Page 8 of Calling on the Matchmaker
“If you’re sorry, lass, you know what to do.” He pointed at his cheek.
She crossed to him, lifted on her toes, and pressed a kiss against his cheek.
He in turn tweaked her nose, the sign that all was forgiven.
Mam, sitting on the settee of a matching green floral, patted the spot next to her. Her expression wasn’t as warm as Da’s. Frustration creased her pretty face. “We’ve been waiting for you. Poor Mr. McKenna has been here nigh an hour.”
Everyone said she looked like Mam with her dainty features, porcelain skin, and brown hair with tints of auburn. Da claimed that Mam had been the prettiest Irish lass he’d ever laid eyes on when she walked off the steamship gangplank. It hadn’t mattered that she’d only just arrived in St. Louis or that he’d been ten years older than her seventeen years. He went right up to her and told her he wanted to marry her.
Mam had smacked his cheek and walked away. But like mostpeople, she couldn’t resist James Shanahan’s efforts. And after a few months, Da won her heart and her hand in marriage. Finola had come along less than a year later.
Finola nodded at Oscar McKenna in the wing chair opposite her da and then at Bellamy, his youngest son, standing behind his father’s chair. It was rumored that at twenty-two, Bellamy was in line to take over his father’s matchmaking duties since there was speculation that Oscar was growing too old to know the needs of the younger generation.
Oscar certainly had the look of an older man with his thick gray hair and veinous nose—as though he’d had too many draughts of Guinness in his life, which was certainly a possibility since he owned and operated one of St. Louis’s busiest pubs.
If Finola had to take a guess, she’d put him at sixty. She supposed in his younger years, he’d been a dashing, dark-haired heart-stopper the same as Bellamy. Even though Bellamy was a full-blooded Irishman who’d immigrated with his family ten years ago, he had the swarthy skin of an Italian and would certainly not need a matchmaker to find him a wife.
Mam slid a hand across the settee and poked Finola before cocking her head toward Oscar.
Her mam was right. She still needed to apologize to Oscar. “I regret I was delayed, Mr. McKenna.”
And she did regret it. She shouldn’t have made her elders wait. Such marriage-avoidance tactics were simply too rude. She had to stick with what she did best—estranging ardent suitors.
“Ach, don’t be troubling your mind.” Oscar waved a hand. “Bellamy and I have already worked out many of the details with your father for your dowry and the sort of young man he’ll be expecting us to find for you.”
“What sort did you decide upon?” She tried to keep her tone calm, but her stomach was already churning at the prospect of going through the matchmaking process. She’d watched Oscarat work with other young couples, and he was good at what he did.
That was precisely the problem. She didn’t want him to be good. Maybe she ought to insist upon the untried Bellamy to take up her case. He’d turned his attention to the large painting hanging above the piano and was clearly bored with the matchmaking process.
Oscar exchanged a meaningful look with her da. “I always say that one of the main jobs of a matchmaker is to help you young people open your eyes and see the positives in other people that you might have missed.”
“Is that so?” Finola tapped a finger against her lip, trying to appear contemplative of his statement. “I’m sure Bellamy would have some good suggestions for suitable men with qualities I might have missed. Right, Bellamy?”
He shifted around, crossed his arms, and leveled his magnetic dark gaze upon her. His eyes were keen, as though he’d already seen right through her ruse even before she had the chance to put any plans in motion.
She hesitated only a moment before pushing forward. “I’d like Bellamy to pick the potential candidates. I think he’d do a fine job.”
Oscar’s bushy brows rose.
“Not that you won’t do a fine job too, Mr. McKenna. But I do think Bellamy needs to gain more experience. Why not allow him to handle my match? It would boost his reputation in the community and allow him to take over for you more swiftly.”
Bellamy’s gaze hadn’t budged from her.
She dropped her attention to her lap, waiting with what she hoped was a demure and innocent air.
“What do you think, Oscar?” Her da’s tone seemed to hold consideration for her idea. He always liked to encourage young men to pursue their aspirations and would probably see this as a way to help Bellamy.
“I don’t know,” Oscar started. “Bellamy’s still so young.”
Bellamy released a soft snort. “I’ve watched you and Granddad at your matchmaking for years.”
“’Tis true enough.” Oscar rubbed his big hands together, clearly warming to the idea. “Bellamy is no dozer. And he’s as wily as a leprechaun.”
At another poke from Mam, Finola sat up straighter.
“Will you cooperate with Bellamy?” Mam’s question was pointed. No doubt she suspected Finola intended to obstruct the matchmaking efforts.
“Of course I’ll cooperate with Bellamy.”
