* * *
Reese gathered up the contracts he’d brought with him and stuffed them in his leather briefcase. “I’ll make the changes you requested and send over the revised versions before the end of business today.”
“That will be fine.” Mrs. Singletary sat back in her chair, eyeing him closely, her hands primly clasped in her lap.
He’d worked with the woman long enough to know she had more to say. Something he probably wasn’t going to like.
When she remained silent, he braced himself and said, “Is there something else I can do for you, Mrs. Singletary?”
“On the contrary, it’s something I can do for you.”
He stifled a groan. Despite her unconventional reputation, the widow meant well. She had a kind heart. Her charity work spoke for itself. But she was also considered a matchmaker of the first order. A terrible thought occurred to him. Surely she wasn’t thinking of making him her latest victim.
“I’m probably going to regret this, but tell me. What is it you believe I need?”
“A wife.”
Reese pulled in a sharp breath and resisted the urge to snap back, to tell her he didn’t need—or want—her input on such a personal matter.
She is your most important client, he reminded himself. One he knew well. Her meddling was never malicious and, more often than not, had a way of bringing about good rather than harm. Eventually.
Even if he suggested, oh-so-gently, that she mind her own business, all she would say was that he was her business.
From a certain angle, she would be correct. Everyone in town knew he was her personal attorney. His actions reflected on her.
Still. She was dangerously close to crossing a line. “There are many men my age still unattached.”
She smiled at this, looking quite pleased with herself, as if his response was exactly what she’d expected from him. “True. But now that your father has stepped away from daily operations of your firm, it is up to you to ensure Bennett, Bennett and Brand remains the finest in town.”
“Agreed.”
“A wife will help you achieve that goal.”
“I had a bride picked out,” he said. “She begged off.”
“A blessing in disguise. You and Fanny Mitchell did not suit one another in the least.”
He gritted his teeth. “I disagree. We were an excellent match on many levels.”
“Not on the most important point. You weren’t in love.”
No, he hadn’t been in love with Fanny. And, as it turned out, she hadn’t been in love with him, either. But they’d liked one another, found many things on which to converse. They would have had an amiable, comfortable life together. “Love is not a necessity in marriage.”
“It is if you want a happy one.”
Again, he disagreed. Happiness was fleeting, like a wave driven and tossed by the wind. Companionship. Friendship. Those were the things that lasted. The things Reese desired most. He also wanted children, a family of his own.
He needed a wife first.
“I am not opposed to getting married,” he admitted.
“I’m glad to hear it, because your image needs improving.”
He tilted his head, fought off a surge of irritation. “I always comport myself in a manner above reproach.”
“Yes, yes.” She waved this off with a graceful sweep of her hand. “You are the quintessential man of integrity.”
“This is a good reputation to have.”
“The very best. But, Mr. Bennett, may I speak plainly?”
He doubted he could stop her. “By all means.”
“You are also considered stern and overly rigid.”
He blinked. “People think I’m...rigid?”
“I’m afraid so.”
He blinked again. Valuing lists and adhering to a tight schedule merely meant he knew how to plan ahead.
“I daresay a wife will soften your image.”
“Yes, you alluded to that already. I don’t have time to court a woman, especially now that Garrett Mitchell has left the firm.”
“Ah, now we’re getting somewhere. You see, my good boy—”
“Boy?” He let out a humorless laugh. He’d left his youth behind him a long time ago, the day Miranda had died in his arms. “I’m thirty-two years old and—”
“A very busy man.” She beamed at him, as if announcing something he didn’t already know. “That, Mr. Bennett, is where I come in. I will assist you in your search for a wife.”
He didn’t like the idea of this woman meddling in his life. But this was Beatrix Singletary, a determined matchmaker. Now that the notion was in her head, she would persist. Perhaps even go behind his back. He shuddered at the thought. “Define...assist.”
“I will find your one true soul mate.”
He’d already found her, when he was eighteen years old. “I’m not looking for a love match.”
“Now, Mr. Bennett—”
“I am firm on this point.”
She titled her head at an angle, her thoughts whirling in her gaze. She wasn’t going to let the matter drop. “Perhaps if you explained why you don’t wish to fall in love—”
“If I allow you to help me...” Was he really considering this? “I will expect you to adhere to my rules.”
“That goes without saying.”
Nevertheless, it needed to be said. “I mean it. Attempt to do things your way, or act on my behalf without my knowledge, and we’re done.”
“I understand completely.”
Did she? Time would tell.
“I will draw up a list of the most important qualities I want in my future bride.” Giving her specific requirements appeared the best way to retain control of the situation. “You will stick to the list.”
“Mr. Bennett.” She looked up at the ceiling and sighed dramatically. “Finding a suitable woman for you to marry cannot be approached with studied calculation.”
He stood. “Then I will bid you good day.”
“Now, now.” The widow sprang to her feet with less grace
