Page 21 of Calling on the Matchmaker
Riley smiled politely at Da. “He’s as tough as buckboard if not tougher.”
She was nearing the last of the stairs, and as she did so, Riley held out a hand as any gentleman would do to assist her descent. “You look lovely this eve, Miss Shanahan.”
“Thank you, Mr. Rafferty.”
As she paused two steps above him, their conversation from the tenement yesterday played through her head, especially the dark shade of blue his eyes had turned as he’d peered up at her and told her she was unforgettable.
When he’d scanned her as if he was remembering exactly how she’d looked in her chemise and underdrawers, she’d been mortified. But strangely, she’d liked his attention—although she would never in ten lifetimes admit it to him.
Tonight, his blue eyes were lighter, less playful, as though he was taking this meeting seriously. She knew she could do nothing less than use good manners in return.
She placed her hand in his. As his fingers closed about her white kid gloves, the warmth and solidness of his touch penetrated the silky layer. What would it be like to hold his hand without the glove between them?
Hold his hand? Really? What was coming over her to wonder about such a thing?
She kept her attention focused on the final steps. The moment both her feet were standing solidly on the hallway tile, she tugged her hand free.
Thankfully, he didn’t let his hold linger. With nothing morethan a last glance her way, he allowed Bellamy to usher him into the parlor with Da and Kiernan.
Bellamy paused in the doorway, cocking his head toward the settee and chairs near the hallway fireplace, which was crackling with flames. “I don’t mind you waiting nearby, Finola. And I certainly won’t mind you voicing your questions or concerns when we’re finished.”
Mam and Enya had already descended. Through a gap in the doorway down the hallway, Finola glimpsed the faces of her other younger siblings, including Madigan. Having the matchmaker there to begin negotiations was a momentous occasion, and she didn’t blame her siblings for their curiosity.
“Thank you, Bellamy,” her mam said as she began to guide Finola toward the settee. “We’ll be just fine sitting out here, so we will.”
Bellamy nodded but then paused and gave Finola a steady look—one filled with assurance and confidence. “It’ll work out just the way it needs to. You’ll see.”
She wanted to blurt out that he was wasting his time with her, that she was a hopeless case, that instead of helping to solidify his standing as a successful matchmaker ready to take over for Oscar, she was about to ruin his reputation.
But before she could confess, Mam situated her on the settee and took the spot next to her.
7
All Riley could think about was the fact that Finola was sitting in the hallway just outside the parlor, and she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever laid eyes upon.
Why was it that every time he saw her, she was prettier? It wasn’t just because her evening gown was off the shoulders, giving him a feast of her pale freckled skin. He’d tried not to stare so that her parents didn’t think he was pursuing her to get her into his bed.
That wasn’t why he was doing it, although he had to admit, the more he thought about her, the more he was looking forward to being fruitful and multiplying.
Bellamy had informed him on the ride over that the meeting was nothing more than a simple get-to-know-each-other. If the introductions went well, then they’d set up another night to pluck the gander, the process of negotiating what the prospective bride and groom would bring to the marriage. Once the details were worked out, they’d eat the gander, which was an old way of saying the bride’s family would provide a meal to celebrate the match.
Tonight’s meeting was the true test. If he didn’t pass it, there would be no plucking, eating, or any other gandering.
But as far as he could tell, the meeting with James Shanahan and his son Kiernan was going well. They’d discussed the newly elected president, Zachary Taylor, a Whig, who would be taking office in March, and how President Polk had finished installing gas lights in the White House just in time for the new president to enjoy them.
They’d also conversed about the end of the war with Mexico now that the signing of the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo was completed. As part of the negotiations with Mexico, large sections of land had been given to the United States in the West. Shanahan was interested in the new territories and what that meant for the growth of the country. More importantly, they discussed the implications for the growth of St. Louis as more people arrived, eager to head to the new territories.
They deliberated Riley’s bid to become St. Louis’s next mayor, and Shanahan inquired about the issues that Riley wanted to address, including more housing for immigrants, safer drinking water, additional paved streets, and more. Although Shanahan didn’t specifically offer an endorsement, Riley sensed the man liked his plans, and hinted that his support and backing would be an advantage to marrying into the Shanahan family.
By the time they’d talked for the better part of an hour, according to the mantel clock, Riley had finally ceased perspiring and settled into the wing chair he sat in across from Shanahan.
“So, Riley Rafferty.” Shanahan uncrossed his legs and sat forward, a Cuban cigar dangling from his fingers. “You think you can win over Finola?”
The question knocked into Riley, jolting him out of his comfortable lull and pushing him to the edge of his seat. The chitchat was over, and now the real meeting was about to begin.
Shanahan’s gaze was direct. “Bellamy believes you’re up for the task.”
Riley shot a look at the young matchmaker, who was reclining on the settee as relaxed as if he were on a Sunday picnic on a summer day.
