All You Could Ask For

by Angeline Fortin

“More so, I won’t be pressured into making a hasty decision to please someone else. That’s how I ended up with my first husband. I don’t intend to let it happen again.”

  James knew only too well how hasty decisions bore out.

  “What are you asking me then?”

  He could see Leachman lingering near the staircase, his arms crossed over his chest. Given his size and build, James imagined Leachman might be Eames’s strong arm. Every bank had one when it came to tough foreclosures and collections where a show of muscle was needed. Would he employ such tactics to force Prim into marrying him? The very thought sent a curl of disgust through his gut.

  Turning away, James tucked her hand back into the crook of his arm and led her down the opposite side of the art gallery, out of Leachman’s line of vision. Was his watchful eye always upon her? If it were him, perhaps he’d be prompted to make such an unseemly proposal too.

  As they walked, her shoulders slumped forward as all the steam from her tirade leached away.

  “Please, forget I said anything. It was nothing but impulsiveness that prompted me to speak.”

  From what he’d seen of her thus far, Prim might have been one of the least impulsive people he’d ever known. Besides, if nothing else, he was damned curious what she did mean.

  “Mrs. Eames, please explain yourself.”

  “I was only thinking that if you were to give the impression that you were courting me, I might find a respite from my family’s continued pressure to wed,” she explained miserably. “Naturally, I could not, would not expect you to court a woman like myself in truth.”

  She was flustered, that much was clear. A measure of humor for the entire situation returned.

  “Could you not?”

  “Not at all. Obviously, when you choose to wed, it will be to someone far more lively than I,” she told him. “A marriage that would benefit you greatly in many ways.”

  “Really? I hadn’t known this about myself,” he said. “Would you care to expound upon which ways a marriage might benefit me?”

  Fire flared once more in her hyacinth eyes, lighting them with a golden flame that sent his pulse racing again. Ah, but he was finding a particular joy in riling her up, even if it were nothing more than pure vexation that lit the fires. It was better than seeing her shrink into herself like a whipped dog.

  “Mr. MacKintosh.” He could fairly hear the aggravation in her voice. “I do believe you when you say you’ve no interest in finding a bride at this point in your life. I’ve witnessed the number of young ladies who fawn about you, and I have seen the disdain you hold for them in the roll of your eyes. An arrangement such as I’m proposing could only serve to benefit you as well.”

  “Could it now?”

  “Yes!”

  Good Lord, a week ago he hadn’t thought her assertive enough to speak above a whisper. Now, she was nearly stomping her tiny foot in her impatience.

  With a grin, James took her hand in his and drew it to his lips. He did enjoy Primrose Eames in a temper.

  He wondered how enjoyable it might be to see her roused by passion instead.

  And there was passion in her, simmering below the surface. He’d seen flashes of it tonight and at the rally. He’d love to see what she was like when it exploded.

  But to court her…?

  Och, she’d really thrown him for a loop with that suggestion.

  “I can see now speaking was a mistake,” Prim said. Her steps lagged and she withdrew her hand from his arm.

  Bloody hell, guilt wracked him for denying the lass. “I thought you enjoyed speaking,” he teased in an attempt to elicit another smile from her. “You had quite a lot to say at that rally.”

  Her pink lips turned up for a moment but the expression fled when Leachman strode into the room from the other end, obviously unwilling to let his quarry stray from his line of sight for too long.

  With a long-suffering sigh, Prim stopped. “I’ll leave you now. Thank you for the reprieve.”

  James watched her turn away, her squared shoulders drooping. The sight of such defeat twisted in his gut. However, he didn’t believe what Prim needed was another suitor.

  What she needed was a savior. A hero.

  That wasn’t a role he’d ever imagined himself playing.

  “Mrs. Eames.”

  She turned.

  “I’ll consider it,” was all he could promise.

  Her chest rose as she drew in a deep breath. She said nothing but gave a short nod. Still, he could see the hope in her eyes.

  Bugger it all, he shouldn’t have said anything. It would be terrible to let her down.

  Chapter 8

  Right, Jo, better be happy old maids then unhappy wives or unmaidenly girls running about to find husbands.

  ~ Louisa May Alcott from Little Women

  Later that evening…

  “A nightcap by the fire to warm you, Maggie?” James asked, lifting her furred cape from her shoulders and handing it off to the butler.

  The night had turned cold with a bitter wind. Light flurries drifted down as they’d set out for home. During their short walk south from Mrs. Astor’s mansion on 5th Avenue and East 65th Street where she’d taken up residence following her husband’s death, the flurries had turned into a heavy snowfall.

  Maggie, her cheeks and nose pink with the chill, nodded up at him. She led the way to the salon off to the right, then warmed her hands near the fire that had been prepared for them as James filled two glasses of Scotch. He handed her one and they sat in chairs drawn close to the flames.

  They drank a moment in silence, letting the liquor work its magic from the inside out, before Maggie sighed. His hostess did know how to appreciate a good Scotch, whatever society dictated on the matter.

  Though Mrs. Eames hadn’t waffled from drinking it either.

  “Thank you for accompanying me tonight, James,” she said. “I hadn’t thought you would agree to go. Certainly not so readily.”

  “My acquiescence surprised me as well.” James ran a finger around the rim of his glass, watching the flames dance in the fireplace. Silence fell.

  It wasn’t as if there was nothing to be said, but James found himself apprehensive about raising the subject.

  Especially around a devoted matchmaker like Maggie.

  He didn’t want to give her false hope, any more than he should’ve offered the same to Prim, but curiosity refused to let him remain silent.

  “What can you tell me about Primrose Eames?”

  The tilt of her head and the slight parting of her lips gave away her surprise at the question. Considering in two years he’d yet to ask a pointed question about any lady he’d met, her wonder was well justified.

  “I saw you escort her out of the salon earlier. I must admit, I’d never considered her for you.”

  James winced. He certainly didn’t want her considering it now. He should let the matter lie.

  But couldn’t manage to. “What do you know of her?”

  Her blue-eyed gaze practically pierced his skull as she searched for whatever had prompted such a question.

  “She’s a lovely woman. Intelligent. I know how you MacKintosh men appreciate that. A widow, as you know. One with an impeccable reputation,” she added with a silent rebuke not to be the one to change that.

  He didn’t plan to. But if Prim did have a lover or two in her pocket already, she knew how to be discreet about it.

  “Her husband passed away just last year after…oh, almost ten years of marriage, I think.”

  “She’s not without family though?” he prompted when she didn’t offer anything more. “She mentioned some brothers?”

  Maggie sipped her Scotch and studied him so thoughtfully, James nearly squirmed in his chair. “Yes, three I believe. An old New York family.”

  But still she volunteered nothing more.

  “Maggie…”

  “James, darling, while I’ve longed to have you show some interest in a specific lady, I have to say, I
don’t believe Mrs. Eames is the woman for you.”

  What? Why not? James bit his tongue to stave off that line of questioning. But the very idea that the woman who’d been working for years to see him married off would say such a thing baffled him.

  “Purge the thought from your mind, Maggie. I have no intention of courting Mrs. Eames.”

  “Then why all the questions?”

  “She merely said something to me about her circumstances, rousing my curiosity,” he told her with a deliberately casual shrug.

  “Hers is a curious case, I’ll admit,” she said. “Her husband left a substantial fortune when he died. Inheritance from his mother’s side of the family. I know that isn’t unusual in itself. Many widows are often named as beneficiaries to their husband’s fortunes. But he also named Mrs. Eames sole trustee and guardian to her young children’s portions. Not his father.”

  That came as a surprise to him. Given the way she’d spoken, he hadn’t imagined she might have control of anything. Especially her own finances.

  “Children?”

  “One of the reasons I don’t believe you’d get on well together.”

  “I like children,” he said defensively.

  “I know. And I do believe that one day you’ll be an excellent father. However, I’m not sure if I can see you jumping right into the thick of things, as it were.”

  “How many does she have?”

  “Three, I believe.”

  “That many?”

  Maggie laughed. “It’s not so many as some.”

  While it wasn’t a high number compared to the years she’d been wed, the number seemed astronomical to a childless bachelor like James in that moment. Either her husband had kept her busy or Mrs. Eames was more the passionate sort than he’d given her credit for. He wasn’t sure which of the two he cared to contemplate.

  James sipped his drink and stared into the fire, the darkest part at the base of the flames reminding him of Prim’s eyes. “Just out of curiosity, and only out of curiosity, why do you think she’s not the one for me?”

  “To start, she’d never have you,” Maggie told him.

  James nearly spit out his drink, stiffening in his chair. “Why ever not?”

  Maggie laughed again, clearly enjoying herself now. “She’s been burdened by autocratic men her entire life. There’s no chance she’d invite another in.”

  What a thing to say. Like any man, he liked things to go his way, but he wasn’t tyrannical about it.

  “Know her that well, do you?”

  “We’ve talked,” she allowed. “She’s not as reserved and retiring as she might let on. She’s just gotten herself into an unenviable position.”

  Aye, he knew about that. “She’s a suffragette, you know.”

  “And what’s wrong with that, dear?” she asked, unsurprised by the revelation. “Do you expect all women to bow down to the whims of men and not stand up for their rights?”

  Apparently, he was good at ruffling female feathers of all sorts tonight.

  “Gads, no, Maggie. You know I would never dream of thinking a woman inferior to a man in any way. I haven’t encountered one, you and your daughters included, who isn’t willing to stand up for herself. To the last, they’re bold as brass, rulers of their particular roosts. I can’t say I think Mrs. Eames is much different, despite her current circumstances.

  “But for all that, I’ve never known a woman to be much interested in politics. They’ve rarely uttered a single word on the matter.”

  “Clearly, we need to change our mealtime repertoire.” Maggie shook her head. “Women don’t often speak on politics because they aren’t encouraged to. They aren’t asked. Because, as I imagine is the case with Mrs. Eames, their fathers and husbands force them to remain silent. But I can tell you most assuredly, there isn’t one of them who doesn’t have an opinion of her own. Including Mrs. Eames.”

  Head spinning from Maggie’s fervent lecture, James lifted one leg, resting his ankle across his knee. “But wanting the vote?”

  She fell into gales of laughter. “Oh, James darling, you can be so amusing.”

  James cocked his head defensively. “Not one lady I’ve ever known—beyond Fiona, of course—ever mentioned the desire to vote. And she, only in passing.”

  “I can tell you there’s not one of them who wouldn’t be appreciative of the opportunity,” she insisted. “It’s been mentioned in my correspondence with your many sisters-in-law over the years. Perhaps they aren’t as vocal about it because unlike many men, your brothers listen to their wives and value their opinions. They are heard. Most women have no voice, not even in their own homes. And they want one.”

  That passionate speech left James with no doubts that Maggie was something of a suffragette herself.

  “In any case, you can calm yourself. I promise you, I’m not contemplating a pursuit of Mrs. Eames for any purpose.”

  “Good then. Though in truth, you’d be lucky to have her.”

  “If she were to have me, naturally.”

  Maggie relaxed back in her chair. “Naturally.”

  “It’s a good thing she wouldn’t then,” he went on. “She’s not at all what I’m looking for. If I were looking, that is.”

  “What are you looking for?”

  “I just told you, I’m not.”

  “Hypothetically? What is it that kept you from pursuing any of the dozens of young ladies I’ve introduced you to over the past two years?” Her blue eyes were bright with curiosity.

  “It’s simple really.”

  And so bloody complicated.

  “Hypothetically, I’d like a woman with the independent spirit of your daughters…and yourself, for that matter. It’s why I came here to begin with.”

  “Because we breed them up so handily?” she asked with a grin.

  “I’d thought it was an American thing,” he told her. “I was wrong about that.”

  “So, independence. What else?”

  James reached into his pocket and drew out the locket his father had given him when he died. Running his thumb over the lid, he traced the relief of a stag and doe surrounded by trees. He hadn’t opened it in years. He didn’t need to in order to recall its contents.

  He’d often thought about what he wanted over the past couple of years. What he was looking for in a wife, though he’d never put it into words before. It was a trifle embarrassing to do so. That’s why he dared not share his goals with his brothers.

  “Never repeat this. I shall deny ever having said it.”

  “I swear it.”

  “I want what my brothers have found. I’d like a woman as regal and brave as Eve,” he said, referring to Maggie’s daughter again. His sister-in-law. “Such beauty wouldn’t go amiss either.” Like Maggie, her daughters were lovely blonds, though much taller than their mother. When he’d first met Eve, he’d been dumbstruck by her. “I appreciate Kitty’s candor and joie de vivre,” he continued. “And Abby’s bravery, along with her protectiveness. She might be a mother hen but never shrinks from giving me what for whenever she’s cross. I’d like someone who is a good sport and boon companion like Moira.” A figure as fine as hers wouldn’t be amiss either, though he didn’t dare mention that aloud. “And a woman like Ilona, for I’ve never known another with such a sunny, sweet, and caring nature.”

  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 wha
t 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.