Prim took a sip of the beverage hoping to cool the flash of annoyance. “While I must repeat, I was in no way flirting with Mr. MacKintosh, I would add in his defense that I’ve heard he has an excellent business reputation. He’s done quite well in his investments with Mr. Goelet and Mr. Morgan.”
“Still, I agree with your father-in-law. Mr. Leachman would be an excellent choice for you. He knows the banking business and better yet, he knows you.”
Yes, the problem was, she knew Mossman Leachman, too. All too well. He’d been the banking partner of her father-in-law, Declan Eames, for years. He was almost as old as her father-in-law and as much of a bully. Her brothers might believe their opinions as men outweighed those of a mere woman, but Mr. Leachman struck her as the type who’d be willing to put some muscle behind backing his.
“Have you accepted his proposal yet?” Shane pressed, guiding her back to the ballroom and through the partygoers mulling around the dance floor. Prim watched the dancers whirl by wistfully. Shane possessed a remarkably narrow view of the world. Heaven forbid a widow—all at once marriageable but not permitted to enjoy herself—should partake.
“No, I’ve not accepted his proposal.”
But only because she hadn’t allowed Leachman the opportunity to formally make one. Prim wasn’t looking forward to the backlash that would result from her eventual rejection of his suit. And it would be a rejection, no matter how strongly they all felt.
Any indication or even outright declaration that she didn’t want his suit had been dismissed by her male family members as frivolous. Perhaps some of the blame might have been her own. She hadn’t provided even a token of protest at their last choice. Mature and suave, Fletcher Eames had been one of the most eligible bachelors around when she’d made her debut. Though, eighteen years her senior, he’d dazzled her. A prime catch.
If, as the years of their marriage passed, the gloss of their relationship had dulled to a cloudy sheen, she’d at least been content. With her choice and eventually her life as he came to trust her intellect and opinions in the later years of their marriage.
After he’d passed away, her brothers had taken it upon themselves to “look after her” until she remarried. They considered it their familial duty to make sure the burden she presented—though she was a wealthy and presumably independent widow—was transferred into the hands of a responsible spouse.
One who met their approval, even if not hers.
Shane led her to a quiet alcove to watch the dancing. “It’s been more than a year since Eames died, Prim,” her brother reminded.
“I’m well aware of how long it’s been.”
Not long enough, she thought. That’s how long. Sixteen months was not nearly long enough. Though she didn’t say so aloud.
“If not Mr. Leachman, how about my friend Weston?” Shane suggested. Her clipped responses and stony silence hadn’t deterred him from the topic. “He hasn’t quite the experience in business that Leachman does, but he’s a jolly fellow. And I know you like him.”
Prim rolled her eyes. Yes, she did like Weston Archer, though perhaps not as much as Weston liked her brother. She was surprised he hadn’t noticed after all these years.
“If there isn’t another topic you’d care to expound upon, dear brother, I’ll abandon you for the more congenial company of my home and hearth.”
Shane chuckled as if she were joking, which she was not. His laughter drew the admiring eyes of several ladies nearby. She’d torture him with nagging about his own unwedded state, but Prim didn’t enjoy it as much as he did. Nor did she consider it her place to force him into a commitment he’d be unhappy with. A comparison she’d pointed out several times without success.
The frustration over their blind double standard would have been even worse had her brothers not truly believed they were working in her best interest.
“Prim!”
They turned to find another of her brothers, Dennis, approaching. Though as tall and handsome as Shane, and garnering the same amount of female attention as he passed by, Dennis was thicker in build with blond hair from their late mother. Prim smiled softly and greeted him with a kiss, resisting the urge to ruffle his untamable mane as she did at home. God help her, they might nag like old fisherwomen but she did love her brothers.
“Dennis! When did you get back?”
“Just an hour ago,” he said, sweeping away a lock of his overlong hair with a dramatic flair. “Had to hurry back for a dance with my favorite sister.”
“Since I’m your only sister, I’ll assume that’s me,” she sallied.
“Come then, let me take you for a turn about the floor.”
“That would be wonderful, the conversation has gotten rather stale here.” She arched a brow at Shane, who only notched his up higher.
“I only want to see that you’re taken care of, Prim.”
“Has it ever occurred to you I can take care of myself?”
Dennis joined Shane in open laughter. Heaven help them. And her. They’d never take her seriously. No, that conversation wasn’t done. Nor would it be until she did something about it.
Something to their satisfaction rather than hers.
* * *
