The Blacksheep's Arranged Marriage. Karen Toller Whittenburg
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already chosen each other, it was relatively easy to bring their possibilities into focus.
But Peter was different, tougher in ways Ilsa couldn’t quite divine. And her intuition, which rarely led her astray, kept turning her in the direction of Thea Berenson, the definitive ugly duckling.
Maybe it was time to take on an apprentice. Training someone in the intuitive arts might help Ilsa refocus her own abilities, sharpen her perspective, and—if nothing else—at least, give her someone with whom she could discuss ideas. Since Adam’s marriage to Katie, business at IF Enterprises had increased markedly, and just since the announcement of Bryce’s engagement, she’d had private referrals from as far away as South Carolina. Not that she intended to advertise or expand her business outside of New England, but perhaps it was time to think about the future and a time when she might not find matchmaking such a delightful endeavor.
“No frowning now, Ilsa.” Archer came up behind her and steadied himself with his cane. A handsome man for all of his seventy-nine years, Archer had become her friend during these past months as the two of them had talked, planned and hoped to find a match for each of his three grandsons. “Not when Bryce and Lara are so happy. Not on their wedding day.”
“Who could frown while watching Calvin? He’s having a perfectly grand time, isn’t he?” She offered the smile he’d requested with hardly any effort at all. “A bonus for you, Archer. A great-grandson, as well as another lovely daughter-in-law.”
“A bonus, indeed,” Archer agreed. “But Janey is whispering to me right now that you’re the one who deserves a bonus.” He pulled an envelope from his inside coat pocket and extended it to her. “You’ve more than earned it, Ilsa.”
She looked at the envelope. “A lovely gesture, Archer, but I can’t accept that. I’ve only done what you hired me to do, and my fees are the only compensation necessary. Besides, there’s still Peter left.”
“Yes, yes.” Archer looked toward the dance floor, where his grandson was dancing with a willowy blonde, under a canopy of tall trees, discreet lighting and a starlit sky. “There’s still Peter.” He turned again to Ilsa, his smile gentle with the pleasures of a long life well spent. “I know I’m not supposed to ask, but any prospects for him as yet?”
“I’ve had a thought, but…” She shook her head. “No, I don’t think it’s right. He’d never get past who she is.”
Archer watched the dancers in silence for a moment or two. “Peter does have a fascination with the debutantes. The bluer the blood, the better he seems to like them. I’m afraid trying to work one of your introduction of possibilities with someone outside of that inner circle may prove difficult.” His lips curved with a very gentlemanly smile. “Of course, you’ve already proven yourself to be a miracle worker, Ilsa.”
“I’m having serious doubts about my ability this time.” She paused, hating to ask, but needing to know. “Can you tell me something about Peter’s life before he came to live with you, Archer? Not now, but perhaps we can have lunch one day soon and you can give me a little better understanding of him.”
With a soft sigh, Archer inclined his head. “Of course. That would, I think, shed some light on the man he is now. I will tell you that we didn’t even know Peter was in the world until he was nine. By that time, his mother had told him so many different things about this family, I honestly think he believed we were royalty or some such nonsense. If Janey hadn’t immediately set about to demystify the family history to make him feel a part, I’m not sure Peter would ever have felt he belonged with us.” Archer shifted his weight and brought his old eyes back to her. “I’m sure you know some of the story. We tried to keep the circumstances out of the newspapers, but it was quite a scandal at the time.”
“I heard some things,” Ilsa said, because it was true. “But because I knew James, I always believed there was a great deal more to the story than the newspapers printed.”
“James swears he never knew about the boy,” Archer said, his gaze steady on hers. “Janey and I believed then…and now…he would have done something to prevent the tragedy had he known.”
“James may be guilty of poor judgment when it comes to choosing a wife, but I know he genuinely loves his sons.”
Archer’s smile emerged with a touch of youthful glee. “I imagine you’ve noticed Monica’s conspicuous absence today.”
Ilsa didn’t want to show too eager an interest in those details, although she was dying to know what had happened between James and his latest fiancée. “I did wonder where she was.”
“Colorado,” Archer said with satisfaction. “Day before yesterday, she left in a huff. At James’s request.”
A whisper of excitement stole through Ilsa for no good reason. “I’m surprised she didn’t at least stay for the wedding.”
Archer chuckled. “She would have if James hadn’t been adamant about her leaving sooner rather than later.”
“A lover’s quarrel, perhaps?”
“More like an unholy war. He was unhappy with her from the start and I never thought he’d go through with the marriage, anyway. But the important thing is, Ilsa, that James is no longer engaged to be married and I think this could be the perfect opportunity to make an introduction of possibilities for him.”
That Archer had illusions of making a match between her and his son was no secret to Ilsa. What she hadn’t bargained for was the unexpected thrill of anticipation she felt at the possibility. “I believe I’ve said this to you before, Archer, but matchmaking is not a precise science and does hold more than its fair share of disappointments.”
He smiled, undaunted. “One of the wonderful things about being an old man, is that fear of disappointment isn’t much of a determent. But there, I don’t wish to embarrass you. I simply would like to give you this bonus check before I go out there and persuade my new granddaughter-in-law to shuffle once around the dance floor with me.” He extended the envelope to Ilsa again with a look that asked her to take it without further protest.
“Keep the check, Archer,” she said. “At least until we see if I can even come up with a suitable possibility of a match for Peter. At the moment, I’m beginning to doubt my own better judgment.”
Archer regarded her for a moment, then tucked the envelope back into his jacket pocket. “As I occasionally have told my grandsons, ‘Trust your instincts. God gave them to you for a reason.’ Or as Janey put it so much more eloquently, ‘Follow your impulse. You never know when one may turn out to be exactly, exquisitely right.’ And now, Ilsa, my dear, if you’ll excuse me, there’s a beautiful bride, who is, I believe, saving a dance for me.”
Ilsa watched him, marveling at what a courtly appearance he made as he moved through the crowd, never asking for the space to maneuver with his cane, but rather commanding it by the simple measure of a smile here, a word of greeting there. Her glance turned again to Peter, dancing now with Thea Berenson. A duty dance. Anyone looking at the mismatched couple could see that. Peter was nothing if not a gentleman. And Thea was, to her core, a lady.
Follow your impulse.
She let the possibility float as she watched Thea look everywhere but at the man who was holding her at a respectful distance, doing his best to initiate some conversation. And having little success with it, too. Ilsa caught sight of James, moving through the crowd toward her. Stopping to chat along the way, but catching her eye to let her know she was his destination.
Her heart picked up a silly rhythm of anticipation and she tried to force her thoughts back to Peter and Thea. Thea and Peter.
But James came closer and she began to smile without having any intention of doing so. For the moment, at least, she’d just have to set aside her reservations about a match for Peter Braddock and concentrate all her energy on not falling victim to his father’s considerable charm.
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