The Blacksheep's Arranged Marriage

“Yes, yes.” Archer looked toward the dance floor, where his grandson was dancing with a willowy blonde, under a canopy of tall trees, discreet lighting and a starlit sky. “There’s still Peter.” He turned again to Ilsa, his smile gentle with the pleasures of a long life well spent. “I know I’m not supposed to ask, but any prospects for him as yet?”

“I’ve had a thought, but…” She shook her head. “No, I don’t think it’s right. He’d never get past who she is.”

Archer watched the dancers in silence for a moment or two. “Peter does have a fascination with the debutantes. The bluer the blood, the better he seems to like them. I’m afraid trying to work one of your introduction of possibilities with someone outside of that inner circle may prove difficult.” His lips curved with a very gentlemanly smile. “Of course, you’ve already proven yourself to be a miracle worker, Ilsa.”

“I’m having serious doubts about my ability this time.” She paused, hating to ask, but needing to know. “Can you tell me something about Peter’s life before he came to live with you, Archer? Not now, but perhaps we can have lunch one day soon and you can give me a little better understanding of him.”

With a soft sigh, Archer inclined his head. “Of course. That would, I think, shed some light on the man he is now. I will tell you that we didn’t even know Peter was in the world until he was nine. By that time, his mother had told him so many different things about this family, I honestly think he believed we were royalty or some such nonsense. If Janey hadn’t immediately set about to demystify the family history to make him feel a part, I’m not sure Peter would ever have felt he belonged with us.” Archer shifted his weight and brought his old eyes back to her. “I’m sure you know some of the story. We tried to keep the circumstances out of the newspapers, but it was quite a scandal at the time.”

“I heard some things,” Ilsa said, because it was true. “But because I knew James, I always believed there was a great deal more to the story than the newspapers printed.”

“James swears he never knew about the boy,” Archer said, his gaze steady on hers. “Janey and I believed then…and now…he would have done something to prevent the tragedy had he known.”

“James may be guilty of poor judgment when it comes to choosing a wife, but I know he genuinely loves his sons.”

Archer’s smile emerged with a touch of youthful glee. “I imagine you’ve noticed Monica’s conspicuous absence today.”

Ilsa didn’t want to show too eager an interest in those details, although she was dying to know what had happened between James and his latest fiancée. “I did wonder where she was.”

“Colorado,” Archer said with satisfaction. “Day before yesterday, she left in a huff. At James’s request.”

A whisper of excitement stole through Ilsa for no good reason. “I’m surprised she didn’t at least stay for the wedding.”

Archer chuckled. “She would have if James hadn’t been adamant about her leaving sooner rather than later.”

“A lover’s quarrel, perhaps?”

“More like an unholy war. He was unhappy with her from the start and I never thought he’d go through with the marriage, anyway. But the important thing is, Ilsa, that James is no longer engaged to be married and I think this could be the perfect opportunity to make an introduction of possibilities for him.”

That Archer had illusions of making a match between her and his son was no secret to Ilsa. What she hadn’t bargained for was the unexpected thrill of anticipation she felt at the possibility. “I believe I’ve said this to you before, Archer, but matchmaking is not a precise science and does hold more than its fair share of disappointments.”

He smiled, undaunted. “One of the wonderful things about being an old man, is that fear of disappointment isn’t much of a determent. But there, I don’t wish to embarrass you. I simply would like to give you this bonus check before I go out there and persuade my new granddaughter-in-law to shuffle once around the dance floor with me.” He extended the envelope to Ilsa again with a look that asked her to take it without further protest.

“Keep the check, Archer,” she said. “At least until we see if I can even come up with a suitable possibility of a match for Peter. At the moment, I’m beginning to doubt my own better judgment.”

Archer regarded her for a moment, then tucked the envelope back into his jacket pocket. “As I occasionally have told my grandsons, ‘Trust your instincts. God gave them to you for a reason.’ Or as Janey put it so much more eloquently, ‘Follow your impulse. You never know when one may turn out to be exactly, exquisitely right.’ And now, Ilsa, my dear, if you’ll excuse me, there’s a beautiful bride, who is, I believe, saving a dance for me.”

Ilsa watched him, marveling at what a courtly appearance he made as he moved through the crowd, never asking for the space to maneuver with his cane, but rather commanding it by the simple measure of a smile here, a word of greeting there. Her glance turned again to Peter, dancing now with Thea Berenson. A duty dance. Anyone looking at the mismatched couple could see that. Peter was nothing if not a gentleman. And Thea was, to her core, a lady.

Follow your impulse.

She let the possibility float as she watched Thea look everywhere but at the man who was holding her at a respectful distance, doing his best to initiate some conversation. And having little success with it, too. Ilsa caught sight of James, moving through the crowd toward her. Stopping to chat along the way, but catching her eye to let her know she was his destination.

Her heart picked up a silly rhythm of anticipation and she tried to force her thoughts back to Peter and Thea. Thea and Peter.

But James came closer and she began to smile without having any intention of doing so. For the moment, at least, she’d just have to set aside her reservations about a match for Peter Braddock and concentrate all her energy on not falling victim to his father’s considerable charm.

Chapter One

Peter tried on half a dozen shirts before he found the right one.

He didn’t want to look too formal, because that might make her uncomfortable. He didn’t want to look too casual, because that would make him uncomfortable. He didn’t want to wear anything too plain and have her thinking he’d dressed down in an attempt to match her, because that could be awkward, as well. But finally, he buttoned up the green Armani silk shirt and grabbed the matching tie, looping it around his neck and tying it in a neat Windsor as he trotted down the stairs, his jacket slung across his arm.

He did not want to be late for this date. No, sir.

What he wanted was to skip it altogether.

But he was descended from a long line of gentlemen and standing up a lady just wasn’t anything a Braddock would ever do. Even if he wanted to. Even if his grandfather hadn’t specifically asked him to do this one small favor for an old family friend. Peter couldn’t see that Davinia Carey was anyone’s friend, but that was beside the point. His grandfather had asked him, and Peter couldn’t refuse—wouldn’t even dream of refusing—this single, simple request.

So he would escort Theadosia Berenson—the nightmare date of all time—to Angela Merchant’s wedding and pretend there was no place he’d rather be and no one else he’d rather have at his side.

It was a small enough price to pay for all the Braddock family had given him. A home, when he had nowhere else to go. A family, when the only one he’d known fell apart at the seams. A name to take pride in, when he was marked by shame and scandal. He owed everything to Archer and Jane Braddock. And to his father, James. They’d saved his life, made a man of him. And a gentleman, at that.

Which was the reason Thea would never know she wasn’t his dream date for the evening.

He took the last two steps in one bouncy stride, loving the savvy click of his heels as they struck the marble floor.

“Peter?”

Slinging his jacket across his shoulder, he walked quickly to the door of the library, where Archer and James sat before a fire, the first of the season though—it seemed to Peter—more for ambiance than warmth, even now. An ivory chess set was on the table between them, the game clearly heating the normal father and son tensions. James had been at Braddock Hall for nearly five months now, longer than any of his sons could remember him staying in the past and, having recently broken his engagement, he was in the restless stage of being newly single again.

Peter recognized the signs, knew his father didn’t miss Monica as much as he missed the idea of himself with the young and beautiful Monica. But it was a good thing the relationship had ended when it had. Peter didn’t have any use for women like the ones his father invariably chose, and Monica had been the worst of the lot. So far.

“Where are you headed?” James asked, studying the chessboard before carelessly moving his pawn.

“To Newport. Angela Merchant’s wedding is this afternoon at four.” He smiled at his grandfather, proud to have been asked to perform this one small good deed. “I’m on my way to pick up my date.”

Archer didn’t smile back, looked slightly guilty even as he moved to block James’s bishop.

“Which beautiful blonde are you taking to this wedding?” James frowned absently as he studied the chessboard and Archer’s bid to check. “The lovely Lindsay? The delicate Daphne? The ethereal Emily?”

“Today,” Peter said in his most courtly tones. “It’s my privilege to be escorting Miss Thea Berenson.”

James’s frown turned dryly cynical. “Fine, don’t tell me who you’re taking.”

“I’m escorting Thea,” Peter repeated. “I’m picking her up at Grace Place and taking her to the wedding. As my date.”

James looked up then, his eyes—so like Peter’s own—narrowed suspiciously. “You asked Thea Berenson to be your date to Angela Merchant’s wedding?” he said incredulously. “Is this your idea of a joke?”

“No, sir,” Peter said, offended by the question, even though he knew most everyone would think what James was clearly thinking now. It was one thing to dance with someone like Thea at a social gathering. That was considered the mark of a gentleman. But to ask to escort an acknowledged wallflower to an event, to make it into an actual date, was another thing entirely. In the unwritten laws of chivalrous behavior, it was considered misleading, unkind and nothing a gentleman would ever do unless he had a genuine interest in the lady. Which, of course, Peter didn’t. But Archer had made the request and Peter wasn’t going to apologize to anyone for acceding to it. “I not only asked,” he told James with an easy smile, “but was accepted. That’s usually a prelude to a pleasant evening, as I fully expect this one to be.”

James looked at Peter thoughtfully, then his gaze swiveled to Archer. “Is this your idea of a joke? Thea Berenson? Come on, Dad. You don’t honestly think she and Peter could ever…”

“I honestly think Peter should go now before he’s late,” Archer said, with an upward glance that barely met Peter’s eyes before skittering away. “Davinia is a stickler about punctuality.”

Peter frowned, wondering at his grandfather’s odd tone. Surely, Archer didn’t believe Thea was that bad. She wasn’t much to look at, true. She didn’t have much to say for herself, either. And she wore clothes more suitable for a prim nineteenth century schoolmarm than a twenty-first century debutante. But Peter had never thought she was as hopeless as most people seemed to think. He’d certainly never thought of her as the ugly duckling some of his friends considered her to be.

Which didn’t mean he was looking forward to the evening. Quite the contrary. But he didn’t think it would be unbearable, either, as his father clearly did. And he didn’t believe Thea had any misconceptions about his reason for asking her out. They were attending the event together because their grandparents had decided they should. End of story. “Grandfather’s right. I should go. It wouldn’t do for a Braddock to be late for a date…no matter who it is or what the circumstances.”