An Unwitting Alliance (Matchmaking Mamas) by Anneka R. Walker

Author:Anneka R. Walker [Walker, Anneka R.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2023-07-10T18:30:00+00:00

Chapter 18

Tom sat on the edge of his bed, trying to decide what was happening between him and Cassie. She was exasperating, not enticing. He groaned and fell back on his bed. She despised him—perhaps a little less than before—and he, like a royal fool, was drawn to her anyway. He would never sleep at this rate. What he needed was a distraction. He rolled off his bed and moved to his trunk, taking his lamp with him. Pulling it open, he dug around until he secured his mother’s letter. Why not torture himself a little more and read the Matchmaking Mamas’ advice?

He moved the first page to the back and saw the list his mother had referenced. He read the first one, from Lisette’s mother, who was as much an angel as her daughter.

If you want to love someone, you must serve them. Discover what she loves and surprise her.

—Mrs. Manning

It was a sweet sentiment and made him a little homesick for Brookeside. He breathed out a long sigh. “Sorry, Mrs. Manning. I tried surprise gifts: kittens, a mobcap, and a musical bearded man. She might have softened a little, but she did not fall in love with me over any of them.”

Not that that had ever been his intention. He massaged his eyes with his fingers. He was confusing himself.

Ignoring Mrs. Manning’s advice, he moved to the next line, written by Miles’s mother, Mrs. Jackson. She was quite sensible, and Tom had less apprehension about following her advice.

Sometimes having a push in the right direction is the best thing we never asked for. We often can’t see what we need, but our loved ones can. It never hurts to ask for help.

—Mrs. Jackson

He folded the paper and dropped it back into the trunk.

He slumped down next to the trunk and leaned back against it. Perhaps it was time to write to the Rebels. They needed an update about the workhouse anyway. He pushed himself back to his feet and dug out his writing box. He settled into the chair at the small desk in the corner of the room, situating his lamp so light spilled across the worn wood. After pulling out a piece of parchment and his pen and ink, he composed a short note addressed to Mother Hen. He detailed quickly the state of the workhouse and his proposed solution and paused. What should he say about his betrothal? It was best to be honest.

You will never guess, but the elusive Miss Smith and my betrothed, Miss Vail, are one and the same. You should feel quite responsible for this union, as my mother said our dance together sealed our fate. The only progress I have managed on the precarious subject of engagement is to question all my life choices. I fear I am about to commit the unpardonable and fall in love with my betrothed. I cannot decide which is worse: that I have encouraged a beautiful woman to become a spinster or that I have, in the process, convinced her that becoming one is better than being married to me.

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