She reached into her reticule and pulled out a small calendar. “We need to pencil in a time where I can finally learn more about you: activities you enjoy, what your favorite foods are, what type of animals you like—ponies clearly not being at the top of your list—and if there are any specific ladies you’ve spoken with in Newport whom you’d like to speak with further.” She ran a finger over her calendar. “It looks as if I’m supposed to accompany Mrs. Parker to Henri Bendel’s emporium for shopping tomorrow, but I’m certain she’ll be receptive to my meeting with you instead.”
“I won’t be in Newport tomorrow. I’ll be back in the city.”
She abandoned her calendar. “What do you mean, you’ll be back in the city?”
“I only come to Newport on the weekends, or more specifically, Friday afternoon until late Sunday afternoon, because I have a business to run during the week.”
“At no point have you mentioned that to me.” She leaned forward. “The Newport Season is abbreviated as it is. If you expect me to find you an appropriate wife when you’re onlyhere on the weekends, you’ve taken leave of your senses because that’s an impossible feat.”
Walter quirked a brow. “You appear to be a woman who enjoys challenges. I’m certain if you embrace my situation as exactly that, you’ll be able to rise to the occasion magnificently.”
“Nice try, Walter, but there’s no way I’m going to rise to this occasion, even with you throwing down what is obviously a gauntlet.” She shook her head. “No, you, I’m afraid, are going to have to be the one to make concessions, starting with your promise you’ll make arrangements that will allow you to be in Newport seven days a week beginning next weekend at the latest.”
“I’m in the middle of acquiring new real estate. I don’t have time to twiddle my thumbs during the week when there are so many intricate details still needing to be attended to.”
“Don’t you have managers who could take up some of your business load?”
“Of course, but I prefer to have a hand in every Townsend business deal I broker. That’s why I need to return to the city, and why I won’t be able to accommodate your demand that I clear my schedule for the summer.”
Gwendolyn stuffed her notepad, pencil, and calendar into her reticule and got to her feet. “Then you’re going to have to find yourself a new matchmaker, because even Mrs. Parker will agree that you’ve given us an impossible task.”
She turned on her heel, paused, and looked back over her shoulder. “And before you remind me that Mrs. Parker already accepted a bracelet from Tiffany’s as a token of good faith to sponsor you, know that I’ll remind her you never mentioned you’d be absent from Newport most of the Season. She’ll not like that, and will certainly believe you withheld that pertinent information on purpose.
“When I refuse to continue with your case, her annoyance over the matter will certainly increase when she realizes she’lleither need to personally take up your case—which she’ll know is going to be impossible to successfully complete—or return the Tiffany bracelet to you in a gesture of goodwill, a gesture she’ll be less than gracious about making. I assure you, either of those options will not sit well with Mrs. Parker, who may seem like a dear, charming woman at times, but who is nothing of the sort.”
Sixteen
Thirty-five minutes later, Walter found himself experiencing a bit of a novel situation as he sat in the enclosed Townsend family pew, waiting for a service delayed because Reverend Eberhard had decided to rework his sermon, trying to ignore the irritated glances being cast his way from more than a few members of the feminine persuasion.
It was no surprise Gwendolyn was annoyed with him, but it was unnerving how Mrs. Parker kept swiveling her head from where she sat on the main floor of the church to glare at him as he sat in his balcony pew.
Granted, he should have been expecting the glares because to say Mrs. Parker had been annoyed to learn he intended to head back to the city for the week was an understatement. She’d not hesitated to launch into a lecture of magnificent proportions, telling him in no uncertain terms he needed to rethink his priorities.
It had been a definite error in judgment to respond by telling her his workwashis main priority and thathermain prioritywas to whittle down potential candidates for him to review once he returned on Friday.
Being a society matron accustomed to getting her way, Mrs. Parker’s only response had been to send him a look that could have seared the flesh from his face before she’d had her footman wheel her away without another word—something that had Gwendolyn sending him a most telling “I told you so” arch of a delicate brow.
Unfortunately, Gwendolyn and Mrs. Parker weren’t the only ladies irritated with him. Added to that list were his mother, Ethel, and mother-in-law, Matilda, who’d descended into annoyed states as soon as he’d ushered Gwendolyn into the family pew.
“I have no idea why you invited that woman to sit with us,” Ethel hissed in his ear, jerking her head in a less than subtle fashion toward Gwendolyn.
Thankfully, Gwendolyn was preoccupied with helping Priscilla tie a ribbon in a rag doll’s hair and missed the jerking, and Ethel had at least had the presence of mind to lower her voice to vent her displeasure.
“Gwendolyn’s my matchmaker,” he returned quietly. “She needed to join me today so she can observe how Miss Cordelia Lowe interacts with the children, if Miss Lowe decides to show up, which seems doubtful since the service should have already begun but there’s no sign of her.”
Ethel waved that aside. “Your matchmaker took it upon herself to take away the candy Matilda and I gave to the children to ascertain they’ll be well-behaved during the service. You know we rarely bring the children to church since they’ve been known to cause disruptions. That’s why we decided a special treat was in order. However, yourmatchmakerabsconded with those treats. She then had the audacity to say sugar has been known to cause excess excitability in children, which is complete nonsense. She didn’t even consider the twins wouldbe devastated to have their sweets snatched out of their tiny hands.”
Walter glanced to where Gwendolyn was showing his daughter a better way to tie a bow before he returned his attention to his mother. “Priscilla hardly seems devastated.”
“Which may very well be true, but your matchmaker then took it upon herself to tell the twins God expects them to behave while in His house, and not because they’ve been bribed with delicacies to do so. That undoubtedly frightened the children half to death—that theory proven by the continuous glances Priscilla and Samuel keep making to the ceiling, as if they expect God to send a lightning bolt directly at them if they happen to step out of line.”
“I never heard Gwendolyn mention anything about any lightning bolts,” Walter said.
“Oh, she didn’t. That was simply an aside Oscar made. It might have been a joke, but I’m not certain because I rarely understand what the young set finds amusing these days.”
“You know very well, Ethel, that Oscar wouldn’t have mentioned the lightning bolt, even in jest, if that matchmaker hadn’t warned the children about behaving,” Matilda whispered, leaning across Ethel to meet Walter’s gaze. “You mark my words, the twins will be plagued with nightmares for days.” She sent a sad shake of her head toward Samuel, who didn’t notice because he was absorbed with a bag stuffed with toys he’d insisted on bringing with him to church.
“I suppose it’s a blessing Oscar decided he wanted to sit with his friend for services,” Ethel said. “He might have been subjected to a lecture from the matchmaker if she realized he has a habit of telling jokes. I’m sure, given her dislike of candy, she doesn’t enjoy those either.” She leaned forward and peered over the balcony railing, directing her gaze to where Oscar was sitting beside Sherman Kenton in the Kenton family pew.
