“But at least look at the list. Then you’ll know my standards.” The Shanahan standards—everything his da and mam would expect of him as the firstborn son who would carry on the Shanahan name.
He needed a woman from high society, well-bred, and well-educated. He preferred a woman who could manage a large household and host parties to entertain his business associates. A St. Louis native would also be helpful, someone with knowledge of the important people in the city and how to interact with them. He needed her to be polished, poised, and pretty.
He also wanted a woman from an affluent family who could bring that wealth into their marriage and into his business ventures. He’d been telling himself that there was nothing wrong with striving for a beneficial marriage and that most men in his social circles were endeavoring after the same thing. But he couldn’t deny that having to rely upon a dowry rankled him, made him feel weak, as though he couldn’t quite measure up to all that his da had accomplished on his own.
Bellamy was staring at him, his brows drawn. “I can already tell you that the woman I have in mind won’t meet your qualifications.”
“How do you know? Look at the list first.”
“I can’t help you, Kiernan. Not if you’re already so set on what you want.”
“I’m not set.”
“Then prove it.”
Kiernan bit back more annoyance. Maybe he should consider finding his own spouse. He could set up the invitations with the various women himself.
But what about having Bellamy’s objective advice guiding him? The matchmaker had proven himself to be wise and enterprising and even strategic while working on the matches for his sisters.
Besides, if the appointments with the women didn’t end well, Bellamy could be the one to tell each of the ladies the news. It would all be so much more professional that way.
“I’d prefer to have your help, Bellamy. But I can’t throw away my list.”
Bellamy was silent for several long heartbeats before speaking. “Let’s have a wager.”
“No, Bellamy—”
“I’ll look at your list and arrange visits with women over the next month.” Bellamy pushed away from the door and straightened. “But if you don’t fall in love with one of them during the month, then we’ll burn the list, so we will, and you’ll agree to marry the woman I pick out for you by the end of the next month.”
Kiernan hesitated. “I never said anything about falling in love with a woman.”
“Ach, love needs to go at the top of your list, Kiernan. ’Tis not meant just for fairy tales, doncha know?”
All the while he’d been writing his list, he’d never once thought of adding love to it. Waslovereally important? Or wouldlikinghis bride be enough?
“As long as you choose women this next month that meet the qualifications on my list.” Surely one among the batch would catch Kiernan’s attention and he’d be attracted to her. He might not fall in love, but he’d at the very least develop some feelings.
Bellamy crossed to him and took the list. Without looking at it, he folded it. “I’ll be fair. I give you my word.”
“I give you my word too.”
Bellamy stuffed the paper into his trouser pocket, then stuck out his hand. “Good. Then we have a deal.”
Kiernan shook the matchmaker’s hand and quelled the unease inside. What was he doing? He’d all but agreed to get married this summer one way or another. He hoped when the time came, he would choose the right woman.
Kiernan pressed his glass of lemonade to his cheek as he walked out of the summer kitchen. The liquid wasn’t cold, but it was refreshing nonetheless.
With the fall of night, he had hoped for relief from the heat. But in the humidity and staleness of his room, he’d tossed restlessly on his bed, even with the windows and balcony door open.
Finally, he’d tiptoed downstairs and outside, needing something to quench his thirst. His feet had taken him to the summer kitchen, just as they had many times when he’d been a boy.
He stopped in the grass and took a long drink. The land behind the house was bathed by the moon, the light of the fireflies twinkling in the darkness. He liked being away from the hustle of the city once in a while and relished the prospect of living at Oakland for the next couple of months. The place held many nostalgic memories and was still invigorating.
The only trouble was that staying in the country might make the matchmaking more complicated. He’d have to ride back to the city to meet with some of the women, but he guessed there were also plenty who were residing in the countryside for the summer or at least until the cholera was gone—if it ever went away.
His gaze snagged on a flicker of light in the flower garden. What was that? He narrowed his eyes to find what appeared to be a flame.
Quietly, he started in the direction of the light. He rounded several raised beds containing flowers, passed the gated vegetable garden, until at last he reached the edge of the meadow with its wild, untamed grass and flowers.
