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Confirming the interpretation with a vigorous nod, Calvin repeated the message excitedly. “She ’loped with Mad Mack in the Mackmobile.”
SITTING ON A LOW RISER under the bridal bower, Ainsley plucked at the pouf of organza bunched around her like a lavender nest and felt guiltier by the second. Calvin’s startling announcement still reverberated in the church sanctuary, picked up by one person after another after another, repeated in a confusing hum of overlapping voices.
She eloped? With a cartoon character?
Mad Mack? Are you sure that’s what he said?
She must’ve had an emergency. Why else would she run off like that?
He said Mad Mack, I’m telling you.
How can the bride have eloped if the groom’s still standing up there?
Mad Mack? The bride eloped with someone called Mad Mack?
That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.
The bridal party of sisters and cousins had stood restlessly for a few awkward moments, not knowing where to look or what to do. Then, one by one, they settled on the altar steps or found a seat in the front pews. And there they sat, awaiting instruction or dismissal, without a clue as to what action—if any—might be appropriate. Matt, being the oldest of the cousins and the best man, had immediately gone to the back of the church, where he could be seen firing brusque questions at Phyllis while he paced from the vestibule doorway to the empty bride’s room and then outside to the front church steps, where he stared at the street. Inside the sanctuary, the clatter of conversation rose and fell in hushed waves. Whispered questions quickly took on an indignant tone and grew louder, becoming quietly outraged that anyone—especially a woman without connections, or much in the way of beauty, brains or personality to recommend her—would offer such an insult to Scott Danville. The entire Danville family, for that matter. Every wedding guest present was, after all, either a member of the Danville clan or a close friend of the family since Molly came, basically, unencumbered with kith or kin.
The clamor stuttered suddenly into a moment’s awkward pause just in time for everyone to hear Uncle Edward’s vehement instruction to his son. “Forget it. You are not going after her, Scott. She just jilted you, for heaven’s sake. You! A Danville. Clearly, the woman is insane. You can’t possibly want her back even if you knew how to find her, which you don’t, and which I wouldn’t let you do, if you did. She’s gone,” he said angrily. “And I say, good riddance!”
Ainsley glanced down the riser to watch Scott, flushed with humiliation, hurt and anger, give up the struggle like a balloon with a slow leak. She knew the moment the reality hit him full in the heart—Molly was gone!—and he sank like a stone to sit, slumped and stunned, with his head in his hands, devastated, desolate and without a shred of hope to hold on to. In her whole life, Ainsley had never seen more eloquent body language. Even his vividly red hair seemed to have lost its light and become nothing more than a listless covering on his head.
This was her fault. Ainsley knew it all the way to the tips of her lavender-painted toenails. She didn’t want to admit it, didn’t want to see herself as the spoiler, but there it was. Molly’s baffling departure wasn’t quite so much of a mystery to Ainsley as it was to everyone else. Unexpected and surprising? Yes. In a million years, Ainsley wouldn’t have predicted Molly’s last-minute dash from the church. But now that it had happened…?
Well, she could think of a possible explanation, a plausible, probable interpretation, one glaring moment at last night’s rehearsal dinner when the apprentice matchmaker had, once again, forgotten the importance of discretion and opened her mouth before engaging her brain.
Obviously, she was still several lessons short of being the prudent, discerning matchmaker she wanted, and was determined, to become.
“I realize this joyous occasion has taken a somber turn, Ains, but you look unaccountably gloomy. What gives?” Handsome as a god, with a smile that quite simply made the world a brighter place, Andrew dropped down to sit beside her, bustling the yards of organza out of his way and fixing her with a persistent, you-may-as-well-tell-me look.
But Ainsley couldn’t confess. Not yet. Not even to her trusted twin. “In case you haven’t noticed, our cousin is devastated.”
“Can’t argue with you there. But since you were completely convinced Scott was marrying the wrong woman anyway, I thought you might see this as some form of divine intervention. Even if it is a little difficult to envision Mad Mack in the deus ex machina role.”
“I never even heard of Mad Mack,” she said with a sigh. “Much less a Mackmobile.”
“You should spend more time watching cartoons,” Andrew suggested. “Mad Mack is a part-man, part-machine superhero and the Mackmobile is the coolest car on television. Well, at least it’s the coolest animated car on the Cartoon Stars channel.”
“You obviously have too much time on your hands.”
“Me and Calvin,” he agreed. “He’s five and I’m still five at heart.”
Ainsley offered a frown, although she adored her twin for trying to cheer her up with his silliness. “I feel awful about this, Drew. Even though I never thought Molly and Scott were a match made in heaven, I never wanted him to suffer. Especially not because of me and my big mouth.”
“You do not have a big mouth.” Andrew slipped an arm around her shoulder and gave her an affectionate squeeze. “Your tongue may run like an outboard motor at times, but proportionally, your mouth is the perfect size for your face.”
She nudged him with her elbow. “This is serious, Andrew. Don’t make jokes.”
“I can’t help myself, Ainsley. The bride eloped with Mad Mack. That’s a little difficult to take seriously.”
“Try,” she urged him, although truthfully, she wished she could see the humor in the situation. Any humor at all.
“Okay,” he said, “but I can’t promise a non-serious remark won’t slip out from time to time.”
“Just so it doesn’t happen here and now or any time Scott is around.”
He nodded, rested his forearms on his knees, clasped his hands together and let the resulting loose knot of fingers rock up and down, up and down, as he contemplated the here and now. “Do you think we’ll still get to have the wedding feast?”
She lifted an eyebrow. “I imagine dinner will be canceled.” He opened his mouth, but she cut him off. “And, please, don’t ask Uncle Edward if you can make yourself a plate for later.”
“Seems a shame to waste all that food. And the wedding cake. Maybe I should take the cake to the studio, take a few pictures for the old Danville scrapbook.”
She lifted the other eyebrow and he went back to contemplating. “No, you’re wrong, Ainsley. Uncle Edward won’t cancel dinner. He’ll want to finish the day on an up note.”
“As opposed to a sour note?”
“As opposed to letting a part-man, part-machine superhero triumph over a Danville. You know, I always thought there was a hint of Bad Belle in Molly.”
“Bad Belle? Let me guess. She’s Mad Mack’s girlfriend?”
“Good guess. Imagine a bosomy brunette with super powers and a big black motorcycle.”
“I’m never letting my kids watch cartoons,” Ainsley said.
“Too bad we can’t put Scott in front of the television now. A little time with Bad Belle and he’d feel a lot better.”
“That’s not funny. And even if a stupid cartoon could make him feel better, it won’t make me feel one bit less guilty.”
“Oh, come on, Ains. This isn’t your fault. You can never really know the truth of what’s inside another person. There’s no way you could have guessed Molly would rather take a ride in the Mackmobile than get married today.”
Ainsley caught the advice in his teasing, knew he was telling her she couldn’t take the blame for today’s events. Her siblings, and especially her twin, had always been right there when something in her life went awry, ready with assurances that she—the angelically cute baby of the family—wasn’t at fault, shouldn’t feel guilty, couldn’t truly be to blame for whatever had happened.
But she wasn’t a baby anymore. Despite her family’s reluctance to allow her to grow up, she had. She was, whether they wanted to believe it or not, an adult. And she had no intention of absolving herself from the guilt she rightfully felt. She hadn’t wanted Scott and Molly to marry. She still thought she was right about their chances of finding true happiness together. But she hadn’t wanted her beliefs to cause them unhappiness, either.
She deserved a hefty chunk of responsibility for today’s fiasco and she deserved to feel gloomy that her first attempt at matchmaking had been a complete and utter disaster.
Andrew, however, would never allow her to admit her guilt to him, so she tapped his arm with her bridesmaid’s bouquet. “Let’s talk about something else. Tell me about your date.”
“What date?”
“Your date to the wedding. Jocelyn? A petite brunette? In a pink dress? Where did you put her?” She glanced out at the pool of somber faces, looking for the young woman Andrew had introduced earlier as his date.
“Fifth row, left. In the middle.” He glanced in the general vicinity of the brunette and smiled. “I’d go sit with her, but she’s wearing pink and you know how that clashes with my hair.”
He was the only redhead in their branch of the family and his hair was, in Ainsley’s prejudiced opinion, his second-best feature. It was strawberry-blond, a rich reddish-gold, and thick, with just enough curl to give it great body and texture, and just enough length to identify him as a nonconformist. He didn’t have freckles or the pale, ivory skin of most redheads, either, and his athletic, outdoor tan was a perfect foil for the blue, Danville eyes…Andrew’s best feature of all. He was better looking than Matt, although not technically as handsome. Ainsley, being his twin, might have been slightly prejudiced in his favor, but as she adored both of her brothers, she couldn’t imagine it made much difference either way.
“Do you ever think about getting married, Drew?” she asked, his pet name giving the question a serious lilt and the expectation of a truthful answer.
“Good grief, no,” he said, sounding at least seventy-five percent honest. “I’m planning to live a long, happy life.”
She laughed under her breath. “Marriage increases a man’s lifespan by a good ten or fifteen years. Didn’t you know that?”
“I said ‘long, happy life.’ There’s a difference. Besides, even if I was inclined toward a monogamous, committed relationship, where would I find a woman who’d willingly put up with my nomadic schedule?”
“Maybe if you dated someone more than once or twice, you’d come closer to finding someone who keeps as weird a schedule as you do.” He was always off chasing photographs, leaving on the spur of the moment, staying gone until he was ready to come home, getting up at dawn to catch the perfect angle of light, camping out for a month, waiting for the full moon or no moon or a sliver of moon or some distant star—whatever he needed in the picture he’d visualized in his head. “Maybe you ought to try dating another photographer.”
He grinned. “Not interested. It’s all I can do to get along with my photography assistants, and you and I both know they only tolerate my artistic temperament because I pay them big bucks to do it. I’m looking for a new assistant, by the way.”
“I thought you just hired one.”
He shrugged. “She left before lunch on her first day of work.”
“Maybe you should hire male assistants.”
“I have. I’m an equal opportunity employer, but it’s mostly females who answer my ads. Consequently, I usually have a female assistant.”
“Do you want me to find someone for you?”
“I don’t think so, Miss Matchmaker.”
“Apprentice,” she corrected. “I’m only the matchmaker’s apprentice.” Obviously not a very good one, either.
“All the more reason for me to advertise for an assistant in the newspaper. No offense, Ains, but you’d hook me up with some romantically inclined Cinderella and I’d have to fire her for mooning over me instead of doing what needs to be done. Don’t give my lack of an assistant another thought. Please.”
She’d never set up an introduction of possibilities for Andrew and some “romantically inclined Cinderella.” She might make her share of mistakes, but she wouldn’t make that one. “All right,” she agreed with a smile. “I’ll keep my recommendations to myself.” She nodded toward the fifth row, left, in the middle. “Go talk to your date. She’s starting to look neglected.”
He stood, believing he’d fulfilled his mission of cheering up his twin sister. “I think I’ll show her the exit and see if I can interest her in dressing up as superheroes for the duration of the evening. She’d look good in one of those outfits, don’t you think?”
Ainsley pretended to consider. “As long as the color doesn’t clash with your hair.”
Just then, Uncle Edward stepped up onto the dais and cleared his throat. “Thank you all for waiting,” he said. “And thank you for your support today. While I can’t ask you to join us for the celebratory reception originally planned, I’m extending a heartfelt invitation for each of you to join us for dinner and dancing and whatever else we decide to do in order to put aside our—” he glanced down at Scott’s defeated and despondent slump “—disappointment.” Then, gesturing toward the doors, Uncle Edward bent down and offered his son a comforting pat on the shoulder.
Andrew looked at Ainsley. “See you at the buffet tables,” he said and walked over to offer Scott a few words of encouragement before heading for the fifth row, left, and Jocelyn, who welcomed his approach with a wide smile and a tinge of pink blush on her cheeks.
And for probably the first time since Ainsley had become the matchmaker’s apprentice, the possibility of a romantic match didn’t even cross her mind.
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.”
