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Chapter Two

“Molly left Scott waiting at the altar and eloped with a cartoon character?”

The way Ilsa phrased it, the way her voice modulated the question into a simple inquiry, didn’t make Ainsley feel any better. If anything, having to relate the whole sorry story on a sunny Monday morning while sitting in Ilsa’s elegant office made it seem a thousand times worse. “It wasn’t really Mad Mack.” Ainsley stopped, realizing how ridiculous that sounded. “But, of course, you know that.”

Ilsa was patient—a trait Ainsley had run up against numerous times since she’d begun her apprenticeship six months ago—and she simply folded her hands on top of the polished cherrywood desk and waited.

Ainsley began again. “What we know is that Molly bolted out the front doors, jumped into a black sports car—which must have looked like the Mackmobile to Calvin—and was gone. Phyllis—she’s the wedding coordinator for the church—was so upset. She’s never had a bride elope before. At least not with someone other than the groom.”

“Molly didn’t leave a note?”

Ainsley shook her head. “No, and if she was having doubts, Scott didn’t have a clue. But then he never does.” Ainsley made a face. “He’s my cousin and I’m awfully fond of him, but he’s never been adept at reading emotions. Not even his own.”

“This must have been quite a shock to him.”

“He’s convinced himself she ran away with some guy who was a bartender at the restaurant where they met. Where Scott and Molly met, I mean. But I can’t really see her striking up a conversation with a bartender, much less running away with him.”

“It does seem an unlikely scenario,” Ilsa acknowledged. “On the other hand, IF Enterprises deals in possibilities and it’s been my experience that what seems impossible is sometimes exactly what happens. What I find more interesting is why she decided not to marry Scott…and why at the very last minute. The way you’ve described her, that does seem out of character.”

“It was my fault,” Ainsley said, blurting out her guilt in a rush and without an ounce of forethought. “It’s all my fault.”

Ilsa smiled. “How could Molly’s decision be your fault?”

Ainsley hadn’t meant to confess. When she’d walked into the office this morning, she’d had no inclination to own up to her part in the wedding fiasco. She didn’t want Ilsa to be disappointed in her, for one thing. She didn’t want to get fired, for another. But mostly, she didn’t want anyone else telling her she wasn’t responsible when she knew in her heart she was. “I set up the match,” she said, unable to prevent the misery of the past two days from welling up in her voice. “I know I wasn’t supposed to do any matchmaking until you gave me the okay. I know I’m only an apprentice and that I haven’t learned everything I need to before I start taking clients. But Scott’s a cousin. I didn’t think of him as a real client.”

She paused, briefly hoping Ilsa would just fire her on the spot so she wouldn’t have to confide the rest, but Ilsa didn’t say a word. “It was more like a…a favor,” Ainsley continued, feeling the words doubling up on her tongue, knowing she talked too much, too fast, when she was nervous. But there were mitigating circumstances in this case and she wanted Ilsa to understand. “I never meant to tell anyone—well, no one other than Miranda and my brothers—that you’d hired me as your apprentice, but with Scott, it just sort of slipped out. He pestered me about finding a match, begged me to set him up with someone who might want to have a relationship with him. He has a wonderful heart, but on the surface he’s your ordinary goofy, geeky type, the kind of guy women never give a second glance. I doubt he’s had more than a dozen dates in his entire life…and he’s nearly thirty.”

“Self-conscious, ill-at-ease, lacks confidence and consequently tries too hard.” Ilsa nodded. She understood the problems of a lonely heart.

“Yes,” Ainsley agreed, latching onto the sympathetic image. “On top of that, he’s never figured out how to handle social situations with any polish, so he routinely avoids them and spends way too much of his time in his lab studying the mating habits of bugs…or something equally unromantic and boring. His work is practically all he ever talks about, though, so when he pleaded with me to set up an introduction of possibilities for him, I couldn’t say no.”

“Naturally, you wanted to help your cousin.”

“Yes, and I just happened to know the perfect woman for him. You know Shelby Stewart, right? Well, she is exactly what Scott needs. She’s bubbly, fun and very different from him. Her personality would be such a complement to his. She’d bring out his sense of humor—he honestly does have one—and force him into social situations where he’d have to pull himself together. She’d put some sparkle in his life, and Scott is exactly the sort of man she needs, too. He’d help her organize her life—she’s been something of a wild child, you know—and provide her with some stability. He’d be good for her. She’d be good for him. They’d be good together. I just knew in my heart they’d be a perfect match.”

Ilsa’s expression remained interested, but neutral, so Ainsley stopped trying to justify her reasoning and rushed on with her confession. “To make a long story short, I set up a ‘chance’ encounter a couple of months ago. On Valentine’s Day. Except somehow, Scott wound up at the wrong table and met Molly by mistake. It was a fluke. Wrong place, wrong time, wrong table, wrong match…and it’s all my fault. If it hadn’t been for me, Scott would never have gone anywhere near The Torrid Tomato—it’s not his kind of place, at all. Too trendy and fun, if you know what I mean.”

An arching of eyebrows indicated Ilsa did know the place and what Ainsley meant.

“The truth is, Scott would never have been there if I hadn’t set up that introduction of possibilities with Shelby. He’d certainly never have noticed Molly if I hadn’t told him to keep an eye out for opportunity as he walked in. I wanted him to be thinking about something other than how uncomfortable he felt, you see, but I guess he took that to mean he was supposed to come in and start looking for Ms. Right. I don’t know what he was thinking. He was supposed to see me and come straight over to where I was sitting with Shelby. Then I was going to make an excuse to slip away for a couple of minutes and let them get acquainted. But he walked through the door and zeroed in on Molly, who was sitting all alone at a table for two back in the far corner. I still don’t know how he happened to see her, much less why he decided to walk over and introduce himself. I mean, he’s not normally brave. And I don’t know how she happened to catch his eye. She’s so shy and quiet, so timid and reserved…so much like Scott. Who would have imagined she’d invite him to join her for dinner? Or that he’d propose to her only a couple of days later?” Ainsley paused, knowing even as the words left her mouth that she should have imagined at least the possibility of something going awry. A good matchmaker would have thought out more than one scenario before she ever set up the initial encounter.

But she hadn’t.

The silence stretched and Ainsley finally forced her eyes up to meet Ilsa’s, made herself look for the censure she was sure she’d find.

Ilsa’s expression reflected only a thoughtful curiosity.

“You warned me to be cautious,” Ainsley said. “You told me to learn the basics, to be patient. But I completely ignored your advice because I was so certain Scott and Shelby would hit it off…and now it’s all a big mess. Scott is devastated. The whole Danville family is in an uproar. Uncle Edward has declared Molly will never be welcome in his home, so even when—if—she comes back, Scott won’t be able to forgive her without upsetting everyone all over again. It’s an awful situation and it’s all my fault.”

Ilsa, a master at interpreting even the slightest slip of the tongue, sat quietly for a moment. “Do you know why Molly ran away from her wedding, Ainsley?”

Time to face the consequences and divulge the worst truth of all. “She ran away because I said she was the wrong match for Scott.”

Ilsa blinked. “You said that to her?”

“Not those exact words.” Ainsley felt sick with regret. “And I said it to everyone present at the time, not directly to her.”

“When did this happen?”

“At the wedding rehearsal Friday night.”

“You told a couple, in front of their family and friends, and on the day before their wedding, that you considered their match a mistake?” Now there was astonishment in her voice, a startled surprise, a hint of dismay even her refinement couldn’t disguise. “Why would you do that, Ainsley?”

“I didn’t mean to. I tried to finesse my way out of the question, but Scott wouldn’t let it go. He wanted to tell everyone I was responsible for matching him up with Molly…as if I’d want people to know I’d put together such a mismatch. I reminded him that he’d promised to keep my secret. That he’d sworn he’d never reveal my part in the setup, not even to the woman I’d matched him with. But at the rehearsal, he was like a little kid, so excited and emotional and wanting everyone to understand how happy he was. There was a lot of champagne flowing, which didn’t help matters, and suddenly, he stood up and told the entire gathering he and Molly owed their happiness all to me and that they were going to name their first child after me.

“Needless to say, it was an awkward moment and before I realized how it would sound, I blurted out that if I’d had anything to do with it, he’d be marrying Shelby Stewart, not Molly.” Ainsley winced at the memory. “The minute I saw the look on Molly’s face, I knew she realized I’d never intended for her to meet Scott, that I’d meant him to meet Shelby instead, no matter what he believed.”

“Scott told her you’d set up that initial meeting at the restaurant?”

“Probably the first words out of his mouth.” Ainsley shifted in the chair. “He’s even worse at discretion than I am.”

“Perhaps it would have been better if you’d kept your own counsel,” Ilsa said, her smile unexpectedly gentle. “But Ainsley, I don’t see how you can take the blame for everything that happened. Your only true mistake was in concluding the outcome of your introduction of possibilities was the wrong one.”

“Please don’t try to make me feel better, Ilsa. Scott and Molly aren’t simply a bad match. They’re totally wrong for each other.”

“You seem so certain about that.”

“If you spent five minutes with my cousin, you’d be certain, too.”

Ilsa considered that, as she checked her watch. “You’ll discover, Ainsley, if you continue your apprenticeship, that an introduction of possibilities is fraught with…well, with possibilities.”

“Is one of those possibilities my unemployment?”

“What?”

“Are you going to fire me?”

“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?”