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Startled, Mary obeyed before she realized she might have a choice about this order.
“Now twirl around.”
Mary twirled. Cyn checked Mary slowly, from the blonde mop that always got into Mary’s eyes, to her still-twirling toes.
“Yes. My first impression was right. Your skill as a conversationalist is only one reason I think you’re perfect for my nephew.”
Oh. This Mary wanted to hear too.
“Yes, I quite like the idea of getting Van involved with a splendid young lady who I think will make him very happy while also making him supremely interested in the activities that lead to the creation of children.”
Bong. Twenty on a scale of ten in the embarrassment category and rocketing right on through the roof.
“But, Cyn — ”
“He doesn’t know yet how happy he will be, but problems are made to be solved, and look how far along we already are. You want your book. Book equals you and Van spending time together, where nature will take its course. Van may not want your book yet, but he does want me married and out of his hair, although I’m sure the dear boy manages to convince himself it’s a case of just wanting someone else to take care of me.”
“He loves you.”
“Oh, piffle. Of course he does. And I don’t blame him for wanting to palm off the responsibility for me onto someone else. He’s finally learning he deserves a life of his own, without running everyone else’s for their own good. But me, I’m a monumental nuisance and interfering busybody, and I do have to get my own way.”
Mary grinned. “I’d never have guessed.”
“You wouldn’t believe the lengths I’ve had to go to for Lancelot, four-legged love muffin that he is, to worm his way into Van’s heart. Van was the only little boy I ever knew who wanted nothing to do with a dog, so it was a long time before I even tried. I think I’ve won now. Just think of what we will accomplish in demolishing his defenses with the puppies when they arrive.”
“I don’t think — ”
“He doesn’t think either,” Cyn said. “The poor boy believes he wants the same splendid isolation his father thought he wanted, but Van has a nurturing streak a few miles wide. We’ll just pretend we don’t know that while we’re taking advantage of it.”
“As in finding you a husband who will take care of you.”
“Exactly.” Cyn beamed. “I’m counting on you for the husband candidates to parade for me. At a party, I think. This parade must be public, and right under Van’s nose so he can see I’m serious. The hard part will be a caterer for the party for the parade. My favorite just retired on me, the skunk. With your column, you must know a good caterer.”
“You didn’t know Pete Santini fired me?”
Cyn’s teacup clattered to its saucer. “He did? The utter idiot. We’ll have to do something about that too. You’ll be researching your book on Van anyway, so you can do a feature article that will make Pete Santinibegtohireyouback.Nevermind.We’llworry about that later. For now, the caterer?”
“Actually, I do know one. My Uncle Brock. He’s brilliant with food, and I’m not the only one who thinks so. Lydia Wingate hired him for her last party. She tried to bribe me to not give his name to anyone else.”
Cyn clapped her hands. “Excellent. Tell him he’s hired. No, I’ll call him this afternoon to tell him, and I’ll get started on party planning.”
Cyn checked Mary’s cup and poured more tea. “Now, tell me about some man you think I should marry.”
Mary sputtered. So Cyn was serious about dragging Mary into the who of the husband hunt. No, no, no. It was none of her business who Cyn married. Or whom, although only a writer could say it without cringing. Who or whom, Mary wanted it to stay none of her business. Mary’s own love life was doomed. She didn’t want to pick the wrong man for someone else. “I don’t think — ”
Cyn patted Mary’s hand with amused, indulgent affection. “There, there, dear. I can see I must try not to be too flip on this subject. I don’t want this little problem to distract you from the book I’ll persuade Van to work on with you. Do try not to worry. I’ll give you time to come up with the right man.”
Cyn really was blackmailing Mary along with Van. Marycouldn’thelpbutfeelasneakingadmirationfor the woman.
Mary did want to write a book on Van, and she did want to be with him. But husband hunting for his aunt?
“I know you want nothing to do with this marriage business,” Cyn said, “but it’s the only way I can think of to get what I want. I know my nephew well. I ought to. I’m more a mother to him than my sister-in-law ever was, even before she died so young, poor thing. She found life so difficult.”
“So does Van, in his own way,” Mary said. “He says he doesn’t want people to depend on him, but he works awfully hard to take care of anyone his life touches. That isn’t a great way to stop people depending on you.”
“You’re right. Anyway, Van will never go along with thisbookofyoursunlessIputmyselfonthemarriage market. Since I have to do it, I will make sure it’s fun. Now, out with it, who should be my prey?”
Mary shook her head against her sudden vision of delicately bloodied fangs in Cyn’s beaming face. “Cecil Breckenridge might do.”
