“Nothing, dear one. I would love to hear more about your matchmaking plans. Why don’t you go grab your materials and then meet Knightley and me back in the sitting room?”
My gaze bounces between my father and the massive redhead in the room, questions buzzing around my brain. But Papa is interested in my budding career, and even better, he’s going to force Knightley to listen to my epic plans. Surely this will win the Negative Nancy over to my side.
I take another cookie before leaving the room and bounding up the creaky stairs that lead to my room. I don’t need Knightley’s approval, but it would be nice to have his support. He’s been in my life ever since I can remember, and whether I like it or not, his approval means the world to me. It’s why I fight him so hard when he pushes back against me.
Everyone in this town loves and adores me, and I’m well aware of it, but he doesn’t treat me in the same manner.
And for reasons unbeknownst to me, he’s the one I want to shower me with affection.
Emma Jane
Rule #2: Subtle hints only work when they are well-placed. Playing matchmaker requires a delicate touch.
The key to a successful scheme is to lay the groundwork before striking while the opportunity is hot.
I place the corner puzzle pieces quickly, then I begin working on the sides. “You know, Henrietta. Frank Weston, Mr. Weston’s son, is down from New York for a month. Word is he’s still single. Maybe I can set something up.” I raise my eyebrows at her before continuing my puzzle.
My friend, with her short, curly brown hair and doe brown eyes, sighs. “E. J., he’sFrank Weston.He’s loaded with money and lives in New York. There’s not a chance in heaven he’d be interested in a plain, orphaned farm girl such as myself. First it was the son of the Mississippi State senator. Now an investment banker who doesn’t even reside in the state. Why do you keep trying to set me up with men so far out of my league? And men that would eventually force me on a plane? You know I refuse to fly.”
I purse my lips, placing the last side puzzle piece for the 5,000-piece image. I think this may be my fastest time yet. “You have a warped view of yourself, Henrietta. Or you severely lack confidence.” I stand, tugging her with me. I walk her over to the stand-up mirror in my bathroom and play with her hair. “Look at yourself. Your milky white skin is without blemish. Your hair doesn’t frizz. You are not in need of makeup or jewelry. How could any man turn you away? You will not have to get on a plane, and if you do, then you’ll be so in love that you’ll feel safe. Will you trust me?”
She turns her soft expression to me. “You mean it?”
“Yes, Henrietta. I mean it. Will you do as I say with Frank Weston? I have a plan, but you must follow it to a tee.”
I stare into her widening eyes. She swallows once and then nods.
“Good.” I smile and then return to my puzzle on my wooden table that I’ve devoted entirely to puzzles. As I search for a faded green piece, I go over my outfits in my closet, mentally picturing her in each of them until I land on the right option. “Henrietta,” I sing her name, “I have just the outfit for you to meet Frank Weston in.”
She groans, running her fingers through her brown curls, which bounce right back into place somehow. It’s her personal magic trick, I’m sure of it. “Please do not put me in a sequin skirt and silk top.”
“I—”
“Well, a silk top would be okay. But no sequins. Or lace.” Henrietta takes my hand between hers. “I’m not you, E. J. Don’t try to dress me as if I’m yourfavorite doll.”
Her request takes me by surprise, though I guess it shouldn’t. I’m used to people copying my style in this town but looking back, Henrietta has never been that way. Maybe it’s why I keep her close?
“I just want to see you happy and thriving within this small, debutante-centric society.”
She gives me a pointed look. “You forget I wasn’t a debutante. That was you.”
“But you were there for me through the entire process. You might as well be one.” I smile, removing my hand from hers and bounding toward my walk-in closet. Regardless, I want to make her look and feel like a high class woman. “What’s mine is yours, Henrietta. Now, allow me to show you my idea. If you detest it, then we will look through my other clothes.”
The next hour is spent switching between various fabrics, neckline cuts, and statement pieces. Henrietta grumbles and groans but finally settles on a red long-sleeve silk blouse with a long cut from the shoulder to the wrist. She chooses a high-waisted, flowy white skirt. Then I force her to wear simple golden hoops with diamonds on the bottom, matching bracelets, and a necklace.
“E. J., why am I fully dressed in this getup right now and why are you doing my hair? I was under the impression the meeting would be later in the month…”
My lips twitch. “I never said that, Henrietta. You assumed. Frank Weston is on his way over as we speak. In fact, he should be here—” The doorbell rings, and I rock onto my toes with delight. “Marvelous. Let’s go win you a keeper.”
“Emma Jane! Wait—”
I grab her wrist and yank her behind me, momentarily cursing myself for not making sure her toenails were painted since we don’t wear shoes in the house.That’s not being perfect, E. J. Do better. Details matter.
“Listen to me, Henrietta. Be your charming self. Smile softly, laugh at his jokes, tuck your hair behind your ear, and bat your eyelashes when he compliments you. Understand?” I pull her through the third-floor hallway, down the winding staircase, and through the first-floor hallway until we reach the edge of the sitting room where my father, Frank’s father, Frank, Halle, and… Knightley?
What’s he doing here?
“Ah, Emma Jane. Come in,” my father says in an overly cheerful greeting. “Look who’s here. Frank Weston.” He catches Henrietta at my side, promptly noticing how she looks ten times better than I do right now as I sport an oversized hoodie, leggings, and unwashed hair. Unfortunately, I’m the type of girl who will steal the show, and I don’t mean that to be conceited. It’s simply a fact, and I have lost many friends over it. Therefore, I opt to dress down—even though I love dressing up—when hanging out with other women who are single. I don’t have evidence that Henrietta would be that way. In fact, I believe the contrary, but it’s happened too many times in the past for me to even risk it.
