The Blacksheep's Arranged Marriage. Karen Toller Whittenburg
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of rowdy and he’s not a vegan—he eats all kinds of meat—but I think he might change his bad habits if he met the right woman.”
Ilsa kept smiling despite the most pressing impulse to sigh. “First, office procedure, Ainsley,” she reminded her new assistant. “Then we’ll see about letting you work with me on a match.”
“Okay. Gotcha.”
Ilsa reminded herself again that she needed help with her business. And Ainsley had the personality for it. She was cute, she was bubbly, she was optimistic and she had a natural intuition about people, even though it flared a little on the wild side occasionally. But Ilsa did hope this new alliance would work out. She needed an infusion of Ainsley’s enthusiasm. Her own had been flagging lately and this could turn out well for both of them. After all, the whole premise of IF Enterprises was summed up in her own personal motto that Anything Is Possible.
Sipping her glass of wine, Ilsa looked around to see what Peter had done with Thea. They were no longer sitting in the far corner of the room, the spot Thea seemed usually to prefer and which they had occupied since dinner. They might already have left. It was early yet, but…no, there. They were dancing, and despite the fact that Theadosia looked like a maiden aunt, she seemed to be…well, not entirely miserable. Peter didn’t appear to be bored to distraction, although it was hard to tell for sure, and common sense told her he couldn’t be enjoying the evening.
Maybe something would come of this, although she couldn’t imagine what. Or how. Ilsa simply felt badly about her part in putting this mismatch together. Even for just these few hours. She should never have mentioned the impulse to Archer. She should not have heeded his encouragement to follow through on her hunch and set up this one evening of possibility. And she definitely should not have allowed him to use his influence over Peter and his long acquaintance with Davinia Carey to arrange this date with disaster. What possibility could exist, other than in her imagination, between Peter Braddock and Theadosia Berenson? It was a bad idea that just wouldn’t go away.
“Ainsley?” she said on impulse. “What do you know about Thea Berenson?”
Ainsley frowned, studying the question the way she might examine a raw turnip. “Well, some people call her Teddy Bear because she always looks a little fuzzy, if you know what I mean?”
Ilsa did.
“I’ve heard her called a poor, little rich girl, too, but it would be hard to tell that by looking at her. I don’t know what happened to her parents, although it must have been bad because nobody ever mentions them except in hushed-up tones, like it was some big scandal or something. She had a brother, but he died a couple of years ago. Of meanness, my sister said, but I think it was really just a heart attack. No mystery there. The real mystery to me,” Ainsley added as if it were incomprehensible, “is why she still lives with her grandmother who is—pardon my frankness, but I have to be honest—the original Wicked Witch of all New England and possibly the world.”
There was some truth in the statement, but while Ilsa didn’t want to discourage her protégé’s observations, she did want to encourage a temperate perspective of others’ life situations. “Davinia Carey isn’t, perhaps, a warm person, but I believe she has had a rather unhappy life.”
“Well, excuse me,” Ainsley said without apology. “But that’s not a good reason to make Thea miserable.”
Also true.
“Why do you think Thea allows someone else to make her miserable?” Ilsa asked, interested in gaining someone else’s insight. “If, indeed, she is.”
“Oh, how could she not be?” Ainsley said. “I can’t imagine why she stays at Grace Place when she can afford to buy a place of her own.”
“Maybe her money is tied up in trusts and she can’t touch any of it until she’s older.” Ilsa had a file on Thea—a woefully thin one—but of course, the financial information was private, so all she could do was speculate along with Ainsley. “That’s very possible.”
“She could get a job. She has a degree from Wellesley, you know. I don’t know what she studied, but she could get a job at a museum or something. I sure wouldn’t live in that dark old house with that old…” Ainsley let the intended epithet trail away. “With her grandmother,” she finished and Ilsa gave her full marks for being a quick learner.
“Maybe,” Ilsa said, “Thea is afraid of what will happen if she leaves.”
“Maybe with good reason.” Ainsley frowned, obviously still studying the oddness of Thea’s life. But then, like the sun coming out, her blue eyes went wide and she turned back to Ilsa, the light of conspiracy in her smile. “Holy Toledo, Mrs. Carey didn’t hire you to make a match for Thea, did she? I mean, who would you ever find to match up with her?”
A good question, if not quite an accurate observation. “There’s someone for everyone, Ainsley.”
“He’ll have to be a true Prince Charming,” she said, her attention returning to the couples on the dance floor, as if she thought she could spot a match for Thea just by looking. “And maybe very nearsighted.”
Ilsa let her gaze travel back to where Peter and Thea were still dancing. Not talking. Or looking at each other. But something in the way he held her, something in the way she moved in his arms, something about…
No. Ilsa knew she had to be imagining that indefinable something she felt when she saw Peter with Thea. They could never, in a million years, find the true heart of the other. Even if they were inclined to look.
“Ilsa?” Ainsley’s voice had softened to a thoughtful musing. “Have you ever felt that maybe Thea and…”
She didn’t finish the thought, left it dangling in the air between them, but the quicksilver clench of knowing caught Ilsa unaware. Peter. Ainsley felt it, too. That something Ilsa hadn’t been able to name.
Which didn’t mean either one of them were right about it.
“Davinia has not hired me to find a match for Thea,” Ilsa said truthfully. “Nor would she. Ever.”
Ainsley smiled, secretively at first, but then with blinding self-confidence. “Would you mind if I worked on a possibility for Thea?” she asked. “On my own time, of course, and I won’t actually do anything. I’ll just sort of think about it, look around for a nearsighted prince of a guy, ponder possibilities in my head. Would that be okay?”
Ilsa knew she should say no. Flat out. But Ainsley couldn’t, just by thinking and wondering and imagining, do any harm. Truthfully, she couldn’t do any worse than Ilsa had already done if she set out full-tilt to find Thea a match. “As long as you keep in mind that even a matchmaker can’t work miracles.”
“Gotcha,” Ainsley said, although a miracle was clearly what she had in mind.
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