The man inclined his head. “Perhaps, but I’m afraid you won’t be able to discuss anything with Mrs. Pierpont today because she’s not at home.”
Owen frowned. “Do you know when she’s expected back?”
“The beginning of June.”
“Surely not.”
“Surely so because she’s currently in Paris.”
“Paris?” Owen shook his head. “No, I’m afraid you must be mistaken because Walter specifically mentioned that Mrs. Pierpont was currently in residence here on the Hudson, and that I needed to present myself at a proper hour because she doesn’t care to receive guests at the crack of dawn.”
“It’s barely past the crack of dawn.”
“It’s almost ten. Half the day is considered gone where I’m from.”
“And while I’m waiting with bated breath to learn what far-off land that may be, know that if Mrs. Pierpont were in residence, which again, she’s not, you wouldn’t be able to speak with her right now anyway because she never leaves her chambers until noon.”
Owen gave his nose a scratch. “This is a very curious state of affairs because Walter never mentioned a thing about Mrs. Pierpont enjoying a long lie-in every day, or anything about Paris.” He frowned. “Could it be that Mrs. Pierpont hied herself off to Paris on a spur-of-the-moment trip to secure a match for someone?”
Mr. Timken blinked. “Good heavens, Mr. Chesterfield, I believe I’m finally beginning to understand this rather unusual conversation. You’ve evidently suffered a misunderstanding with Mr. Townsend because you seem to be under the misimpression that Mrs. Pierpont is the matchmaker in this family. She’s not. You’re looking for her daughter, Miss Camilla Pierpont.”
“I suppose I could have confused a Miss for a Mrs., but correct me if I’m wrong—aren’t matchmakers usually married women and of an, ah, advanced age?”
“Miss Pierpont is an exception to the matchmaker rule, and frankly, her success over the years has far surpassed the more seasoned matchmakers out there.”
Owen frowned. “How could she have possibly achieved that success when it seems peculiar that an unmarried lady could effectively orchestrate societal matches when she hasn’t been successful securing a match of her own?”
For some reason, Mr. Timken’s eyes began to twinkle. “When Miss Pierpont returns, and if she’s agreeable to meeting with you, you’re going to have to make sure to ask her that.”
“Because...?”
“It might be amusing.”
“And amusing her might encourage her to consider the business proposal I’m here to present?”
“I didn’t say she’d be the one amused.”
“Huh.” Owen let that settle for a second. “Perhaps I’ll keep my matchmaking assumptions to myself.”
“Probably a prudent move,” Mr. Timken said before he gestured toward the door. “With that out of the way, if you’ll follow me?”
“You’re not going to relegate me to the servants’ entrance?” Owen asked.
“Since Walter Townsend vouched for you, I believe the front door is a more appropriate choice.”
“And if he hadn’t provided me with that letter of introduction?”
“Given the questionable state of your attire, I would have sent you on your way without a second’s hesitation.” Mr. Timken gestured toward the house again. “Miss Pierpont is currently not at home, but I expect her to return momentarily. You may await her arrival in the back parlor, which has a lovely view of the Hudson. I’m sure you’ll enjoy it, as well as the refreshments I’ll arrange for you after I get you settled.”
“And you believe Miss Pierpont will be receptive to meeting with me?”
“She’s a proper lady, Mr. Chesterfield, which means, if nothing else, she’ll at least grant you a few minutes, although I can’t say whether or not she’ll lend you more time than that to present your proposal.”
Taking that as rather promising because he’d been known to close business deals in less than three minutes, Owen fell into step behind Mr. Timken, greeted by the sight of an ornate heart-shaped staircase as he made his way into the grand entranceway, one that split in two when it reached the second floor and was carpeted in a deep shade of burgundy. A chandelier hung from the very center of the second-floor landing, its many crystals catching the morning light and sending prisms of color glittering down walls that were papered in green silk.
After they passed the staircase, Mr. Timken led him down a long hallway where numerous oil paintings and watercolors linedthe walls, then past a dining room where china plates, crystal goblets, and silverware that gleamed against linen napkins sat on a very long table, looking quite as if the Pierponts were expecting guests to join them at any moment.
His table at home was never formally set and, in fact, could usually be found with a variety of mismatched dishes sitting on it, ready to grab whenever he found a spare moment to eat. Fishing lures could also sometimes be found scattered about, and occasionally one of his hounds, either Cleo or Calamity, climbed up on the table because in the morning, it was, at least in his dogs’ opinions, a great place to catch the first rays of sun.