His Most Suitable Bride. Renee Ryan
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be happy.
She was happy. Almost. But not quite.
Stifling a sigh, she took her gaze off the drama unfolding on the stage and glanced around. Horace A. W. Tabor had spared no expense in the construction of his opera house. The expert woodwork, elaborate chandelier and vibrant frescos made for a luxurious decor unrivaled by any other theater in Denver.
Perhaps therein lay the problem. Too many sights assaulted Callie, begging her to gawk in openmouthed wonder.
She was entirely too sensible for such a vulgar reaction. After all, she was the more levelheaded of the two Mitchell sisters, the boring one. Everyone said so.
Another sigh worked its way up her throat. Callie only had herself to blame for what people thought of her. She’d deliberately cultivated her uninteresting persona after her shameless act all those years ago when she’d attended school in Boston.
Fortunately, no one in Denver knew just how close she’d come to ruin. God may have forgiven her sin. Callie could not. Nor could she forget and thereby risk repeating the same mistake twice.
She closed her eyes for a moment—just one—and lost herself in the music. The heart-wrenching melody washed over her, each note more superb than the last. An urge to hum told her she was inches away from losing control.
She whipped open her eyes and focused on the woman perched on the chair beside her. A renowned beauty in her day, Beatrix Singletary’s golden brown hair held not a speck of gray. And her face barely showed that nearly two decades had passed since Mr. Singletary, now deceased, had won her hand in marriage.
Serving as the widow’s companion had come at a time in Callie’s life when she’d needed a change and a reason to focus on someone other than herself.
The music hit a crescendo.
Callie turned her attention back to the stage. This time, she did give into a sigh. The doomed Juliette had no idea the pain she would soon suffer because of love.
Callie knew. Oh, how she knew. Not only because of the incident in Boston, but also because of...him.
She didn’t dare glance in his direction, though he sat directly across the theater, in a box seat mirroring Mrs. Singletary’s. Don’t look, Callie ordered herself.
Do. Not. Look.
She looked.
The breath clogged in her throat. Her heart slammed against her ribs. Reese Bennett Jr. She knew every facet of that strong, handsome face. The full breadth of those wide, muscular shoulders. The dark, intense eyes that were the same rich color as his hair, a shade nearly as black as a raven’s feather.
He sat with his father and seemed a little too content for a man recently jilted. Not by Callie. She would never reject an offer of marriage from him. He’d proposed to someone else, and would have married that someone else had the stubborn girl not left town.
The fact that the person in question was Callie’s younger, prettier sister was a source of intense distress. Fanny had made a terrible mistake. And the longer she stayed away the harder it would be to rectify her rash decision.
Reese would not stay single for long. Not only was he a successful attorney, but he was also very masculine, so utterly appealing. Any number of women would happily take Fanny’s place.
Callie could not allow that to happen. He must remain free of any entanglement until Fanny came to her senses.
Stubborn, headstrong girl. How could she have rejected Reese? He was...so very...wonderful. Callie swallowed. Restrained another sigh. Felt her eyelashes flutter.
As if sensing her watching him, Reese turned his head in her direction.
Their gazes met. Held.
Callie nearly choked on her own breath.
Floodgates of emotion burst open, giving her no time to brace for impact. Sensation after sensation rolled over her. There was something else in the storm of feelings running through her, something truly terrible, a scorching pain in her heart. He can never be mine.
The thought itself was beyond inappropriate, perhaps even a betrayal to the sister she adored.
Pressing her lips tightly together, Callie set her hands in her lap and willed away the emotion threatening to take hold of her. A quick, sharp gasp slipped out, anyway.
“Something troubling you, my dear?”
“No, Mrs. Singletary.” Callie dragged her gaze away from Reese. Keeping her voice low enough for only the widow to hear, she added, “I...I was simply caught up in the music.”
“Ah, yes.” The widow swept a glance over the auditorium, stopping a shade too long on the box directly across from them. “Perfectly understandable.”
Callie gave her employer a faint smile, praying they were talking about the opera. Surely, she hadn’t given herself away.
Thankfully, the widow turned her head back toward the stage and studied the drama unfolding before them. After only a moment, though, she leaned back toward Callie. “I find the music quite lovely, I’d even suggest inspiring. What say you?”
Lovely? Inspiring? Were they watching the same opera? “Not really. The music is haunting and the story is...so very—” she took a quick, hitching breath of air “—tragic.”
“My dear, dear girl.” The widow patted her arm in a way that made Callie feel both young and ridiculously naive. At twenty-three, and with the incident in her past, she was neither. “One must never focus on the ending when the story has yet to fully begin.”
Had the widow not been paying attention? “Mrs. Singletary, we have come to the final moments of the third act. Tybalt is dead. Romeo has been banished for murder. Nothing but misfortune and heartache lies ahead.”
“Oh, Callie, you are missing my point entirely. No matter the outcome, we must enjoy each moment of every journey as it comes.”
The words were entirely too profound for an evening at the opera, alerting Callie that the widow, in her non-too-subtle way, was encouraging her to relax her serious nature.
It wasn’t the first time she’d let Callie know her opinion on the matter. Arguing now would be useless.
“Yes, Mrs. Singletary.” Callie inclined her head in a polite nod. “I shall try my best to heed your advice.”
“That is all I ask.” The widow settled back in her chair, but not before Callie caught a speculative gleam in her eyes.
Oh, this was bad. Very, very bad.
As if to confirm her suspicions, Mrs. Singletary ignored the performance and turned her attention back to the box across the auditorium. She held steady for one beat, two, then continued circling her gaze around the auditorium, stopping at seemingly random spots along the way.
Or, perhaps not so random.
If Callie wasn’t mistaken, the widow only paused to consider single, unattached men around Callie’s own age before moving on to search out the next section of seats.
Callie wanted to smack her hand over her eyes and groan aloud. Mrs. Singletary was hunting out suitable young men to court her.
Oh, Lord, please, no.
It was no secret the widow considered herself a skilled matchmaker. And why not? She’d made several high-profile matches in the past two years. Her most recent success had been her former companion, Molly Taylor Scott. Callie’s closest, dearest friend, Molly was now married to one of Callie’s older brothers. And—
No. Oh, no.
Mrs. Singletary was attempting to find Callie’s one true soul mate. It didn’t seem to matter that she’d made it abundantly clear she wanted no part in the widow’s matchmaking schemes, either as an accomplice or the object of a pairing.
Callie hadn’t made this declaration