His Most Suitable Bride. Renee Ryan
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Her tone invited no further questions.
Shrugging, Callie searched the floor around her. She found no more papers. “I think that’s all of them.” She sat back on her heels. “Would you like me to leave you alone to review the papers Mr. Bennett sent over?”
“Thank you, yes.” The widow nodded distractedly. “I would.”
“I’ll be in my room if you need me.” Callie rose to her feet and started for the door.
“Not so fast, dear.”
She pivoted back around. “Yes, ma’am?”
“About the dinner party I have planned for Friday evening. I should like for you to attend as one of my guests.”
Callie felt her eyes widen in surprise. In the entire month of her employment she’d attended precisely none of Mrs. Singletary’s parties. “You wish for me to attend as...as...a guest?”
“Quite so.” The widow moved back to her chair and began spreading the legal papers across her lap. “Now that one of the ladies has declined her invitation there will be too many men at the table. Your presence will even out the numbers.”
A hard ball of dread knotted in Callie’s stomach. In the span of a single day, her perfectly ordered world was no longer so perfectly ordered. But aside from direct insubordination, Callie saw no other recourse than to agree to her employer’s request.
“If you wish for me to attend your party then, of course, Mrs. Singletary, I am happy to oblige.”
“Excellent. Most excellent, indeed.”
Again, Callie turned to go.
Again, Mrs. Singletary called her back. “One final thing, dear.”
Forcing a bright smile, she turned around a second time, preparing herself for the rest. Because, of course, there was more. With Mrs. Singletary, there was always more. “Yes?”
“When Jane and I were cleaning out my closet this afternoon we came across a lovely crimson gown that isn’t at all the right color for my complexion. The garment would look far better on, say, a woman with—” the widow pinned Callie with a sly look “—flaxen hair.”
Wasn’t that convenient? Callie thought miserably, as she smoothed her hand over her light blond flaxen hair.
“I should like for you to wear the dress to the party.”
Naturally.
Callie suppressed a sigh as yet another piece of her ordered life chipped away.
“Is there anything else?” she dared to ask.
“That is all for now.” The widow waved a hand in dismissal. “You may go.”
This time, when Callie stepped into the hallway, the widow did not protest her departure. A small victory, to be sure. But with the day she’d had, one she gladly claimed.
* * *
Despite a last-minute meeting with a new client, and the onset of a thundershower just as he left the office, Reese arrived at Mrs. Singletary’s home a full minute before the designated time on the invitation. He stepped into the foyer at the precise moment a large grandfather clock began chiming the top of the hour.
As he shook off the rain, the widow’s butler stepped forward and took his hat. “Good evening, Mr. Bennett.”
“Good evening, Winston.” Reese handed over his coat and gloves next. “Am I the first to arrive?”
“You are one of the last,” the butler informed him. “The other guests are gathered in the blue sitting room.”
“Has my father arrived yet?”
“Twenty minutes ago.”
Twenty minutes? That seemed pointlessly early. Or had Reese read the invitation incorrectly? There was one way to find out. “Thank you, Winston. I’ll see myself to the parlor.”
“Very good, sir.”
Reese spared a glance at the grandfather clock in the foyer as he passed through. One minute past seven. Certain he’d arrived on time, he nonetheless increased his pace.
Pausing at the threshold of the blue parlor, he took in the scene. He counted eight people in the room already.
His father stood near the fireplace, where a small fire had been lit presumably to offset the damp air created by the rain. A woman in a red dress stood beside Reese Bennett Sr., her back to the entrance. The deep, rich color of her gown offset her pale blond hair. Twisted in one of those complicated modern styles with several tendrils hanging loose, the resulting effect was mesmerizing.
For reasons unknown, Reese could do nothing but stare in muted wonder. Then, the woman turned slightly, presenting her profile.
His stomach rolled in recognition.
His throat burned. His heart pounded. And still he continued staring, unable to look away. With the firelight brazing off her, Callie Mitchell reminded him of a lighthouse beacon calling to him, promising shelter, as if he was a floundering sailor in need of a safe haven.
Reese swallowed.
He should not be this aware of Callie. Nonetheless, a new alertness spread through him, a sublime shift from one state of being to another.
The sensation rocked him to the core.
He looked away, at last searching the large parlor.
Mrs. Singletary held court on the opposite end of the room, conversing with one of Denver’s most prominent couples, Alexander and Polly Ferguson.
Their son Marshall, a man Reese considered a friend, was here tonight as well, as were two of his seven sisters. The young women were beautiful, with golden, light brown hair and cornflower-blue eyes. He was certain he’d met them previously but at the moment found it difficult to tell them apart. To further complicate matters, he recalled each of their names started with the letter P.
Both were in their early twenties and fit most of his requirements for a bride.
Were they here for his benefit?
If so, the widow had wasted no time in presenting viable candidates for his consideration.
One of the Ferguson daughters turned her big blue eyes in his direction. Reese shoved away from the door.
He’d barely taken two steps when Mrs. Singletary broke away from Mr. and Mrs. Ferguson. “Ah, Mr. Bennett, you have finally arrived.”
At the hint of censure in her tone, he wondered again if he’d gotten the time of tonight’s gathering wrong. “I hope I haven’t kept everyone waiting.”
“Not at all.” Smiling now, the widow closed the distance between them and captured both of his hands. “There is still one more guest yet to arrive.”
On cue, there was a movement in the doorway.
“And here he is now.” The widow stepped away from Reese to greet her final guest. “Mr. Hawkins. I’m so glad you could join us this evening.”
Jonathon Hawkins was back in town?
This was the first time the new owner of the Hotel Dupree had returned to Denver since he’d offered Fanny a job in his Chicago hotel.
By giving her the position, Hawkins had provided Reese’s ex-fiancée a way to start over when the gossip over the broken engagement had become unbearable. Reese held no animosity toward the man. Fanny’s departure had been good for everyone.
Callie seemed to have a differing opinion.
Her shoulders stiffened, her chin lifted at a haughty angle. When her gaze locked on Hawkins, the barely banked anger in her eyes gave Reese a moment of hesitation. He’d always sensed Callie had a large capacity for emotion hidden deep within her. But this...