of every journey as it comes.”
The words were entirely too profound for an evening at the opera, alerting Callie that the widow, in her non-too-subtle way, was encouraging her to relax her serious nature.
It wasn’t the first time she’d let Callie know her opinion on the matter. Arguing now would be useless.
“Yes, Mrs. Singletary.” Callie inclined her head in a polite nod. “I shall try my best to heed your advice.”
“That is all I ask.” The widow settled back in her chair, but not before Callie caught a speculative gleam in her eyes.
Oh, this was bad. Very, very bad.
As if to confirm her suspicions, Mrs. Singletary ignored the performance and turned her attention back to the box across the auditorium. She held steady for one beat, two, then continued circling her gaze around the auditorium, stopping at seemingly random spots along the way.
Or, perhaps not so random.
If Callie wasn’t mistaken, the widow only paused to consider single, unattached men around Callie’s own age before moving on to search out the next section of seats.
Callie wanted to smack her hand over her eyes and groan aloud. Mrs. Singletary was hunting out suitable young men to court her.
Oh, Lord, please, no.
It was no secret the widow considered herself a skilled matchmaker. And why not? She’d made several high-profile matches in the past two years. Her most recent success had been her former companion, Molly Taylor Scott. Callie’s closest, dearest friend, Molly was now married to one of Callie’s older brothers. And—
No. Oh, no.
Mrs. Singletary was attempting to find Callie’s one true soul mate. It didn’t seem to matter that she’d made it abundantly clear she wanted no part in the widow’s matchmaking schemes, either as an accomplice or the object of a pairing.
Callie hadn’t made this declaration because she didn’t believe in love, or want to be happily settled. She did. So very much. But the one man—the only man—she wanted could never be hers.
If only he hadn’t asked another woman to marry him. If only that woman hadn’t been Callie’s sister, a woman who would come to her senses any day now and ask Reese to take her back.
The third act came to an abrupt, dismal close.
Mrs. Singletary enthusiastically applauded the performance. Callie very much doubted that look of joy on the widow’s face had anything to do with the spectacular singing and superior acting.
As soon as the lights came up, Mrs. Singletary rose regally to her feet. “Come along, Callie.” A cagey smile played across her lips. “It’s time we indulge ourselves in conversation and refreshment.”
Callie would rather stay behind. Unfortunately, that particular activity was not in her job description.
Giving in as graciously as possible, she squared her shoulders and followed the widow to the curtained exit of their box seating. Against her better judgment, she glanced over her shoulder and allowed her gaze to find Reese once again.
If only...
* * *
Reese remained in his seat during intermission, while his father left to work the crowd in the atrium. He knew he was ignoring his duty. As the new managing senior partner of his family’s law firm, Reese should be circulating among the other opera patrons, engaging in small talk with current clients and scouting out potential new ones.
At the very least he should make a point to speak with the firm’s most important client, Beatrix Singletary.
Reese couldn’t drum up the enthusiasm.
He’d already endured three acts of the ghastly Roméo et Juliette. He needed this moment alone to gather the fortitude he would need to suffer through the remaining two acts. He didn’t especially dislike opera, not in general, just this particular one. The main characters’ senseless behavior struck an unpleasant chord.
The impulsive, reckless actions of youth, the unchecked passion that overwhelmed all common sense and eventually led to needless death, it was all so...familiar.
Reese battled against the fourteen-year-old memories always lurking at the edges of his calm nature. They came stronger tonight, momentarily bringing back the fear. The helplessness. The searing pain of grief he’d vowed never to experience again.
Love was a costly proposition best avoided.
Poised between the pull of the past and a need to push toward a predictable, steady future, he looked out over the nearly empty seating below.
The din of conversation and high-pitched laughter grated on him. He kept his reaction hidden behind a blank stare.
To the outside observer he probably appeared to be enjoying this moment alone. If anyone looked closer, would they sense the dark mood beneath? Would they falsely attribute it to his broken engagement with Fanny Mitchell?
He shifted in his seat, fought off a frown.
He regretted losing Fanny, as one might regret the loss of a good friend. Her erratic behavior had given him pause, though. He’d been so careful in his choice of brides, so meticulous. Fanny had seemed a good fit. Until her sudden change of heart had revealed an inconsistency in her character that Reese had missed originally.
Though unexpected, her actions had saved them both a lifetime of regret.
Enough. Enough thinking. Enough pretending he was enjoying himself. There was nothing keeping him from leaving. He would rather spend his time pouring over legal briefs, anyway. The dry, precise language always managed to restore his tranquility.
Decision made, he stood, turned to go and...
Froze midstep.
He was not alone in the box. Two women had joined him. But when? He hadn’t heard them enter. How long had they been standing there, watching him?
The older of the two gave him a slow, significant smile, alerting him that he was staring.
He firmed his expression and opened his mouth to speak.
The widow cut him off before he could begin. “Why, Mr. Bennett, I believe we caught you on your way out.”
“You did.” He hooked his hands together behind his back. “That’s not to say your arrival isn’t a pleasant turn of events. Good evening, Mrs. Singletary.” He inclined his head in the widow’s direction. “You are a vision as always.”
He didn’t need to catalog her attire to know this to be true. She spared no expense when it came to her clothing and made sure her personal style rivaled any woman in Paris, New York or London. As a result, Beatrix Singletary was undoubtedly the best dressed in all of Denver.
“That is very kind of you to say.” She swept her hand in a graceful arc. “I believe you know my companion.”
“Of course.” Reese continued to look into the widow’s eyes another
