The Matchmaker's Apprentice

“Of course not.”

“But I did the very thing you asked me not to do, the one thing you cautioned me about.”

“You’re guilty of trying to predict the future, Ainsley. That’s hardly the crime you’re trying to make it out to be. We all do it from time to time. Unsuccessfully, for the most part.”

“You wouldn’t have made this kind of mistake. You know you wouldn’t have.”

“I’ve made my share of mistakes, Ainsley. I still make them. Look at Peter and Thea Braddock. I was certain my intuition was leading me astray with them. While it worked out to be a true love match in the end, I’m still convinced that my part in it was misguided at best.”

“They’re perfect together.” Ainsley couldn’t believe Ilsa had any lingering doubts about the match. “Besides, I felt the same connection between them that you did. I encouraged you to put them together and, as they say, ‘all’s well that ends well.”’

“We did close the Braddock files rather successfully, didn’t we?” Ilsa’s slow smile hinted at the depth of her own successful romance with James Braddock, the father of Peter, Bryce and Adam. Ilsa had made matches for all three of James’s sons the previous year. Now she was rediscovering a happiness she hadn’t known was possible. Ilsa hadn’t married James as yet, but Ainsley thought it wouldn’t be long. And Ainsley herself deserved some credit for that romance, since she’d personally encouraged, prodded and pressed Ilsa to give James a chance.

“Maybe you would have set up the possibilities differently for Thea and Peter if you had it to do over again,” Ainsley said. “But the result is still a love match. Thea and Peter will only be happier together as time goes on. That wouldn’t have happened for Scott and Molly. They’re too much alike.”

“Many wonderful marriages are built on similarities and shared interests, Ainsley. Having a great deal in common is usually an asset in a relationship. Look at your parents. They’re a perfect example.”

Ainsley’s parents were the perfect example of having so much in common there wasn’t room for anything else, but of course, she couldn’t say that. Not to Ilsa. Not to anyone. “If Mom and Dad weren’t so totally dedicated to their work for The Danville Foundation, I’m not sure they’d have anything at all to talk about.”

Ilsa laughed. “Four wonderful children might warrant an occasional conversation.”

Ainsley wasn’t sure her parents realized they had children. They’d been gone nine or ten months out of every twelve for as long as she could remember. There could be no argument that The Danville Foundation dealt in noble causes or that its work was necessary and courageous. No one would ever accuse Charles and Linney Danville of being selfish, or of putting anything—not even their own family—above their commitment to their calling. For all practical purposes, their life’s work had required that Matt, Miranda, Andrew and Ainsley be orphans so that less fortunate children in other parts of the world could be saved from hunger, disease and disasters.

But as she’d always done, Ainsley shook off the feeling she’d been cheated somehow in the parenting sweepstakes. It was an unworthy thought and made her feel heartily ashamed of herself every time it bobbed to the surface. She returned her attention to Ilsa. “If my parents ever had a difference of opinion about anything, it probably would make headline news around the world. They even finish each other’s sentences.”

“You say that as if it’s a bad thing. I imagine Charles and Linney have had to depend on each other much more than most couples because of the nature of their work and the dangerous situations they’re often faced with. For them, having that innate understanding of each other could very well be a matter of survival.”

“I didn’t mean it in a negative way,” Ainsley said, hastily covering her tracks. “I’m just saying that if one of my parents had come to you as a client, you’d never have put them together as a couple.” She didn’t believe her parents would have married in the first place, much less stayed married for thirty-five years, if not for their absorption in, and dedication to, their humanitarian work. But she’d only voiced that opinion once, a long time ago, when she’d announced to her siblings her belief that Charles and Linney did not belong together. To say Matt and Miranda had given her a serious scold was putting it mildly. “You’d have chosen someone very different for both of them. You know you would have, Ilsa. I know you would have.”

“Perhaps,” Ilsa said with a smile. “Which doesn’t mean I’d have been right. The business of making matches is nothing if not subjective, Ainsley. I bring my own prejudices into it, just as you will. Despite your intentions for him, Scott fell in love with Molly. And even if, as you claim, they are too much alike to ever find a true happiness, that’s their discovery to make. You need to remember that we, as matchmakers, are merely facilitators of romance, not the judge and jury of whether or not the match will be successful. Once you’ve set the possibilities in motion, your role is to step back and observe what happens.”

Ainsley smiled for perhaps the first time since the wedding. Or rather, the non-wedding. “So do you think I should set up another introduction of possibilities and hope that this time Scott will sit down at the right table and fall in love with Shelby?”

“Absolutely not,” Ilsa said firmly. “Let your cousin work this out for himself. He will, believe me. Fortunately, as it happens, I have plenty of research to keep you busy while I’m away.”

“You’re going away?”

Ilsa’s smile held intimations of a sweet secret as she picked up a stack of files from the corner of her desk and offered them to Ainsley. “For two whole weeks. Maybe longer.”

“You’re going away?” Ainsley repeated as she took the files, the sheer weight of them telling her she could be busy putting together the necessary information for a very long time. She could hardly pretend she didn’t get the message. “By yourself?”

“James and I are taking a Mediterranean cruise. He’s managed to schedule some time off between training his replacement in Colorado and taking up his new position with Braddock Properties, so we’re stealing away for some R&R.”

“Wow,” Ainsley said, her spirits rebounding with their normal enthusiasm. “I’m impressed. Any chance you’ll put the man out of his misery and marry him before you return?”

Ilsa’s smile deepened. “You never know what might happen,” she said, then relented. “We’re having a small, family wedding before we leave.”

“Then what are you still doing here? Go home and plan a wedding.”

“What a lovely thought,” Ilsa said warmly. “I believe I’ll do just that.” She slipped the strap of her bag over her shoulder and came around the desk. “We’re leaving Friday, so you can reach me at home until then. After that, I’ll call you every few days just to make sure you haven’t run into any problems.”

“Don’t worry about me,” Ainsley said as they walked out together, the idea of being in charge at IF Enterprises for almost three weeks percolating with possibilities. “I can manage the office, and with all this research to do—” she indicated the file folders in her arms with a lilting shrug “—you know I’ll be too busy to even think about doing any more match-making on my own.”

“I’m counting on that,” Ilsa said, walking purposefully in the direction of the lobby.

Ainsley turned toward her own office, promising herself—and Ilsa in absentia—that she would stick to that resolve, no matter what.

Pushing the door inward with a bump of her hip, she paused for a second to appreciate the exquisite thrill she felt every time she entered this room. Her own office. And it had a view. Not so magnificent as the view of Newport Harbor that Matt saw every day through the windows of his office. Nor as pristine and pretty as Miranda’s view of the botanical garden which bordered her office, also in the Danville Foundation building, which provided untold inspiration for the landscapes and interiors she designed with such a detailed eye for color and space. Certainly not the sort of view Andrew claimed, even though he had little use for an office at all. His photography kept him outdoors or in his studio darkroom, and even Ainsley would have been hard pressed to say which he preferred.

Despite the fact that her view was blocked by another office building and showed only a sliver of sky, Ainsley had no desire to change a single thing about her office. She loved it, wall to wall, ceiling to floor, furniture, accessories, everything. She loved being able to say, “I’ll be in my office.” She liked knowing there was a place for her to go, work for her to do, somewhere she was needed and appreciated.

She liked being taken seriously, too…even if her first matchmaking attempt hadn’t done much to project that image. Ilsa didn’t seem to feel she’d permanently damaged her potential, though, so she was still on track to prove herself to her siblings. She would show them she was as serious about her career as they were about theirs. She wanted them to see her as an equal, an adult, and more than just their baby sister. As often as not, they still called her Baby, a nickname she disliked, but one that they considered affectionate and cute, despite her numerous complaints on the subject.

She’d win their respect yet, and make them proud of her…or die trying. She would.

For the time being, however, she’d concentrate on the research, just as Ilsa had asked her to do.

Ainsley’s phone buzzed and she hurried toward the desk so she could answer it. “Yes, Luce?” she said into the speaker.

“You have a guest.”

A guest. A client, maybe. Excitement bubbled up inside her. “Be right out!”

Dropping the files onto her desk, Ainsley headed for the reception area and her guest, hoping it wouldn’t turn out to be Bucky. The last time he’d dropped by her office, he’d sweet-talked her into taking the rest of the day off to help him shop for his mother’s birthday gift. As if she could just come and go as she pleased. As if her job wasn’t that important. As if he wouldn’t just buy a Hermes scarf for his mother’s birthday as he’d done every year for the past four years he and Ainsley had been dating.

It was true that Bucky wasn’t particularly original in his gift selections, although no one could fault his thoughtfulness in remembering special dates. Even occasions that most men wouldn’t consider worth remembering—like the four-month anniversary of their first dance or the two-year anniversary of their first kiss—were marked in his PalmPilot.

That was one of the things she liked about Bucky. He was steady, cautious and organized—three qualities she sometimes wished she had herself. She and Bucky had things in common, of course, but it was their opposite traits, the contrasts in their personalities, that made them a good match. Maybe a lifetime match. Ainsley hadn’t exactly decided about that possibility yet.

But the man standing by the front desk chatting amiably with Lucinda wasn’t Buckingham Ellis Winston, IV.

And the thrill that went through Ainsley at the sight of him was nothing like what she felt for Bucky…or anyone else.

“Ivan!”

He turned in time to see her fly across the lobby, smiling her delight as she launched herself into his arms. “What are you doing here? When did you get into town? Why didn’t you let us know you were coming?”

Ivan laughed as the words poured out of her in a rush and she wrapped him in a warm and enthusiastic hug. The first time he’d met Ainsley, she’d been a cute little thing on the verge of gawky adolescence, with a handful of freckles across her nose, a mouthful of braces on her teeth and some remarkably big ideas. He’d been twenty, determined, driven and very much aware of the difference between his background and that of the Danville clan.

Unlike Matt Danville, his college roommate, who’d been destined for the Ivy League since birth, Ivan had gotten into Harvard on a wing and a prayer. And it took every dollar he could scrape together to stay there. His parents couldn’t help much at all because his younger sister’s illness had wiped out what little they’d ever managed to save. Emma had died several years ago, just shy of her twelfth birthday, but the accumulated bills still had to be paid, so Ivan applied for a combination of scholarships, grants, loans and work-study assistance, and received enough to make Harvard possible. But there wasn’t any extra money for trips home to Texas during school holidays, and even less for weekend entertainment. Ivan knew it was a fluke that he and Matt had wound up as roommates, but they’d quickly become the best of friends, providing opportunities for which Ivan would be forever grateful. Matt had invited Ivan to join him for weekends at Danfair, the Danville’s ancestral home. He’d been included in trips to their beach house on Cape Cod and treated like a member of the family on many holidays and special occasions when Matt’s parents, Charles and Linney, were home for a visit. And that was only the beginning of the opportunities he’d been given freely because of his friendship with Matt. Not the least of which was the opportunity to be Ainsley’s extra brother, as she had dubbed him from the start.

“I just happened to be in the neighborhood,” he said, his voice falling into the old teasing patterns he’d always used with her. “Matt told me you’ve started a new career, so I had to come and see what you’re up to this time.”

She drew back, her hands still clasped loosely, affectionately, on his forearms. “Matt knew you were coming to Providence and he didn’t tell me?”

Ivan laughed. “I guess that means he didn’t tell you I’m going to be working just down the road from you, either.”

“You’re kidding! You got a position with the Providence hospital?”

“Better than that.” Ivan couldn’t keep the pride from his voice. In all his dreams of making a difference in the world, he’d never thought he’d be granted such an opportunity so soon. “Matt’s asked me to head up the new pediatric research center for The Danville Foundation. I’ll oversee treatment for the children with serious illnesses and work closely with the research team to develop the best regimen of therapy and medications for each patient.”

A flicker of dismay dimmed her smile for a moment, but it was so quickly gone he decided he must have imagined it. Ainsley was happy for him. She was always happy about everything. “That’s great,” she said, and although he might have wished for a bit more enthusiasm in her voice, her dimples showed and her blue eyes shone with excitement. “We have to celebrate! You have to come to Danfair tonight for dinner. And don’t even think of saying no.”

Ivan didn’t have the heart to tell her Matt had already extended a similar invitation. “You know I never pass up an offer of a free meal.”

She tilted her head, giving him a sassy smile. “Oh, it’s not free,” she said. “It’s going to cost you lots and lots of information. You have to tell everything you’ve been doing and the real reason you haven’t been back to Rhode Island in five whole years.”

“That’ll be a short conversation. I’ve been in Phoenix, doing my internship and residency. In all that time, I’ve had less than three weeks off, none of it longer than thirty-six hours at once. That’s the story.”

“Do not think for half a second I’ll let you off with that. No one works so hard they can’t find a single second to make a phone call or send a postcard. Give it up, Donovan. I have a sixth sense for these things, and I’m sensing a demanding woman and a lurid romance tucked away in those years somewhere.” She frowned suddenly. “You didn’t get married and forget to tell me, did you?”

“Oh, no, ma’am,” he said in his best and most exaggerated Texas drawl. “I’ve had no time for romance…lurid or otherwise. Being a doctor takes a big lot of energy and you know I’m nothing if not totally focused on my work.”

“Your best and most exasperating quality,” she said fondly.

The receptionist cleared her throat. Loudly. She was obviously anxious to be introduced.

“Lucinda.” Ainsley obliged. “I’d like you to meet Ivan. Dr. Donovan, this is our receptionist and all-around right-hand, Lucinda Reilly.”

He offered a handshake. “I’m happy to meet you, Lucinda.”

“Likewise, I’m sure,” she replied, darting glances at Ainsley as she let her hand linger in his. “You should probably know I’m highly susceptible to cowboys and doctors.”

Ivan hadn’t had a serious relationship for a long time, but he recognized an overture when it shook his hand. “If only I’d brought my lasso or my stethoscope,” he said.

“Don’t be fooled, Luce.” Ainsley took Ivan’s arm. “He’s no match for you when it comes to flirtation.” She looked up at him, raising her eyebrows in mock warning. “Stay away from her, Ivan. She’s the kind of woman your mother warned you about.”

“Hey, no fair,” Lucinda protested good-naturedly. “I didn’t even get to ask him if he likes to dance.” Her saucy I’m available smile winged his way once again. “I’m a sucker for any guy who knows his way around a dance floor, too.”

“Or any other kind of floor,” Ainsley said. “Don’t trust her, Ivan. She’ll only break your heart.”

Ivan grinned, liking Lucinda’s naughty-but-nice routine and loving the suggestion that Ainsley—even in jest—thought he needed to be protected from her. “I’m the original klutz on the dance floor,” he said with an air of regret. “Never even learned how to hokeypokey.”

Ainsley pointed a silencing finger at the receptionist. “Do not even think what you’re thinking,” she said. “And he is much too innocent to hear it said aloud.”

Lucinda laughed. “He doesn’t look innocent,” she said, reverting to a precisely professional voice as the phone rang.

“Oh, but he is.” Ainsley tugged on his arm. “Come on. I want to show you my office. Can you believe it? I have an office!”

“So your brother mentioned.” Ivan winked at Lucinda as he happily allowed Ainsley to lead him away. Busy on the telephone, the receptionist still managed to reply with a saucy wave of her fingers.

“And it has a view.”

“Matt also mentioned the particularly stunning view.”

She wrinkled her nose at him. “Oh, what does Matt know? He thinks I’m still six years old and playing Barbie Goes to the Office.”

He’d almost forgotten how cute she was. Even at thirteen, with braces on her teeth and a body that was gangly and awkward, Ainsley had been captivating. Silver-blond curls, blue eyes, dimples and an infectious giggle put her firmly in the adorable little sister category. Ivan had never known exactly why she’d so readily adopted him as a beloved older brother. Maybe it had been because Andrew often went traveling with their parents that year, while she’d been left behind to “improve her studies.” Or because Matt had gone to college and wasn’t there every day to fill the role of big brother. Or because Miranda was absorbed in her last year of high school and was impatient with the burden of being both mother and sister to them all. Probably it had been all of those reasons put together, plus more.

Whatever the reason, Ainsley had told Ivan—after he’d visited Danfair only a few times—that he would be her extra brother, and that’s the way she’d treated him ever since. It was a role he’d accepted with particular delight, teasing her as he would have teased his own kid sister, Emma, had she lived to be thirteen.

“You look very…professional,” he said to Ainsley, realizing that she did look quite grown-up in her azure blue suit, filling it out in a way he did not want to notice. He suddenly caught himself assessing the length of her skirt with a critical eye and checking the deep V of her blouse. She was showing a bit too much skin in both directions, but—extra brother or not—he knew better than to point it out. “This is a different, uh, style for you, isn’t it?”

“I didn’t think knickers and Little Mermaid T-shirts were quite right for meeting with clients.” Her dimples made another appearance. “I know it’s difficult for you and Matt to believe, but I’m not a little girl anymore.” She stepped inside a large, lovely room and flung out an arm to encompass it all. “This is it. My office.”

He took his time, walked about, looked carefully at the little touches that made this space distinctively hers. The photographs—all shapes, all sizes, all in heavy silver frames. The candles, scenting the room while casting a warm glow over the expensive furnishings. The not-quite-neat stacks of files on her desk. The colors—sunny, bright and cheerful. All of it reflected the exuberance of Ainsley. And yet, it was definitely a woman’s space, and not what he’d expected at all.

“I like your office,” Ivan said. “What do you do here?”

“Matt didn’t tell you?”

“He said I should ask you. So I’m asking. What do you do here at IF Enterprises?”

“Me, personally, you mean?” She was stalling, something he’d seen her do only when she was nervous and wanted to say one thing, but thought it more prudent to say something else.

“Yes,” he answered with a smile. “You, personally.”

“Personal relations,” she answered in a sudden rush. “It’s like public relations, only on a more, uh, personal level. It’s kind of hard to explain, but we do a lot of networking for people.”

The only occupation that came to Ivan’s mind involved résumés and high-level employment opportunities. “So IF Enterprises is some kind of elite employment agency?” he asked. “Matching a prospective client with the perfect position?”

“Something very much like that.” She gestured toward the window. “Notice the view? It’s really spectacular at this time of day.”

It was a vista of solid brick, with a sliver of sky thrown in for effect. “Spectacular,” he agreed. “I knew Matt was jealous the minute he mentioned it.”

“My poor brother,” she said with a husky giggle. “He doesn’t even try to hide his envy anymore.”

Ivan turned from the window and leaned back against it, feeling at home in a way he hadn’t since he’d left New England for the southwest. “What do you have to do to get a view like this?” His glance strayed to the haphazard piles of manila folders on her desk. “Whatever it is, it must involve a lot of filing.”

“Actually, Lucinda does the filing. My job, at the moment, is mostly research. I’m Mrs. Fairchild’s apprentice.”

“Apprentice?”

“More of an assistant right now,” she explained. “But once I’ve learned the techniques, I’ll be taking clients, too.”

Clearly, she was proud of herself for landing this position, for having this office, the stick-your-head-out-the-window-and-look-up view of the sky. And he couldn’t help but be proud of her, too, because she was so pleased with herself. He remembered all the times she’d confided her plans, wanting—needing—someone to listen and take her aspirations seriously. Matt, Miranda, even Andrew, had never seemed able to do that, so Ivan had been happy to be the “big brother” who listened and encouraged her to be whatever she wanted to be. He supposed, in their odd little family, her real siblings needed Ainsley to stay the baby, because it was important for them to feel they could protect her from the responsibilities they’d taken on too young. And as grown-up as she looked right now, there was still an air of innocence about her, a pure pleasure in her accomplishments. It was at moments like this that she reminded him of his sister, except that life had always sparkled in Ainsley, whereas in Emma it had never quite taken hold. “I’m happy for you,” he said, approval in his voice.

“Thanks,” she said, pleased. “I knew I could count on you to understand. Matt and Miranda—even Andrew, sometimes—think this is just another phase I’m going through and that I’ll change my mind about making it a career. But I really love working here and, Ivan, I’m good at it, too.”

“I never doubted it for a moment.”

She smiled as she leaned against the desk and crossed her arms at her waist, her legs at the ankles.

She’d always been a petite little thing, but there was a serious amount of leg showing between the hem of her rather short skirt and her trendy little shoes. Ivan had never before noticed the length of her legs, or the lovely shape of them. He’d never realized she was so…curvy, either. It had been several years since he’d seen her, true, but she shouldn’t have changed this much. Ainsley had grown up. Funny that he was so suddenly struck by that obvious fact. He’d have to get used to the idea that Baby had blossomed. Somehow just the thought made him uncomfortable.