Banking on Temperance: Book Three of the Cotillion Ball Series (Crimson Romance)

by Lower, Becky

  Temperance turned back around and nestled up against Basil’s chest. “For precisely that reason, Basil. I didn’t want to be in the same town as you if you didn’t love me. It would have broken my heart. My family, at least most of them, don’t want to go on any further. They’re content to stay here in St. Louis, but I insisted upon it, so I wouldn’t have to watch you fall in love with someone else.”

  “That would never have happened. As it turns out, my heart was no longer mine. Maybe it took me a bit longer than you to figure it out, but the night I told you to leave me alone was the night I realized what a horrible fate it would be if you listened to me. Even if you had married Jake, we would have ended up together. I’m sure of it. It was meant to happen.”

  He was grateful that the air was warm, since Temperance removed the blanket he had wrapped around her when they left his apartment. Although there were still layers of clothing separating skin from skin, he rejoiced in having her so close to him. His body was responding to her again, even though they had just finished several hours of the best lovemaking he had ever known. And maybe that was why. It wasn’t sex anymore, it was making love.

  He worshiped this small woman in front of him. She was tender and soft, yet the strongest person he’d ever come into contact with. She could ride a horse as well as Joseph, she was a crack shot with a rifle, and his eye still winced when he thought about her left hook. He moved the arm he had wrapped around her and began to fondle her breast. She sighed deeply and nestled even further into him. He groaned as he kissed the side of her neck and her nipple blossomed under his fingers.

  “You know, I wish it was my mouth on your breast instead of my fingers, don’t you?” Basil said in a deep voice as his fingers continued to massage her bosom. She squirmed under his touch, lifting herself to meet his hand. A soft moan escaped her lips.

  “How soon can we be married?” Her voice was choked with emotion.

  Basil smiled as he nuzzled her neck. “It had better be quick, or you’ll be in a family way without the benefit of me placing a ring on your finger first.”

  • • •

  Temperance stood in front of her mother, whose anger was apparent, but who took in her appearance and wet clothing and said nothing about it.

  “I’m sorry, Ma.”

  “Sorry’s not the half of it, daughter. I kept on telling you we were going no further, yet you insisted on putting yourself in danger to prove you could leave. Just to get as far away from Mr. Fitzpatrick as you could.”

  “I know.” Temperance’s gaze went to the floor, where she hoped a huge door would open and whisk her away from her mother’s wrath. She had never been this angry before.

  “Well, I hope you’ve accepted the fact that your fate, and that of your family, is here in St. Louis, not in some far off land called Oregon.”

  “Yes, Ma. I have accepted it.”

  “So how soon will you and Mr. Fitzpatrick get married?”

  Temperance’s gaze whipped up from the floor. Her mother was smiling for the first time since her daughter returned home. “How did you know?”

  “My darling child. I’ve known for months the two of you stubborn folk were meant for each other. I just needed to prod him a bit.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Who do you think told him about your escapade at the river? I went to the bank and told him what you were up to.”

  Temperance smiled at her mother. “Then I need to thank you as well as apologize. The river frightened me beyond belief, and I think that, if we had gotten a place on a wagon train, as I foolishly tried to do, I would have drowned during a river crossing. Jake told me many rivers have to be gone through before we would arrive at our destination, and many people lose their lives while attempting to cross.”

  Her smile turned into a grin. “As for Basil and myself, we want to be married as soon as possible. We’ve already sent a telegram to his parents, requesting their presence.” She gazed at her mother.

  Martha caught Temperance up in an embrace. “I’m happy for you, child, and you’ve got your smile back. So we’ll have two marriages in the family in a short space of time. I already agreed to marry Mr. Walters tomorrow. We wanted to have the ceremony before Jake took you out of town.”

  Temperance gasped at her mother’s declaration. “You mean to tell me, that even if I had been able to convince Jake to take us, you would have turned it down?”

  “Yes, honey, and Prudence, too. You’ve been so tangled up in your own problems that you have failed to see your sister is falling in love with Etienne. And, of course, the little ones would have stayed with me. So it would have been you and Justice only, heading west.”

  “What an incredibly futile effort I’ve strived for.”

  “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. Of course, my words fell on deaf ears, since the only words that mattered to you were those of Mr. Fitzpatrick.”

  Temperance hugged her mother again. “I can think of nothing I’d rather do than to plan my wedding day with my mother. We’ll both be starting new lives.”

  “And not a moment too soon for me. This baby will be here within the week, unless I miss my guess.”

  “And Mr. Walters is willing to accept it as his own?”

  “He’s thrilled at the idea. His Hannah died in childbirth, as did the child, so he has none of his own.” Martha’s eyes twinkled. “Well, not yet, anyway. He’s agreed that, should this one be a girl, we’ll name her Charity, because of the abundance of it we received from the moment we arrived in town. And since he’s hoping for at least one more, he’s declared her name will be Hope. Carrying on the tradition set by me and your father.”

  “I’m so happy for you, Ma. Then, tomorrow’s your big day, and mine will follow days after that. Basil’s waiting outside. May I let him in now?”

  “Certainly. After all, he’s about to become my son-in-law.”

  As soon as Basil appeared in the doorway, Martha Jones went to him, and embraced him.

  “Thank you.”

  “No, I should be thanking you. I was a stubborn pig, and you made me see reason. I couldn’t bear to let her leave town, and you could sense it even though I couldn’t.”

  Temperance joined them, and Basil wrapped his arm around her once more. “And right after we get married, I want to take you to New York to meet the rest of my family. My sister, Jasmine, will be attending her Cotillion in a matter of weeks, and I want to attend the ball with the most beautiful woman I know.”

  “But Basil, I have nothing to wear to a grand ball. I’m not an elegant lady. I’m a working-class girl, with rough, red hands and hard muscles. I’ve never learned how to embroider or hold a real teacup.”

  “You’re right. God broke the mold when he made you. But thankfully I found you. I want to dress you in finery, at least for a while, and show you off to my friends and family. What do you say? Shall we attend the ball so I can introduce you as Mrs. Basil Fitzpatrick?”

  Temperance smiled at him as she reached up and cupped the back of his head, pulling him in for a kiss. She was going to a real ball with her real prince among men. Her father may have thought their happiness was waiting in Oregon, but it seems as if it was waiting for them several thousand miles east, instead.

  More From This Author

  (From The Reluctant Debutante)

  New York City, February 1855

  Ginger Fitzpatrick was in a pickle, that much was certain.

  Her mother took her by surprise at breakfast by announcing to the family that Ginger would participate in the Cotillion ball two months hence. While her younger sisters squealed in excitement, Ginger couldn’t find her voice to object to her mother’s idea. She knew she must, considering that her father was known to grant every wish his wife had, but Ginger could only stare in confusion. And that wasn’t the worst of it.


  “George,” her mother stated calmly to her father, “you must relieve Ginger of her duties at the bank so I have time to teach her the rules of etiquette she’ll need for a full season of events. Dear Lord, I have only a couple months to cram in everything.”

  Astonished and stunned, Ginger turned to her father, hanging onto a thread of hope that her valued involvement at the bank would save her.

  “Let me think about the best way to handle the shift in responsibility, darling. I’ll make sure Ginger is free by the end of the week.” He glanced at Ginger’s stupefied expression and reached across the table for her hand. “Perhaps we could also offer a reward of some kind. Possibly a trip to St. Louis if she gets through the season without incident?”

  He had actually smiled over the breakfast table at her. As if the allure of a trip would make everything all right.

  Now, Ginger strode down the hallway of the bank to talk to her father before he could continue the discussion with her mother. She had always been able to convince him of anything, if she wanted it strongly enough. After all, he allowed her to work alongside him at the bank, which went against all the rules of society and a woman’s place in it. She stopped briefly at the window overlooking the street, watching the snow falling outside. It clung to the red bricks of the ornate bank building, and she longed to be as capricious as one of the snowflakes. Instead she had to present a strong argument to make her father see the folly in her mother’s latest idea.

  She stopped in front of his office door and smoothed her long gray skirt. Brushing her hand over her quivering stomach, she knocked.

  Ginger was certain she could right this ship and make her father see things her way. At his gruff reply to enter, she inhaled deeply. She was going to have to tread softly to get out of this predicament.

  “Papa, may I further discuss Mother’s idea with you?”

  “Yes, of course, my dear. But you know by now that once your mother makes up her mind, it’s best to go along with it.”

  Ginger glanced at him as her voice quavered. “But, Papa ... ”

  Her father merely raised a perfectly arched eyebrow.

  Hmmm, the trembling voice trick usually worked. She’d have to try a different tactic. Tears, maybe? She hated resorting to something as totally feminine as sobbing.

  She cleared her throat and started again. “You are aware, are you not, of my worth here at the bank?”

  With a sigh her father laid down his fountain pen and began to reposition his sleeves, which had been rolled up to avoid staining them with ink. “Your mother’s decision for you to participate in the Cotillion has nothing to do with your abilities at the bank. I’m well aware of your contributions. Now, do you want to talk about what’s really at issue here?”

  Ginger attempted to regain her calm and to remember the precise arguments she’d planned to present. “You obviously believe dangling a trip to St. Louis before me will be enough to get me through the Cotillion ball and the season Mother wants for me. And I agree with part of your logic. I should go to St. Louis, but without any strings attached. Basil has written to me, Papa, and told me about the West. Men there are more open-minded and not so stringent about what a woman can and cannot do.”

  She began to pace around the office as she warmed to her subject. “Basil might be able to charm little old ladies into depositing their life savings into our bank, but I can make their money work for the good of the bank and for them at the same time.” She turned to face her father. “Please, Papa, I am begging you to let me go now before the season begins. I must get away from stuffy old New York City. Our clients in St. Louis need me now, not in the fall.”

  “I agree it would be a good move for you, my child, even though I have full confidence in your brother’s ability to run the St. Louis branch. Your mother is the one who needs convincing. And you know what she considers important.”

  “The Cotillion,” Ginger whispered her reply, as tears began to well up in her eyes, unbidden. She knew she was losing this argument. Nonetheless, she persevered. “Who thought up this wretched ball idea anyway? I will feel like a piece of horseflesh at the Cotillion, being paraded about like a fine filly and up for grabs to the highest bidder.” She stamped her foot in frustration.

  Ginger watched her father’s jaw flex. He was not an imposing man, but he had a will of iron. He needed a strong constitution to have successfully raised nine children and to have provided a privileged life for all of them. So, when she saw the movement of his jaw, she knew what it meant. Things were not going to go her way.

  George Fitzpatrick stood and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “I know you despise the idea, but you are not the only one concerned here. You have your sisters to consider. You know how high society works in New York, especially when the Astors and Schemerhorns are involved. If a precedent is not set this year for our family, your sisters will bear the brunt of it.”

  “But, Papa ... ”

  He raised a hand to silence her. “They will not be invited to any future balls and will miss their opportunities to be presented to society, all because of your selfish acts. I doubt you want to carry that mantle on your shoulders for the rest of your days, do you?” He smiled to soften his words.

  “Papa, you can’t be serious! My actions really won’t have any impact on my sisters, will they?”

  He nodded in affirmation, and his eyes flashed at her. “Should you choose not to participate, or to make life difficult for your mother, there will be no trip to St. Louis for you, now or in the future. You’ll stay at our home here in New York with only your sisters for company, who will be forever known as the ‘Spinster Fitzpatricks.’ Won’t you have a lovely existence to look forward to?”

  She dropped her head and softly asked, “So exactly what do I have to do?”

  George raised both hands in front of him, ticking off each item on his fingers. “You will do whatever your mother wants. Obviously, there will be fittings for new clothes between now and the ball in April, so you will be relieved of your duties here at the bank as of Friday. You will also limit the amount of time you spend with that rabble-rouser, Amelia Bloomer. Your mother will spend the next two months giving you the etiquette lessons you’ve been avoiding for years, in preparation for the high social season of balls, parties, plays, and operas. You will participate in each and every event and will present yourself with dignity in accordance with our family’s position in society. You will appear to have a good time, even if it means you will be putting on an act every night. All this will be over and done with by August, and if you have done everything to your mother’s satisfaction, I will allow you to go to St. Louis. But only if you still want to.”

  “Of course I’ll still want to.”

  Ginger gulped as a tear slid down her cheek. She turned her face away, hoping her father wouldn’t notice her moist eyes. He had never been this unreasonable before. For one of only a few times in her life, she could not cajole him into doing her bidding. She brushed the tear away, smoothed her skirt, and then turned back to him, meeting his tough yet tender gaze.

  “All right then. I will do what you ask, Papa, to appease Mother and for the sake of my sisters. But I want you to know I will hate every moment of it. I will be marking off the days between now and the end of August when I can escape the bonds of conventional society and move to the frontier. I will never become any man’s chattel.”

  Her father smiled. “That’s all I ask for, Ginger. Peace and harmony on the home front. Thank you for being so agreeable.” His voice held more than a touch of irony.

  She closed her father’s door and walked slowly back to her office. Ginger stood in the middle of the small room and placed her hands on her hips. Under her breath she muttered, “Bless my bloomers, I’ve been outfoxed.”

  • • •

  New York City, April 1855

  Sittin
g astride his most stubborn horse and leading another, Joseph Lafontaine attempted to navigate both horses through the wide and bustling cobblestone streets. He had successfully managed to move four of his six horses from the railroad car to the livery already; these were the last — and most troublesome — of the group. Broadway was the main boulevard in this part of town, and Joseph kept an eye out not only for buggies and carts, but also for pedestrians crossing from one side of the street to the other — a perilous act.

  His hometown of St. Louis might be raucous, especially down by the docks on the Mississippi River, but New York, and particularly this street, was beyond his wildest imagination. Now, if he could just get these last horses to the livery — only one more block — and then find his way to his hotel, he would breathe a whole lot easier.

  Loud noises up ahead caught his attention. Several policemen were attempting to break up a group of people in the street. Joseph scanned the area, searching for a clear route around the chaos. Despite what his good friend Basil Fitzpatrick said about how affluent New Yorkers would accept him as a French-Canadian, the Indian half of his background was barely tolerated in St. Louis — and would be much less so in New York City. He wanted to avoid confrontation while he was here in this strange town. Staying away from the authorities was probably a wise decision, and he was not eager to test the waters on his first day here. He should have remembered to tie his shoulder-length dark straight hair back into a queue, to lessen the look of his ancestry. Too late now, he thought as he focused on handling the horses under his command.

  “You there! Stop!” Police shouted as women scattered in different directions in front of him, some of them screaming as they rushed by.

  Joseph halted his horses in the middle of the clogged street and watched. A number of ladies ran directly in front of him, but he noticed only one. Her brown hair was shot through with dark red, reminiscent of a chestnut roan. Rather than being tied up in a chignon, her hair floated around her face in glorious disarray. The waist-length locks billowed out behind her as she ran. Joseph watched as she skittered just out of reach of the approaching policemen, glancing about for a means of escape. If this was what New York women were like, Joseph was glad he had agreed to come east.