Her Scoundrel, Bad Luck Wedding #7 (Bad Luck Brides trilogy book two)

by Geralyn Dawson

  It didn’t matter why it mattered. It didn’t have to make sense. If she wanted to be irrational, she could be irrational. It was her legacy. The right of a McBride Menace. The right of a mother who’d lost the better part of her soul.

  Finally in control of herself, Kat faced her sister and fought hard to summon up a real smile. “All right, then. Leaving my daughter out of it, you ask why this mission, why besting Jake Kimball, is so important to me? Here’s why. I don’t have a good reason. I just want to do it.”

  Emma met Kat’s stare for a long moment, then said, “Now, that makes sense.” With a sigh, she capitulated. “All right, I’ll do it. When does this farce begin?”

  Excitement chased away Kat’s melancholy. “He’s conducting interviews today and tomorrow. I think we’re better off waiting until almost the end of the process. By that point, he’ll recognize that you outshine most everyone under consideration.”

  “If you think that’s best, Kat. This is your show.”

  “That it is. Let’s plan for the curtain to rise about three tomorrow afternoon, shall we?” Anticipation stirred her soul. “This afternoon we’ll need to pay a call on a costume shop. What type of a maid do you want, Emmie? Fat? Thin? Older with wrinkles? Younger with spots on her face?”

  “No spots.” Emma wrinkled her nose. “That’s a touchy subject with me. I still get one or two upon occasion. Look.” She pointed to the very corner of her left eye. “See that? It’s the beginning of a wrinkle. I’m going to have spots and wrinkles at the same time. Now where’s the fairness in that?”

  Monique bubbled with laughter. “My goodness, Emma. You sounded just like Kat right then. The Kat of old.”

  Kat made a show of huffing and they all laughed, then Monique suggested, “Regarding your disguise, why don’t you pattern your disguise after someone from home? Kat, you’re a born actor, and you’ll have no trouble staying in character. Emma, however, might benefit from having a slice of the familiar in the game. Lying doesn’t come as naturally to her as it does to you, Kat.”

  “Thank you, Grandmother,” Kat replied dryly.

  “That’s a good idea. Hmm…” Emma tapped a finger against her lips. “Who should you be? I think not a maid, but my companion. It will give you more access to events. You can’t be Aunt Claire or Mama, of course.”

  “No one in the family,” Kat agreed.

  “I was thinking of Wilhemina Peters,” Monique said, studying her nails.

  Emma’s gaze met Kat’s, and they both burst out laughing. “I don’t know,” Emma said, eyeing her sister’s bodice. “The Menaces have all been blessed with a substantial bosom, but to mimic Wilhemina…well…Kat, do you think you could navigate with that much extra cleavage?”

  Kat glanced down at her breasts and mentally added a dozen inches. “I think I’ll do all right—as long as I stay away from table lamps.”

  “WOULD YOU like some peanuts?” Dair offered Marigold Pippin a sample from his bag when the parlor door closed behind bridal prospect number—Dair checked his notes—ninety-two. After sitting through yesterday’s sessions, he’d come prepared for the circus today. “Or perhaps some popcorn?”

  “I’m fine, thank you,” Marigold said with a heavy sigh. Glancing toward Jake, she confirmed what everyone in the room already knew. “Another no?”

  Two heads covered in blond curls simultaneously peeked out from behind the window draperies. “Definitely a no!”

  Jake merely shook his head while continuing to make notes on the papers in front of him on the desk. Nanny Pip scolded the girls, “I thought you two promised to keep your comments to yourself if we allowed you to stay.”

  “They’ve been giving hand signals to Jake for an hour,” Dair said.

  “Girls.” Nanny Pip clucked her tongue, then caught Jake’s gaze. “You’re as much a problem as they are in regards to discipline. If you don’t enforce your demands, they’ll never mind you.”

  Jake thought a moment “You’re right. Let me make a note before the next prospect.” He searched for the proper sheet then wrote: #22. Discipline enforcer. “All right then. How many do we have left?”

  The answer came from behind the drapery. “I see three outside and two inside. I think two of the five are companions for the ladies, though.”

  “Hmm…only three left.” Jake glanced at Dair. “We’ve only said yes to four. I’d thought to have more to choose from. I didn’t realize finding a bride would prove so difficult.”

  “You’re a picky man, Jacob Kimball,” Nanny Pip declared.

  “Well, it’s a picky job. Penny would expect no less of me.”

  “I doubt she’d have expected this,” Dair said as he popped a peanut into his mouth. “Shall I send in the next dancing bear?”

  “Yes. I’m ready to get this nonsense over. But give me one of those peanuts first, would you?”

  Jake’s brows lifted fractionally as the next hopeful bride-to-be walked gracefully into his study. She was accompanied by a gray-haired, big-bosomed woman wearing wire-rimmed glasses and an air of disdain.

  The girl was beautiful, older than many of the matrimonial prospects who’d answered his advertisement; with strawberry-blond hair and a delectable figure. She had a look of strength about her that Jake found appealing. “Good afternoon, Miss…?”

  “Mrs.,” she corrected. “Mrs. Tate. I’ve been widowed for some time. This is my companion, Mrs. Wilhemina Peters.”

  Ah, Mrs. Tate was an American. Being half-American himself, Jake counted that as a plus. He nodded toward Mrs. Peters, then addressed the widow. “My condolences on your loss. I am Jake Kimball. This is Mrs. Pippin—” he gestured in her direction “—and Mr. MacRae.”

  Dair nodded, his gaze never leaving Emma.

  Everyone said a cordial hello. Jake shuffled through his papers for the one containing questions he’d developed specifically for widows. Then, he began. “So, Mrs. Tate. Judging by your delightful accent, I gather you’re from America?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where in America?”

  She glanced at her companion. “Dallas. Dallas, Texas.”

  The companion beamed a pleased smile. Curious, Jake thought. His gaze narrowed on the older woman. Something was off. Something…oh, a wig. She wore a wig.

  Satisfied, he returned his attention to the younger woman and smiled. “I’ve spent some time in Texas. Summers there can be brutally hot.”

  “Yes, sir.” She smiled, appeared to relax somewhat. “Winters in Fort Worth are pleasant enough.”

  The companion piped up in a nasal, annoying tone. “Fort Worth, Dallas, Weatherford, Grapevine. They’re all towns close together. Weather is the same all those places.”

  Mrs. Tate briefly closed her eyes. Her cheeks flushed.

  Hmm. Jake referred to his questionnaire. “Tell me a little bit about yourself. Age, occupation, hobbies…”

  “You want to know her age?” the companion asked, slapping a hand to that prodigious bosom. “A man shouldn’t ask a woman her age. It’s downright offensive!”

  Mrs. Tate rolled her eyes. “I don’t mind sharing my age, Mr. Kimball. I’m twenty-nine. I’m a schoolteacher, and I have tutored privately, also. My hobbies are reading, needlepoint, and fishing.”

  “Fishing?”

  “I find it relaxing.”

  Jake waited a moment for her to expound on her reply. He’d found during his interviews that most women loved to talk about themselves. Apparently, Mrs. Tate was different.

  From the corner of his eye, Jake caught the flash of frustration flaring in the companion’s eyes before she abruptly leapt into the conversation. “Mrs. Tate is an excellent teacher. She has an honest love for knowledge that she passes along to her students. She has a way of making the boring topics palatable and her students adore her. Not that she allows them to run roughshod over her. Quite the contrary. She’s a firm but fair disciplinarian, and she has earned the respect of her students, their parents and everyone in town. Parents compete t
o have their children placed in Mrs. Tate’s class. Once, a local merchant offered her a hundred dollars if she’d make room for his son in her class.”

  “Did she take the bribe?”

  “She certainly did. Not only did the money buy an extra desk for the merchant’s son, it also bought schoolbooks for the entire class, slates and chalk and a globe and new shoes for a few of the students who couldn’t afford them and…and…” She glanced at the widow. “That bead thing. For arithmetic. Emma, what is it called?”

  “An abacus.” Emma’s smile was tight.

  “An abacus. That’s right. So you see, Mr. Kimball, it would have been foolish of her not to accept the bribe. Everyone benefitted, even that mean little Henry Wilkins who thought he was better than everyone else in the class because his father had money.” She folded her arms across that wide bosom and huffed.

  Jake tapped his pencil on the desk. He’d learned more from that outburst than she might have known. The widow’s name was Emma, she inspired loyalty in her friends, and the companion wore a disguise.

  The question begged why. Anyone was allowed to attend this interview. No need for disguise…unless he knew the woman.

  Jake took a closer look. He wanted to know more. Addressing Mrs. Peters, he said, “And her hobbies, what does she like to read?”

  “History books. She’s interested in foreign lands. She has a particular interest in Scotland as her family originated in that country, and she fell in love with the Highlands during one of our visits there.”

  “An intelligent beauty,” Dair commented from the sidelines, winking at the Widow Tate, who blushed. “Scotland is one of the finest places on earth.”

  Emma Tate smiled shyly. “You’re a Scot, Mr. MacRae?’

  “By blood, if not by birth. Actually, I was born in Texas. I’m a wanderer by nature.”

  “Oh?” Emma leaned forward. “What’s your favorite place to visit?”

  “The islands of Hawaii are particularly appealing.”

  “The Hawaiian Islands?” Interest lit Emma Tate’s lovely blue eyes. “I’ve always been fascinated by that part of the world.”

  While the widow and his best friend beamed at each other, Jake addressed Mrs. Peters. “What about novels? Is she one who believes reading should always be educational, or does she support reading just for fun?”

  “Emma reads adventure novels, sir. She loves a good story.”

  Hmm. Jake knew he was hearing one of those now. Who was this woman in disguise? She was younger than the character she portrayed, that was obvious once he started looking. What could her goal be? Was she a thief casing his home with intentions of committing robbery? Or were her motives more personal in nature?

  Jake intended to find out. Referring to his notes, he chose a question at random. “Mrs. Tate, can you sew?”

  Emma dragged her attention away from Dair and glanced at her companion. Both women winced. “My mother is a talented seamstress, sir,” Emma said. “She’s a magician with a needle and thread. That’s a fact. From the time I was a little girl, she tried to teach my sisters and me her skills. Finally, after years of trying, she threw up her hands in defeat. We’re hopeless, Mr. Kimball. If you want your wife to teach your nieces embroidery, I’m afraid you need look elsewhere.”

  Once again, the companion threw in her opinion. “Embroidery is a useless skill in this modern day and age, anyway, Mr. Kimball. Machines are taking over all aspects of the garment trade. The quality of ready-mades is rising, and I predict that in another ten years, custom dressmaking will be the exception rather than the rule.”

  “You consider yourself a modern woman, Mrs. Peters?”

  “I do.”

  “I suppose you support female suffrage?”

  “I do.”

  “You don’t consider bicycling a vulgar pastime for a woman?”

  “Absolutely not!”

  It was the flash of fire in emerald eyes that did it. He reached up and gently prodded the fading bruise on his jaw. A grin tugged at his lips.

  Well, well, well. Kat McBride. Of all the women he’d considered might show up for this event, she wasn’t one of them. But why the disguise?

  The cross, of course. She thinks to get her long, slender fingers on the Sacred Heart Cross. But does she intend to steal it?

  Yes, he thought she probably intended just that. Intrigued, he settled back into his chair to enjoy the moment, and for the next ten minutes, Jake and “Mrs. Peters” debated equal rights for women, the concept of freedom of the press and the propriety of female presence in the workplace. When Jake suggested that women shouldn’t engage in work outside the home, he thought she might take yet another swing at him. It was the most enjoyable conversation he’d had with a woman in years.

  Finally, Dair interrupted. “Excuse me, Jake, but perhaps I should mention that you’ve run over time with Mrs. Tate, and you have asked hardly any questions on the list.”

  “Oh, yes. You’re right. I apologize.” Jake jerked his attention away from Emma Tate’s most fascinating companion and scanned the list for a question that truly intrigued him. Seconds later, he looked at Emma and gently said, “You said you’ve been widowed for a while. Why have you not yet remarried?”

  “I loved my husband deeply,” Emma said, honesty ringing in her tone. “I’ve yet to find another man who will share with me a love that is strong, vigilant and true.”

  Jake bit back a grin when “Mrs. Peters’s” eyes rolled and she let out a soft, but audible groan. But he was curious, so he asked, “Will you not settle for less, Emma Tate?”

  “No, I will not.”

  Jake sat back in his chair. He liked Emma Tate. He liked her honesty and her sincerity and her gentle smile. But it didn’t intrigue him like Kat McBride’s fire.

  Her companion reached across the distance and gave the widow’s arm a quick, but apparently hard, pinch. “Sorry, there was a fly on your arm. Just shooing it away.”

  “I see,” Jake said. And that he did. Quite clearly. Nanny Pip and Dair MacRae remained in the dark, however, so they were obviously surprised when he reached into his desk drawer and removed an engraved invitation. Standing, he handed it to Emma Tate. “It’s been a true pleasure to meet you, my dear. I hope you’ll be able to join us at Chatham Park next weekend for a small soirée I’m hosting?”

  Shock registered on the faces of every person in the room. Every person but the ones behind the draperies, that is. They peeked out, grinned, and signaled Jake a thumbs-up. Jake thought they were Belle and Theresa. However, one of them might have been Miranda.

  Emma rose from her seat and accepted the invitation, a look of puzzlement on her face. “Why, yes. Thank you. We’ll be pleased to attend, although, I must say I’m surprised. I didn’t think—”

  “We didn’t think you’d be so perceptive, sir,” the companion interrupted, bounding to her feet. She elbowed Emma in the side. “Some men don’t recognize treasure when it’s right in front of their face.”

  “Oh, I recognize treasure. You can count on that.” He stared deeply into her eyes. “I am a treasure hunter, after all. And just so you know, once I find a treasure, I don’t give it up.”

  “Hmm,” Kat McBride murmured, a secretive, satisfied smile on her face.

  It was all Jake could do not to kiss that smile right off her lips. Instead, he escorted the women to the door, then bowed over their hands, one at a time. “Until the weekend.”

  “The weekend,” Emma’s companion replied.

  Jake returned to his desk with a spring to his step. “Well, now,” mused Marigold Pippin. “That was interesting.”

  “Interesting isn’t the word I’d choose,” Dair said. “Does somebody want to tell me just what’s going on here?”

  Jake took his seat, leaned back in his chair, threaded his hands behind his head, his elbows wide, and grinned. “Girls? I’m done here this afternoon. Why don’t you go find your sisters, and see if your brother is up from his nap? I have a mind to take us for
ice cream.”

  “Ice cream!” Draperies flapped in the whirlwind created by a pair of departing children.

  “If you’ve completed your interviews for the day, then I think I’ll toddle along after Belle and Miranda,” said Nanny Pip. “I want to check on the new nursemaid, make sure she’s all right with the little master.”

  When the study door shut behind Mrs. Pippin and the girls, Dair hooked his thumb over his shoulder and asked, “What about the women still outside?”

  “Belle and Miranda,” Jake mused. How could she tell? How can anyone tell?

  “Jake? The women outside?”

  “Oh, I’ll send them away, tell them I’ve…no, wait. They have waited quite some time.” Jake reached into his drawer once again and brought out two more invitations. “I’ll give them these, then send them on their way.”

  “You’re inviting two more women to Chatham Park? Sight unseen? Not interviewed? That makes how many? Seven? Are you a madman?”

  Jake strode toward the window, looked outside. “Well dressed, decent appearance. They’ll do. The more, the merrier, I always say. Now that the situation has changed, though, I guess I should invite a few men along to take up the slack. Don’t want to leave the ladies completely disappointed.”

  Dair reached for his peanuts. “And here I thought the circus was almost over. What’s going on, Jake?”

  “A change of plan. I don’t need the weekend to test the women to see who best meets my qualifications for a bride because I’ve already found her.”

  “Yes, that much I figured out. You’ve settled on Mrs. Tate. But I’m curious as to why. Sure, she’s beautiful. Intriguing. Intelligent. But you’ve turned away a number of beautiful, intriguing, intelligent women these past two days. I imagine you like that she’s an American, but I distinctly remember three other attractive Americans in the line whom you didn’t invite to your country house. What’s so special about Emma Tate?”

  “What’s special about Emma? Quite a few things, I would imagine. She seems like a lovely young woman. However, she’s not the woman I intend to make my wife.”