Even just thinking about that woman again sent a jolt of heat through his gut. Ach. Whyever did she have to be so beautiful every time he saw her? Not only had her rosy cheeks and bright green eyes been prettier than usual, but the gown she’d been wearing had molded to her body, showing every blessed hill and valley of her figure.
Thankfully her stunning red hair had been mostly tucked out of sight. Because whenever it was down, he could hardly think coherently around her and usually made a total bumbling blaggard of himself ... Although he’d acted like a bumbling blaggard around her yesterday, too, letting himself get carried away with staring at her.
“Well?” Oscar hadn’t budged from the spot beside the sofa.
“Doncha be worrying.” Bellamy forced his thoughts from Zaira to Deirdre. “I have just the right man for her.”
It wasn’t entirely a lie. He might not know the right man, but Zaira did.
“Oh aye. I can help you,Bellamy. But if you don’t think so,then goahead and keep looking for a match. I’m sureyou’ll figure it out since you’re so smart.”
He’d have to humble himself and tell Zaira he’d beenwrong and that he needed her help after all. He nearly groaned at the prospect of doing so. Not that he was opposed to apologizing. He’d had to do his fair share of that over the years. But the idea of having to admit he was wrong to Zaira was like having to eat dirt.
Oscar took another noisy slurp of coffee. “I don’t need to be reminding you that everyone is watching how you handle this. Everyone. And if you don’t form the right match, you’ll be setting yourself back.”
Bellamy was just beginning to earn his reputation as a good matchmaker, and he couldn’t afford any mistakes now.
Aye, the stakes were high.
Part of him wanted to shrug and pretend he didn’t care. He had his artwork, and that fulfilled him. He’d sold a decent number of paintings already as W.B.M., which stood for William Bennett Moore. Bellamy had chosen the name of an American because no curator wanted to buy paintings from an Irish immigrant. He’d discovered that in his early days of trying to gain interest in his work.
Only after switching and taking a new identity had his paintings started to sell. Until the cholera outbreak, he’d been doing well. Mr. Davenport, the curator at Templeton & Evans, had started to ask about Mr. Moore having a show at the gallery. Of course, Bellamy had told Mr. Davenport that Mr. Moore was not open to the idea, that he was too unsociable.
Regardless of the opportunities starting to open up, Bellamy had anticipated inheriting the matchmaker role for most of his twenty-two years. Every oldest son in the McKenna family had taken up the job through the centuries—hisda, granda, great-granda, and more as far back as they could recall to the Middle Ages and even beyond.
Bellamy couldn’t be the first to walk away from it or, worse yet, fail at the job. No, he had a responsibility, and he took it seriously.
Not only that, but he’d learned over the past six months of helping the Shanahans find their matches that he was good at pairing couples. He hadn’t been sure at the beginning with Finola Shanahan. But once he’d started down the road of matchmaking, he’d realized that the matchmaker blood ran thickly through his veins. He’d loved every moment of finagling and scheming and planning. He’d even enjoyed the challenges and overcoming the difficulties.
More than anything, he’d felt an incredible sense of satisfaction when he’d been able to bring two people together in real love relationships that would last forever. The McKenna matchmakers might be unlucky in finding love for themselves, but they had a magic touch when it came to finding love for others. That was all that truly mattered. If Bellamy could spend his life helping others succeed where his own family had fallen short, then maybe he could make up for all their mistakes.
Oh aye, he was ready for the full responsibility of matchmaker, had dreamed of the day when he would take over for Oscar. But if Bellamy didn’t prove himself with the senator’s daughter, no one would want to come to him. It wouldn’t matter that he’d had success with the Shanahans.
No, everyone would hear of his failure and assume he didn’t have what was needed to be a matchmaker. They would likely take matters into their own hands and form matches without any help. Already many among the youngergeneration were doing so and forgoing the wise input of the matchmaker. After time, a new generation would believe the role of the matchmaker was no longer necessary, and it would fade into oblivion as an antiquated relic of bygone years.
If he didn’t prove that a matchmaker was capable and necessary, then the loss would be his fault, at least in St. Louis.
Bellamy blew out a noisy breath, opened his eyes, and met Oscar’s probing dark gaze. The older man’s face was ruddy and perspiring, and the day had barely begun. His thick gray hair was combed into submission but wouldn’t stay that way for long. At sixty, he was slowing down, the years of living by the philosophy that “it was never too early for a decent draught” showing in his heavy paunch and big veinous nose.
“Did you hear me now?” Oscar’s voice boomed louder.
“How can I be forgetting the consequence of failing when you’ve told me a few dozen times a day for the past week, so you have.”
“Instead of being direct with the lass, have you tried a subtle approach?”
“Aye—”
“The matchmaker is all about being able to feel the pulse of a relationship, expecting the unpredictable, and not controlling love—only guiding it.”
“Naturally.”
“She might be grazing in the same pasture every time and need help seeing that the grass is greener elsewhere.”
Bellamy knew the job of the matchmaker was to keep the lass from getting stuck on the same kind of men and turning her out to a new pasture with someone she might not have expected but who was actually better for her.
Bellamy stifled a sigh. “I’ve heard your advice plenty and am doing it just so.”
“Then get yourself up and make haste.” This time Oscar lumbered away from the sofa through the tidy but sparsely furnished apartment. With two bedrooms and a main living area, the place was spacious enough for all of them, though Bellamy didn’t have his own room. He didn’t mind, since he wasn’t in the apartment often.
