Deborah smiled as she returned four hours later, a small trunk filled with enough clothing to last her a week in the back of the carriage Rob had insisted she take. The two of them had agreed that her services would not be required on Sundays, and so she planned to spend that day in her own home, leaving the Ferguson Street mansion Saturday evening and returning Monday morning in time for breakfast.
Each week, she would exchange some items of clothing so that it did not appear that she had only six outfits. The reason was more than simple vanity. If Deborah was going to be part of the Carmichael household, she needed to dress appropriately, for Rob had made it clear that she was not a servant but rather a business associate who’d be treated like a valued guest.
“Miss Emily is waiting in the morning room.” Though no smile crossed the butler’s face, Bradford’s expression softened ever so slightly, as if he held a special fondness for the daughter of the house. He slid the pocket door open and ushered Deborah into a small but elegantly furnished room. With its eastern exposure and french doors leading to the backyard, this was clearly a place to enjoy the morning sunshine. Even now, in the middle of the afternoon, it was a room that invited a person to sit and relax.
Emily Carmichael was not relaxing. Deborah could see that the moment she entered the room. Her client rose and took a step forward, her tense expression announcing that she was assessing the woman who’d been hired to find her a husband.
“You’re not what I expected.” Emily’s words were clear and well modulated, although the greeting was unconventional.
Deborah returned the scrutiny, forming her initial impressions of her client. Like her father, Emily had dark brown hair and eyes, but her features were less chiseled than his. While she wasn’t a classic beauty, her looks were striking. That combined with her father’s wealth guaranteed her more than her share of suitors.
“Just what did you expect?” Deborah wasn’t certain whether Emily was testing her or whether she was always so direct.
The young woman tipped her head to the side, as if considering. “Someone much older and … well … grayer.” Deborah had her answer: Emily was indeed outspoken.
“Some of my clients have done their best to turn me gray, but so far none have succeeded. Is it your intention to be the first?” Two could play this game.
If she hadn’t been watching carefully, Deborah might have missed the almost imperceptible widening of Emily’s eyes. “Why would you think that?” The question sounded innocent, but the young girl’s expression said otherwise.
“Your greeting was hardly conventional, and you’ve yet to offer me a seat.”
A slight flush colored Emily’s cheeks as she gestured toward the room’s most comfortable chair. When they were both seated, she leaned forward. “I don’t see any value in wasting time on meaningless platitudes, but if you insist …” Emily fixed a patently false smile on her face and simpered. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Johnson. Isn’t the weather glorious today? We’d best enjoy it while it lasts, because before we know it, the cottonwoods will be dropping their leaves.”
Though Deborah was tempted to smile, she did not. The girl was lovely, intelligent, and more than a little pampered. If she was like this all the time, it was no wonder Rob wanted Deborah to live here. Though he hadn’t said it, it was possible he sought someone to help soften some of his daughter’s rough edges.
“Social amenities have their purpose, but I will admit that I have almost as little patience for platitudes as you do.” Deborah smiled at Emily, wanting to ensure the girl understood she was her ally, not her enemy. “Tell me, though. Which side do you show to your suitors?”
Emily blinked, as if disconcerted by the question. “Why, the sweet one, of course. Not one of them seems to realize that I’m poking fun at them. They think I’m nothing more than a silly, brainless chit who’ll one day inherit a fortune.”
But, while Emily would indeed become an heiress, she was neither silly nor brainless. Deborah welcomed the surge of excitement that accompanied the confirmation of her initial belief that this assignment would be a challenge. Neither Rob Carmichael nor his daughter was a typical client, and that was good.
Fixing her gaze on Emily, she said, “The first thing you want from a potential husband is the ability to see behind your mask.”
Once again Emily appeared surprised by Deborah’s assessment. “Was I that obvious? Papa likes it when I put on my sweet face, and so do the men who come to call.”
“But that’s not the real Emily. You deserve a man who appreciates you for who you truly are.” Deborah tried not to frown as she thought about what might happen if Emily married a man who believed her to be a meek, brainless girl only to discover that she was bright and had a mind of her own. She could end up like Clara.
Try though she might, Deborah could not repress the shudder that swept through her at the thought of Emily suffering her sister’s fate, and she took a deep breath, vowing that would not happen.
“What appeals to you in a man?” she asked Emily, keeping her voice low and even. “How important is his physical appearance?” Many of her clients had had definite ideas of what their husbands should look like. “Do you prefer light or dark hair?”
Unbidden, Rob Carmichael’s image flitted through Deborah’s brain. Though she had always been partial to blond, blue-eyed men, she had to admit that Emily’s father’s dark hair and eyes were attractive. Very attractive. She brushed the thought aside. It was ridiculous to be entertaining such ideas. She was here to match Emily, not search for a husband for herself.
Emily dipped her head, leaving Deborah unable to see her eyes. “I hadn’t really thought about that.” The combination of her posture and the false notes in her voice told Deborah she was lying. “All I know is that none of my suitors make my heart beat faster.” This time Deborah had no doubt of the girl’s sincerity.
“That only means you haven’t met the right man yet. You will.” Deborah was confident someone in Cheyenne would recognize and appreciate Emily’s strengths. It was her job to find that man. And she would. Oh, yes, she would.
“Maybe.” Emily appeared unconvinced, but she straightened her shoulders and looked directly at Deborah. “Tell me why you decided to be a matchmaker.”
Though she wouldn’t divulge the details, there was no reason not to tell Emily the basic story. “I saw women in bad marriages and wanted to save others from the same fate.”
“Did you?” Emily’s dark eyes sparkled with interest.
“Yes.” Deborah had kept in touch with all the women she’d matched and knew they were happy. “Every marriage has its difficult times, but love makes those times bearable. And the rest of the time …” Deborah smiled, thinking of some of the couples who invited her to family celebrations so she could see how happy they were. “The good times are simply glorious.”
Nodding slowly, Emily fixed her gaze on Deborah. “Then why haven’t you married?”
It was far from the first time someone had asked her that. “Because God hasn’t sent the right man my way.” She’d had her share of suitors, particularly once she became established as a matchmaker and men realized she would be able to contribute to the family’s finances, but not one had touched her heart.
“You shouldn’t give up.” Emily flashed a mischievous smile at Deborah. “After all, you’re not old and gray yet.” She paused for a moment, obviously considering something. “Let’s make a deal. You find a husband for me, and I’ll find one for you.”
“So you fancy yourself a matchmaker?”
Emily shook her head. “No, but I like you, and I think you deserve to be happy. You believe the right man is waiting for me. Why shouldn’t one be waiting for you?”
As Rob Carmichael’s face flitted through her mind again, Deborah shook her head. Absurd! But, though she thought she’d long since outgrown the tendency to blush, she could feel color rising to her cheeks. Absurd!
“I can see you two ladies have gotten acquainted.” Rob helped himself to another slice of roast beef and smiled at his dinner companions. Emily seemed happier this evening than he could recall, and the smile she’d given him when they all sat down at the table had been almost playful—a welcome change from the normally serious daughter she’d become.
“Miss Johnson and I made a deal.” She gave the matchmaker a look that could only be called conspiratorial.
“And what’s that deal?”
“It’s not for me to tell.” Now Emily was back to being coy. “If Miss Johnson wants you to know, she’ll tell you.”
Rob turned his attention to the woman whose pale blue gown highlighted her eyes. “Well, Miss Johnson …” He used the formal salutation deliberately, hoping it would encourage Deborah to divulge whatever it was she and Emily had cooked up between them.
But the matchmaker didn’t take the bait. “It’s nothing that should concern you,” she said firmly. As she buttered a roll, she changed the subject. “Emily gave me a list of the men who’ve come calling. It was even more extensive than I expected and made me realize that my normal approach might not be appropriate here. I have several ideas I’d like to discuss with you.”
“Am I included in this discussion?” Though phrased as a question, Emily’s words sounded like a veiled demand.
“Do you want to be?” he countered.
“It’s my life, isn’t it?” Rob hadn’t been mistaken in thinking that something had happened to Emily today. Not only were her smiles different, but her response to his question was far more assertive than normal. In the past, she would have simply acceded to whatever he suggested. For a second, he missed his biddable daughter, but he had to admit that if she was going to marry, she needed to assert her independence.
“Yes, it is your life.” Rob wouldn’t dispute that, but the decision about including her wasn’t entirely his. “Is it all right with you if Emily joins us?” he asked Deborah.
While a part of him recognized the importance of involving his daughter, another part had been looking forward to time alone with the matchmaker. It was silly—downright silly—to be disappointed that that would have to be postponed.
“What do you think?”
“It makes sense to include Emily.” The smile Deborah gave him generated more warmth than the new stove Rob had installed in the dining room. “I’d thought you and I might discuss the ideas after dinner, but there’s no need to wait.”
Deborah cut a piece of meat and chewed it carefully before she continued. “I usually begin by meeting potential suitors individually, getting to know them before I introduce them to my clients. Since you and Emily have already met the men, that doesn’t seem necessary this time. Instead, I thought we’d hold a series of social events—dinners, parties, dances—so I can observe them there.”
He hadn’t expected that, but then again, Rob wasn’t certain what he had expected. When he’d heard about Miss Johnson, he’d had no preconceived notions of how she would operate other than that he’d expected to have minimal involvement. It appeared that he’d been mistaken.
“What will dinners and dances show you?”
Her response was instantaneous. “How they treat others as well as you and Emily. I want to see beneath the masks people sometimes wear.”
As Emily snickered, Rob turned to stare at her. Perhaps he’d been mistaken, for she appeared perfectly solemn, and yet he was almost certain of what he’d heard.
“Is something wrong, Emily?”
“No, no, Papa. I think Miss Johnson’s ideas are good.” But the almost imperceptible look she darted at Deborah told Rob he hadn’t been mistaken. Something was definitely going on between the two of them, and his daughter had no intention of divulging it. He’d have to ask the matchmaker.
For the remainder of the meal, the three of them discussed the details of the social gatherings Deborah had in mind. Then, when coffee was served, Emily excused herself, leaving Rob alone with the woman whose presence had had such an effect on his daughter.
“I like your approach,” he said as he stirred sugar into his coffee. “I want you to know there’s no need to spare any expense. All I care about is my daughter’s happiness.”
“I know, and I agree with you. Emily is a very special young woman. I want to see that she has a husband who’ll treat her the way she deserves.”
The shadow that crossed Deborah’s face was fleeting, yet unmistakable, leaving Rob to wonder what had caused it. He wouldn’t ask, for that would be prying, and he was the last person who would pry into someone’s private life. But there was one question he couldn’t resist asking.
“What was the deal you and my daughter struck?”
“Nothing, really. Just a joke.” But the heightened color in her cheeks gave lie to her words.
“Emily didn’t act as if it were a joke. What’s involved?”
Deborah was silent for a moment, and he could see the indecision on her face. Just when Rob was certain she would refuse to answer, she said, “Emily wants to find me a husband.”
A husband! Rob felt as if he’d been blindsided. It was foolish, of course, to feel that way. Deborah Johnson was a lovely, cultured woman. She ought to be married. Why, then, did the idea make him feel as if he’d been punched? That was ridiculous.