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The Matchmaker's Apprentice
Karen Toller Whittenburg
Matchmaker, Matchmaker, Get me a date with a wonderful mate!When You're Playing Cupid…The minute Dr. Ivan Donovan saunters into her office, Ainsley Danville's got only one thing on her mind–proving her genius for sniffing out soul mates. The handsome Texan is, in her professional opinion, a marked man. As soon as she sets up his "date" with destiny–her unsuspecting sister, that is–his life as a fancy-free bachelor will be over.Don't Shoot Yourself In The Foot!Ainsley's very first match, though, is a complete catastrophe. While trying to ignite the spark of passion between her clients, her matchmaking career starts going up in smoke. Because she's fallen for Ivan herself!
“I have other plans for you,” Ainsley said
The words were out before she quite realized how much they gave away.
Ivan lifted his eyebrows. “Now, that’s an intriguing possibility.”
She gave him a blithely mysterious smile, as if she wasn’t frantically trying to figure out a way to cover her tracks. “I think so, too.”
“Let’s see…you need a burly hunk of man to move your furniture? Is that it?”
“It could be, but it isn’t, although I can see where you’d want to picture yourself as the burly-hunk kind of furniture mover.”
“I’ll be happy to show you my muscles if you have any doubts about that.”
He was teasing, she knew, but the image of him bare-chested and flexing his biceps for her inspection brought a flush of heat to her cheeks again….
Dear Reader,
Once in a while, a character appears in a bit part and winds up stealing the scene. In my last series, THE BILLION-DOLLAR BRADDOCKS, I intended Ainsley Danville to have only a walk-on role, but she charmed me into thinking she needed a story of her own. To my surprise, she wasn’t satisfied with just one. She needed at least three in order to prove she could become an extraordinary matchmaker like her mentor, Ilsa Fairchild. And that’s how this series, MATCHMAKER, MATCHMAKER, came to be written.
Harlequin American Romance novels are stories about home and family, about love, commitment and the belief that there is a happily ever after. The Matchmaker’s Apprentice is no exception. I’m privileged to have spent the past year with Ainsley, and I hope you will love her enthusiasm for life as much as I do.
I appreciate the wonderful editors whose experience and insights make these books the best they can be. I appreciate the other writers of Harlequin American Romance novels who continue to raise the bar on quality. But most of all, I appreciate you, the reader. You’re the reason books exist—you make it all worthwhile.
Thank you.
Karen Toller Whittenburg
Books by Karen Toller Whittenburg
HARLEQUIN AMERICAN ROMANCE
822—LAST-MINUTE MARRIAGE
877—HIS SHOTGUN PROPOSAL † (#litres_trial_promo)
910—THE C.E.O.’S UNPLANNED PROPOSAL * (#litres_trial_promo)
914—THE PLAYBOY’S OFFICE ROMANCE * (#litres_trial_promo)
919—THE BLACKSHEEP’S ARRANGED MARRIAGE * (#litres_trial_promo)
The Matchmaker’s Apprentice
Karen Toller Whittenburg
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
For Cindy and Cody
With best wishes for your own
Happily Ever After
Contents
Chapter One (#u338a58ff-d58b-53c9-b8d3-ab306e7d4165)
Chapter Two (#u2432ef1f-3d92-54ec-9fd8-7a1197c0e107)
Chapter Three (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Dear Diary,
It’s finally appened. I’ve met the man I’m going to marry!
I’m in love!
Deeply. Passionately. Awesomely in love with Ivan Patrick Donovan.
Ivan Patrick Donovan…. Ivan. Ivan. Ivan.
It was love at first sight for him, too. I know it was!
It happened the very minute Matt introduced us tonight. Ivan smiled at me and my heart stopped. I mean, it really stopped! I could hardly breathe. He’s so handsome! So tall! So gorgeous! His hair is blond, but darker than Miranda’s honey blond. Not reddish-blond like Andrew’s, either. And it’s way darker than mine. Ivan’s is like the sun…except deeper. Sort of brown, but with a lot of gold, too. His eyes are dark. Not black—that would be too ordinary, too…one-dimensional. They’re like the color of winter midnights—dark and mysterious and…No, winter is too cold, too frozen, too blue to describe anything about him. His eyes are more like summer nights—misty and profound and…fiery. Fiery eyes. They blazed into my very soul!! He has passionate eyes…with hidden depths. And his voice—it sent shivers right through me! It’s deep and husky—he could be on the radio if he wanted. But he’s going to be a doctor. He told me. “I’m going to medical school,” he said. Just like that. So confident. So positive. I told him I’m going to be an astronaut and he didn’t laugh. Not like Matt and Miranda did when I told them. Ivan thinks I’m smart enough to be anything I want. He didn’t say that, but I could see he believes I can do it if I want to. He shook my hand, too, like I was twenty instead of only thirteen. He smiled—did I mention how wonderful his smile is? He might have worn braces, but I don’t think so because he has this one sort of crooked tooth. Just the tiniest bit of a slant…but it makes his smile seem really real. If you know what I mean. He is more handsome even than Matt, who is plenty handsome…for a brother. And his laugh is even nicer than Andrew’s, who has the best laugh I know, even if he is my twin. Ivan acted all surprised and startled when he saw me. Well, really, I ran right into im. Andrew and me—I mean, Andrew and I—were skating in the ballroom and I was so determined to win I didn’t know anybody was there and I skated right into Ivan. Kind of hard, too. But he just laughed. Matt scolded me for not watching what I was doing, but Ivan smiled at me and I knew he didn’t think I was just a silly kid.
I think that’s when Ifell in love, but it wasn’t until Ivan said, “You’re Ainsley? Matt’s little sister, Ainsley? The way he talks about you, I was expecting an adorable little toddler, not a beautiful, young lady. Shame on you, Matt, for not warning me your baby sister is already a heartbreaker,” that I knew for certain. Me? A heartbreaker? I could have died!! My heart, my soul, my whole being just melted!! He talked to me all through dinner, too, pretending he didn’t know which fork to use or which glass and stuff like that. He said it was because he grew up on a farm and they didn’t have fancy dinners, but he was only being funny. And he liked talking to me. I could tell. And it didn’t make any difference that he’s older than me. Or that he’s in college and I’m only in seventh grade. Our hearts were made to beat as one. It’s like we knew each other in another life! And when I had to go upstairs to do my homework—I’ll never forgive Miranda for being so bossy!!!—Ivan said in his deep, wonderful voice, “I can’t tell you how glad I am finally to have met you, Ainsley.” Finally. He said it just like that. Like he knew it was our destiny to meet. Like he’d expected us to fall in love at first sight. Like it was kismet or something. Like he recognized that I was his destiny, just as I know he is mine.
I hope he comes home with Matt next weekend, too. And every weekend from now on. By the time they graduate from college, I’ll be almost sixteen. Old enough to date. Old enough to be taken seriously. Old enough to marry Ivan and live happily ever after! Forever and ever and ever….
Mrs. Ivan Donovan. Ainsley Elizabeth Donovan.
Ainsley Danville Donovan.
Ainsley loves Ivan. Ivan loves Ainsley.
Ainsley and Ivan forever.
October 31
Dear Diary,
I can’t believe I just found this old diary again. And on Halloween, too! Spooky, huh? I thought I’d lost it forever, but there it was in my closet, stuck in that stupid Cinderella backpack I used to carry in junior high. I can’t believe I was such a total airhead back then. Cinderella!!! Can you believe I was ever so drop-dead dumber than dumb? The backpack was probably Miranda’s idea of a great birthday gift. Or Matt’s. They’d like to think of me as a little girl forever and ever and ever. They hate the fact that I’m a grown-up. But I’m in high school now and Andrew and I will be fifteen on our next birthday. Sooner or later, Miranda and Matt will have to stop treating me like such a baby. They don’t do that to Andrew…and he’s only an hour and twenty minutes older than me. When he says he’s going to be a professional photographer, they fall all over themselves to encourage him. Of course, he’s talented. I’m not saying he isn’t or that he shouldn’t be a photographer because he’ll be really, really good at that. I’m his twin. I know these things. It’s just that when I say I’ve decided I’m going to be a professional matchmaker everybody just laughs and reminds me that I said I wanted to be an astronaut when I was thirteen and an engineer when I was eleven, and a fairy godmother when I was six. Miranda likes to points out that I’m not really suited to any of those positions, although a lot she knows about it. I could be suited to be an engineer or an astronaut if I wanted to. But I want to be a matchmaker! Which is the same as a fairy godmother, when you think about it, and that’s what I’ve really always wanted to be. I just said I wanted to be other things so Matt and Miranda wouldn’t tease me, so they’d encourage me like they do Andrew. But they never take me seriously, no matter what I do. And the thing is, I know I’ll be good at being a matchmaker. I just know it! Matt says I shouldn’t worry about a career, that I’ll have plenty of time to decide once I get to college. I’m not even sure I want to go to college. I already know the important things about being a matchmaker. I believe in Love and Romance and Happily Ever After. All my friends ask me for advice about their romantic interests. I’m good at giving advice. I really, really am. I’ll be a great matchmaker and someday I’ll have my own office—with a view—and the business will be called F.G. (short for Fairy Godmother, except I won’t tell Miranda and Matt what it stands for!) Matchmaking. Then they’ll think twice about calling me “Baby.” Ugh.
I used to be able to talk to Ivan about stuff like this, but he’s gotten so serious since he’s in med school and he never has time to play Ping-Pong with me when he does come to Danfair…which is not very often anymore. I don’t know why I thought I was in love with him, anyway. He’s just like a brother and teases me almost as much as Matt and Andrew. And he looks at Miranda like she’s ice cream. Maybe I’ll make them my first assignment as a matchmaker. Ivan and Miranda. Ha! It would serve them right if I got them together and they ended up married. Then they’d have to stop teasing me about wanting to be Cinderella’s fairy godmother. Then they’d have to admit I know what I’m doing. Then I’ll find somebody for Matt and he’ll have to admit I’m a good matchmaker. And Andrew…well, he is my twin. He may not need much help.
Oops, gotta go. A whole group of us are going trick-or-treating and then to a party at Sabrina’s house and I think Collier might try to kiss me tonight. I haven’t decided yet if I’ll let him. I’m off….
P.S. Don’t get lost again, okay?
Chapter One
Discretion was not Ainsley Danville’s strong suit.
Which was why she was standing at the back of the Newport Presbyterian Church—the second of three bridesmaids who were all wearing silky poufs of lavender organza—and waiting for the wedding coordinator to cue her entrance. Ahead of her, a bower of roses lined the doorway like a dowager’s perfume, thick and thorny with fragrance. Pachelbel’s “Canon in D” gushed from the pipe organ in a waterfall of chords, beckoning the bridesmaids forward and down the aisle. The flames of a hundred candles lent an eerie glow to the dark interior of the old church, lighting a sure path to disaster.
Ainsley clenched the nosegay of pink rosebuds in her hands and watched as her elder sister, Miranda, the first bridesmaid, started down the aisle. Ainsley craned her neck to catch a glimpse of the groom. If he had any sense, he’d be halfway to Canada by now. But no. There he was, her cousin Scott, looking slightly less geeky than usual, so hopeful and eager to see Molly, his bride, it was heartrending. He was about to make a terrible mistake. Ainsley knew it in the depths of her matchmaker’s soul. And it was her fault.
She had wanted to be a matchmaker for as long as she could remember. Well, actually, she’d started out wanting to be everyone’s fairy godmother. While other little girls dreamed of being Cinderella, Ainsley had practiced waving her sparkly plastic wand and sending the transformed Ella off to the ball, where she would meet the man of her dreams…a prince who would fall madly, instantly in love because he’d been cunningly placed in her path by her wise fairy godmother. That was the way happily ever afters really happened.
Ainsley had suspected it for years, long before she began reading everything—nonfiction, fiction, biographies, cultural histories—anything with even a slight relevance to the art of courtship and marriages. She’d weathered her family’s teasing and a lot of snickering from friends. But a matchmaker is what she wanted to be and, as if her own fairy godmother had arranged it, she had discovered a mentor in Ilsa Fairchild of IF Enterprises, an elite, very selective matchmaking service located in Providence. Just a hop, skip and jump from Newport. Ainsley had invested her considerable energy into lobbying for a position at IF, and to everyone’s amazement—even a little to her own surprise—Ilsa had taken her on as an apprentice.
Ainsley couldn’t have been more excited. Or more enthusiastic. Finally, she was going to have a career of her own. Finally, she was going to be a bona fide matchmaker. Finally, her overprotective brothers and sister would have to stop treating her like a baby and admit she was capable of so much more than being “cute.” The position with IF Enterprises was perfect in every way and it suited her to a tee.
Except for her ongoing struggle to keep a lid on her enthusiasm.
If only she’d been discreet and told people her job was in personal relations, as Ilsa had advised her to do. If only she hadn’t informed the family, bragged, in fact, that she’d taken an apprenticeship with the most exclusive matchmaker in New England. If only she’d kept her mouth shut about IF Enterprises and her dream-come-true job, then she wouldn’t be standing at the back of a church right now watching her cousin prepare to marry the wrong woman.
“Ainsley…?” The wedding coordinator—a largish woman in a purple smock—hissed at her to get her attention. “You’re next. Remember…left foot first. Count your steps just as we practiced.”
But Ainsley had no recollection of last night’s rehearsal. She’d been too busy trying to think of some way to sabotage the wedding and stop the marriage from taking place. Obviously, no good plan had occurred to her because here she was, about to imitate the rhythmic steps that had taken Miranda three-quarters of the way to the altar already.
Miranda had paid attention last night.
Miranda always paid attention.
Miranda did everything to perfection. If she’d wanted to stop this wedding, none of them would be here now.
“Ainsley!” The coordinator hissed at her again, propelling her under the rose bower with a firm hand on the back of the organza bustle. Ainsley nearly stumbled, but caught herself and took the first fateful step—with her right foot. “Left foot!” The coordinator’s whispered reminder had her switching rhythm in midstride and coming even closer to losing her balance. If she’d thought that falling flat on her face would do anything more than merely delay the bride’s entrance, she’d go sprawling here and now. She looked back over her shoulder and saw Molly, in her bridal white, hovering in the bride’s room doorway, looking excruciatingly nervous, but committed.
So the marriage was going to take place, despite Ainsley’s misgivings. She’d done all she could, had said as much as she dared, had hinted at her doubts—as a professional and a loving cousin—to both Scott and Molly with no results. She hadn’t confessed her part in the matchmaking, but she had tried to explain her concern to her siblings. As the three of them typically did, they’d discounted her qualms and assured her there was nothing to worry about. Scott and Molly were perfect for each other. Two peas in a pod. Two nuts in a shell. Two bugs in a bottle.
Which, of course, was the problem.
There was nothing for it now, but to hope they would have a brighter future than she could imagine for them. So as the music swelled around her, Ainsley put a smile on her face and did her own version of the bridesmaid’s shuffle—step-pause, step-pause—letting her hips sway just a little under the yards of shimmering lavender organza.
Miranda, who looked stunning as always, had reached the front and was making her final turn. Eldest brother Matt was standing tall and straight next to Scott. He smiled encouragingly at Ainsley as she reached the midway point. Andrew, Ainsley’s twin, stood next to Matt, looking handsome, but uncomfortable in his tuxedo. He winked at her and her heart sank all over again. Even Andrew didn’t understand why this match was so wrong or why she was so worried about it.
But no one would listen to her and now it was too late. It had been too late from the minute she’d set up that first, disastrous introduction of possibilities for Scott. Or more probably, it had been too late from the moment she’d confided excitedly to him that she was working for IF Enterprises and he’d asked her, begged her, to set up a match for him.
And she had.
Despite Ilsa’s cautioning her from the start that she needed to learn some basic tenets of matchmaking before taking on any clients. Despite knowing on one level or another that she was acting on impulse as much as intuition. She’d been certain, though, that she knew the right woman for Scott. Bubbly, extroverted and warm, Shelby would have been the perfect foil for Scott’s shy, introverted and intellectual self. Ainsley had been positive that once the two met, the result would be an instantaneous attraction and a match truly made in heaven.
And she hadn’t necessarily been wrong. Just unfortunate in where she’d set up that initial meeting. A bit unlucky with the timing, and tardy in stepping forward to rectify the mistake. Scott wound up at the wrong table in the restaurant and, within an hour, was head over heels in love with a quiet mouse of a woman named Molly…instead of meeting Shelby as Ainsley had intended.
Two unbelievably short months later, here they were, Scott and Molly, about to be married.
Two-thirds of the way down the aisle, Ainsley realized how few guests had actually shown up to witness the ceremony. Of course, there’d never been any question of the wedding being anything other than small. Molly didn’t have family, except for her ancient Aunt Beatrice, who was too elderly to travel but who’d sent the couple an enormous soup tureen shaped like a swan. Even Miranda had wondered aloud what use Molly and Scott would have for a soup tureen, since neither of them had any friends. Well, at least, not any close friends, which was why the bridal party consisted of Scott’s four cousins and his two younger sisters.
Another reason this match was all wrong, Ainsley decided as she reached the front and made her final turn, was that the bridal party was out of balance. There was one more bridesmaid than groomsmen. Miranda had tried to fix the problem because she disliked odd numbers, but Scott’s father—who wasn’t that happy about the wedding to begin with—had declared quite firmly that he wasn’t paying for some stranger’s tuxedo just to even out the bridal party. Scott had said he didn’t care, and Molly had agreed because she and Scott agreed about everything.
Which was the main reason this marriage was a bad idea.
Two people shouldn’t expect to be everything to each other. But Molly and Scott seemed to believe it was possible…and perfect. Neither of them possessed much in the way of social graces, so there was little hope either of them would expand the social circle of the other. They were both shy. Both inhibited and unassertive. Between them, they possessed barely an ounce of backbone.
Scott and Molly had too much in common. Ainsley could see that very clearly. While she wouldn’t go so far as to predict that happiness was an impossibility for them, she could not believe it was very likely, either. They’d grow bored with each other, stifled in the narrowness of their lives.
Ainsley was only an apprentice matchmaker, but she knew there was a reason opposites attract. She understood that familiarity could, and often did, breed contempt. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that this marriage wouldn’t set the world on fire…or, more important, either one of its counterparts. But no one other than Ainsley seemed concerned.
Then again, she was the only one who knew what a mismatch she’d inadvertently put together. She was the only one who felt guilty for bringing about this ill-fated romance.
Emily, the older of Scott’s two sisters and still young enough to consider her curly red hair a curse, looked worried as she reached the end of the aisle. “Molly tore her dress,” she said to Ainsley in a whispered aside as she stepped into the maid of honor’s place. “She stepped on her train.”
A bad sign.
Ainsley looked toward the entrance, where Claire, Scott’s baby sister, was starting her walk down the aisle, scattering rose petals over the carpet. Claire was also a redhead and, at eleven, too old really for the role she was fulfilling with such exaggerated care…dropping two petals on this side, three petals on that side. Molly had wanted a flower girl and there was no one else. The ring bearer—Molly had wanted one of those, too—had been easier to find. They’d borrowed Calvin Braddock, the five-year-old son of Bryce and Lara Braddock, who, if not close friends of either Scott or Molly, were at least considered friends of the Danville family. Ainsley could see Cal’s white-blond cowlick darting back and forth behind the purple smock of the wedding coordinator, who seemed to be trying to keep the boy from dashing down the aisle.
The music was too loud at the front of the church to hear what was happening at the back. Ainsley was surprised to see a sudden collective stir of activity. The congregation—at least, the dozen or so Danville relatives seated in the first few rows—grew restless and began turning around in the pews to see what was going on. Even Scott, who’d spent the entire processional so far staring anxiously at his shoes, looked up.
“I got to tell the groom somethin’!” Calvin’s little-boy voice broke through the lull between the final chords of Pachelbel and the opening chimes of Wagner’s “Bridal Chorus.” “She told me to tell him!”
Cal pulled free of the wedding coordinator’s grasping hands and ran, tuxedo tails flying, down the aisle, dashing past Claire in a move that knocked her off her feet and scattered her rose petals in one thick, damp clump. “She ’loped!” Calvin shouted as he caught sight of Scott at the altar. “The bride ’loped!”
Scott went pale with alarm, but it was Matt who moved forward to calm the ring bearer and ask for a more coherent explanation.
“Catch your breath, Calvin,” Matt said soothingly. “And start from the beginning.”
Cal obediently sucked in a huge gasp of air, his bright gaze darting toward Scott. “Miss Molly,” he said in a rush. “She told me to tell you she’s sorry, but she ’loped.”
“Eloped?” Matt questioned, articulating the word carefully. “Are you saying that Molly eloped?”
