“Mrs. Eames.”
She turned.
“I’ll consider it,” was all he could promise.
Her chest rose as she drew in a deep breath. She said nothing but gave a short nod. Still, he could see the hope in her eyes.
Bugger it all, he shouldn’t have said anything. It would be terrible to let her down.
CHAPTER 8
Right, Jo, better be happy old maids then unhappy wives or unmaidenly girls running about to find husbands.
~ Louisa May Alcottfrom Little Women
Later that evening…
“A nightcap by the fire to warm you, Maggie?” James asked, lifting her furred cape from her shoulders and handing it off to the butler.
The night had turned cold with a bitter wind. Light flurries drifted down as they’d set out for home. During their short walk south from Mrs. Astor’s mansion on 5thAvenue and East 65thStreet where she’d taken up residence following her husband’s death, the flurries had turned into a heavy snowfall.
Maggie, her cheeks and nose pink with the chill, nodded up at him. She led the way to the salon off to the right, then warmed her hands near the fire that had been prepared for them as James filled two glasses of Scotch. He handed her one and they sat in chairs drawn close to the flames.
They drank a moment in silence, letting the liquor work its magic from the inside out, before Maggie sighed. His hostess did know how to appreciate a good Scotch, whatever society dictated on the matter.
Though Mrs. Eames hadn’t waffled from drinking it either.
“Thank you for accompanying me tonight, James,” she said. “I hadn’t thought you would agree to go. Certainly not so readily.”
“My acquiescence surprised me as well.” James ran a finger around the rim of his glass, watching the flames dance in the fireplace. Silence fell.
It wasn’t as if there was nothing to be said, but James found himself apprehensive about raising the subject.
Especially around a devoted matchmaker like Maggie.
He didn’t want to give her false hope, any more than he should’ve offered the same to Prim, but curiosity refused to let him remain silent.
“What can you tell me about Primrose Eames?”
The tilt of her head and the slight parting of her lips gave away her surprise at the question. Considering in two years he’d yet to ask a pointed question about any lady he’d met, her wonder was well justified.
“I saw you escort her out of the salon earlier. I must admit, I’d never considered her for you.”
James winced. He certainly didn’t want her considering it now. He should let the matter lie.
But couldn’t manage to. “What do you know of her?”
Her blue-eyed gaze practically pierced his skull as she searched for whatever had prompted such a question.
“She’s a lovely woman. Intelligent. I know how you MacKintosh men appreciate that. A widow, as you know. One with an impeccable reputation,” she added with a silent rebuke not to be the one to change that.
He didn’t plan to. But if Prim did have a lover or two in her pocket already, she knew how to be discreet about it.
“Her husband passed away just last year after…oh, almost ten years of marriage, I think.”
“She’s not without family though?” he prompted when she didn’t offer anything more. “She mentioned some brothers?”
Maggie sipped her Scotch and studied him so thoughtfully, James nearly squirmed in his chair. “Yes, three I believe. An old New York family.”
