused by them as she was. “You wouldn’t be nearly so quick to come to her defense if you’d seen what happened last night,” he told them as they brought their plates to the table. “James MacKintosh made a fool of himself over her.”
Prim’s cheeks flamed, but not in embarrassment.
From the door, Banks cleared his throat. “A letter for you, madam.”
She waved him in then took the letter from him, clasping it between her hands. Once the old servant left the room, she leaned toward her brother with a hiss.
“He did no such thing, Shane Aston! He was nothing but gentlemanly. It was you and Declan, not to mention Mr. Leachman, who created a fuss following after us as if I were on the arm of a monster.”
The letter was from him.
Prim looked down at her name scrawled in heavy ink across the front of the envelope and dropped her hands into her lap to open it where her brothers could not see.
She scanned the few scant lines, none of which gave any indication as to whether or not he meant to take her up on her proposal. But he did ask that she grant him time for a stroll in the park if she cared to dare the weather. Unless he heard otherwise, he would call for her at noon.
A meeting! Fisting her hands around the note, Prim scanned her brothers’ faces, hoping none were noticing the mixture of apprehension and excitement warming her cheeks.
“I don’t know what you’re so worried about, Shane. I met him at the New York Yacht Club last summer,” Jeremy said. “Smashing fellow.”
A quick look at the clock in the corner told her she had more than an hour before then.
Dennis nodded over his coffee cup. “Yes, Shane, what’s wrong with him?”
Prim hardly heard them. Time enough to change her dress perhaps, or have her maid fix her hair differently...? Snatching up her teacup, she scolded herself for such a ridiculous thought.
“He has an atrocious reputation with the ladies,” Shane argued.
“Or an enviable one,” Dennis countered with a grin. “Depending on how you look at it.”
“Which would you consider it when applying it to our sister?” Shane asked with a raised brow. When silence fell, he nodded arrogantly and turned to Prim. “There, you see?”
“Whether Mr. MacKintosh wants to court me...or otherwise even,” she told them, her face on fire, “it’s none of your business. Any of yours.”
Despite that audacious claim, Prim knew she wasn’t quite ready for James to call for her at her own front door. She’d send him a reply in the affirmative, but ask to meet in the park itself.
A bit clandestine, maybe, but easier all around if her brothers were to linger here rather than going home. Besides, she didn’t yet know if James wanted to meet because he agreed to aid her in her plot or planned on letting her down gently.
Hiding the letter in the folds of her skirt, Prim pushed back her chair and stood. “If you’re all done here, I promised the children I would take them to the park for some sledding.”
“Do you want some help with them?” Jeremy asked.
Prim sent him a scathing glare. “Do you think you boys are the only ones who can act like mother hens?”
Chapter 10
It is never too late to be what you might have been.
~ George Eliot
The overnight flurries had left more than a foot of snow behind. Holding tightly to the hand of her three-year-old daughter, Hazel, she navigated the crossing of a slippery 5th Avenue carefully. Admonishing her son who towed a toboggan along behind him to do the same, she was treated to the sight of a scowl similar to Shane’s for her trouble. At almost nine years, Ellis considered himself the man of the house and above such mothering.
His sour face earned him a light smack on the back of the head from Nanny—despite her words, Prim wasn’t fool enough to wrangle three children in the park on her own—who was bringing up the rear with five-year-old Luella.
As they entered the gate to the park, a quick look around showed her James was nowhere in sight, but the distant screams of joy grew in volume with every step. Hearing them too, her two older children picked up their pace until they were almost running. Or as close to running as they could be in snow nearly to their knees. It looked more like trudging to her as they created a deep furrow in the snow for her to follow.
Pilgrim Hill was a popular site for sledding. On a day like this, sunny but brisk with new snow, it would be crowded already with children eager to enjoy the snowy slope.
Though Hazel whined to be set free with the others, Prim kept a firm hold of her hand as Ellis and Luella began making headway with Nanny puffing after them.
“Mama!” Hazel cried in dismay. “I won’t get a turn!”
Prim laughed and swung her youngest up on to one hip, increasing her pace. “They’re not going anywhere without you, dearest. I promise.”
It was slow going, though. The deep snow was dragging at her long skirts and coat, making each step a monumental effort. Holding Hazel tightly with one arm, she tried to lift her skirts with the other but with only moderate success.
Hazel bounced on her hip, up and down, as if that might make her go faster. Their slow progress was exhausting and a tad ridiculous. She let out an exaggerated groan with each clomping step until her daughter was giggling merrily at her efforts.
“Mama, you’re so silly.”
“Yes, she is.”
The wonder in the deep Scottish brogue was obvious. The expression on Mr. MacKintosh’s face when she looked back to find him just a few steps behind them, though, wasn’t one of disbelief but rather appreciation.
“You continue to surprise, Mrs. Eames.”
Prim had no response to that, dazzled as she was. He looked even better in the bright daylight than he normally did, and Prim realized she’d never seen him in anything other than candlelit ballrooms and salons. Never in anything other than formal attire. Black or white tie, depending. Though he was mostly enveloped by a thick charcoal gray wool coat that went to his knees, she could see a hint of a lighter gray morning coat beneath and a forest green tie knotted simply at his throat.
He touched the brim of his bowler and offered a short bow of greeting. “Perhaps I can be of assistance?” he asked, holding out his arms.
Did he mean he’d carry her daughter, Prim thought with astonishment. James MacKintosh...holding a toddler? Willingly? She couldn’t even envisage such thing.
Her surprise must have shown for he rolled his eyes. “I won’t drop her. I promise you, I have quite a lot of expertise in this particular practice.”
Again, he accurately read her bewilderment without her saying a word.
“Most of those siblings you once asked me about have been astonishingly productive these past few years.”
The decision was taken out of her hands when her normally shy daughter flung herself across the gap between them. Prim yelped, thinking Hazel might fall, but James caught her handily and hefted her up to his shoulders where she perched with a squeal.
He looked down at Prim, eyes dancing. A broad grin as bright as the new-fallen snow flashed across his swarthy, handsome face as Hazel tore his hat from his head and tugged at his dark hair. Prim knew a moment of tenderness and rapture as her heart raced at nothing more than the sight. It was promptly followed by a twinge of distress.
She’d made a terrible mistake.
* * *
He’d done the right thing, James thought, looking down at Prim, her face framed by the lush brown mink hood of her velvet coat. Rich in color, but not as much as her hair touched by bright sunlight in the front. Her eyes were light with laughter, her pale cheeks rosy with the effort of walking through the deep snow.
She l
ooked lovely and free. Just as she ought to be.
Aye, he’d been right to decide to help her gain some autonomy from her family...even if it meant helping himself in the process.
“Look at me!” Hazel cried, bouncing hard against his shoulders and breaking the spell the sight of a smiling Prim Eames had cast over him.
“Hazel, darling!” she chided. “Don’t pull Mr. MacKintosh’s hair.”
“Sorry, Mama,” she said immediately.
“It is not I you need to apologize to.”
Pudgy hands caught his cheeks and urged him to look upward until he was nose-to-nose with the toddler as she leaned down. Eyes of a familiar hyacinth stared back at him.
“Sorry, Mr. Mac-in-shhh.”
Charmed to his bones, he could only smile up at the bonny child. He hadn’t considered that Prim might have her children along when he’d asked her to meet him. One didn’t normally greet a suitor en masse, but James found he didn’t mind. Theirs wasn’t a true courtship after all.
“Quite all right, wee lassie.”
She grinned in return and resumed her bouncing...without the hair pulling this time. James steadied her with one hand and swept an arm out, motioning for Prim to precede him.
She was staring at him peculiarly, as if he were some novelty in a freak show. Finally, she shook her head, the pursed lips and censuring air he’d long associated with her returning.
“Are you going to allow a lady to blaze a trail for you, Mr. MacKintosh?”
“Why not? You’ve been doing a fine job of it so far,” he assured her teasingly.
Prim pressed her full lips together but couldn’t completely hide her grin. “Some gentleman you are.”
“You’ve enough gentlemen in your life, haven’t you?” he asked. “Perhaps it’s time someone started assuming you’ve the same measure of competency any man has.”
A Question Worth Asking Page 7
