To Walter’s concern, Gwendolyn looked up, caught his gaze, narrowed her eyes, then returned her attention to Cordelia for a second before she inclined her head and began heading his way.
“Your matchmaker doesn’t look happy,” Gideon muttered. “Which means I’ll bid you adieu for now.”
“You don’t want to meet her?”
“And have her begin interrogating me after she discovers I’m a bachelor? She’s representing two young ladies this summer—I think not. I, unlike you, am not in the market for a wife.”
With that, Gideon turned and moved through the crowd, leaving Walter alone to face what would probably be another contentious exchange with Gwendolyn, something he was becoming accustomed to.
“You’re late,” Gwendolyn said when she stopped in front of him, her green eyes flashing with temper.
Walter presented her with a bow. “How lovely to see you as well, Gwendolyn. As for why I was late, I was unavoidably delayed.”
“The children giving you difficulties?”
“Nothing out of the ordinary.”
“Then why are you late?”
“I needed a nap.”
The sparks in Gwendolyn’s eyes turned to flames. “A nap? You don’t have time for that type of nonsense. You should have been here right at nine, because while you were napping, or waking up from that nap, I was being inundated with requests to fill your name on dance cards. Lacking prior consultation with you, I was hesitant to act on your behalf, but if I’d have known you were at your leisure, I’d have . . .”
“Put my name on Cordelia Lowe’s dance card.”
“I was thinking more on the lines of Tillie Wickham, but since Cordelia just had the audacity to try to wheedle unfettered access to your social schedule by offering me a hat, one she claims is in the first state of fashion, she might end up with your name on her dance card as well.” Gwendolyn crossed her arms over her chest. “I don’t believe I’ve ever been so insulted. But hat nonsense aside, we are faced with a gargantuan task, further complicated by an eight-week timeframe, of which one week is almost over. You’re going to have to keep your napping to a minimum.”
Walter shrugged that aside. “It’s not imperative we acquire a suitable candidate this Season. The children have been running amok for years, so if we’re unsuccessful here, we’ll try during the New York Season.”
Gwendolyn’s face was suddenly wreathed in a far-too-innocent smile, which seemed incredibly un-Gwendolyn-like. “I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.”
“Why are you smiling?”
“Am I?”
“It’s a bit disconcerting.” He frowned as he rubbed his neck, where tension seemed to be rapidly increasing. “You’re not planning to leave Mrs. Parker’s employ in the near future, are you, hence the reason for the smiling?”
Her eyes sparkled. “I’ll say this for you, Walter, you’re quick on your feet, which may be a direct result of your being well rested from your nap. I wouldn’t claim I’m leaving soon, because from where I’m standing, the end of the Newport Season seems decades away instead of weeks. But yes, that is when my terms of employment with Mrs. Parker will come to an end.”
He tilted his head. “Are you leaving her employ because you’ve realized you’re not cut out to be an assistant matchmaker?”
“Of course not. I’ll merely have fulfilled the terms of my contract. However, if you had lingering doubts about my proficiency as a matchmaker, why did you give an expensive bracelet to Mrs. Parker to secure my assistance?”
“I knew you’d be capable of managing all the young ladies who’ve been clamoring for my attention because you’re a very managing sort. With that said, I’m still not convinced you’ll be the one to introduce me to my future wife, no matter how competently you manipulate my social calendar.”
Her eyes went from sparkling to glittering in the span of a heartbeat. “And that type of abject negativity is why I’m going to prove to you I can do an outstanding job of securing the best matches for the two ladies and one gentleman—that being you—Mrs. Parker is sponsoring this Season.”
Walter fought a smile. “You’re beginning to sound somewhat disgruntled about the whole matchmaking business, which suggests you should have availed yourself of a nap as well before you came to the Harper ball. That might have left you in a more pleasant frame of mind.”
Fourteen
It came as no surprise when Gwendolyn’s lips thinned before she took hold of Walter’s arm and propelled him through the ballroom, a militant look in her eyes, guests scattering out of their way as she marched him along. She then steered him down a hallway, then another, before he found himself on a terrace overlooking the ocean with an awe-inspiring view of the moon casting a glow over the waves.
On a normal evening, the view would have lent him a sense of serenity. But considering he was in the company of a lady bristling with animosity, there was nothing peaceful about his current situation.
“I take it you wanted to have a word with me in private?” he finally said after Gwendolyn presented him with her back and took to contemplating the night sky.
“I have more than a word to say to you, quite like you were more than loquacious with me this morning.”
“Was that only this morning?”
Gwendolyn stopped perusing the sky. “Yes, and to refresh your memory, we only met last night.”
Walter frowned. “Seems as if I’ve known you a lot longer.”
“Mutual animosity might be to blame for that.”
Walter choked back a laugh. “An excellent point. But to spare us another heated exchange if we delve into what’s behind that animosity, why don’t you explain why you whisked me out of a ball filled with promising candidates?”
“You suggested I should have availed myself of a nap at some point today. That indicated you haven’t the slightest conception of what a lady is forced to go through during a Newport Season. Frankly, there simply isn’t time in my day, or any society lady’s day, to afford the luxury of a good rest.”
“Perhaps overburdened ladies should schedule time to repose during the day. I find such an interlude restores my sense of humor.”
“I’ve yet to notice a stellar sense of humor from you, rested or not.”
“My gentlemen friends find me most amusing.”
“How lovely, but their opinion hardly matters,” Gwendolyn shot back. “To remind you, you’re out this Season to impress ladies. I suggest you put that sense of humor to use with them rather than wasting it on your gentlemen friends. That might aid us in whittling down the list, because you won’t want to further an acquaintance with anyone who doesn’t appreciate that particular trait.”
“I’ll take that into consideration.”
“See that you do. But to return to your suggestion regarding ladies and napping . . . Are you unaware that ladies are required to change their wardrobe seven to nine times a day throughout the Season?”
“Seven to nine times?” Walter repeated.
“Indeed, and not only do ladies change for every occasion—from morning gowns, to bathing costumes, to afternoon gowns, to driving ensembles, and the list goes on and on—Newport society ladies never wear the same garment twice. That’s why I was forced to send a frantic telegram to my cousin, Catriona Zimmerman, begging her to send me the numerous portmanteaus I left with her before I traveled to Newport.”