The Tempestuous Debutante: Book 4 in the Cotillion Ball Series (Crimson Romance)

by Lower, Becky

  “’Twas much too quiet in the room, so I figured he was up to no good.”

  “And to think, last year, I thought he was divine.”

  Colleen patted her hand. “’Tis nice to see you’ve matured at least a bit since last year.”

  Jasmine didn’t respond, but she was lost in thought. It wasn’t so much that she’d matured, but possibly that another man’s touch was more appealing this year. She thought about Parr, with his arms wrapped around her, comforting her as she trembled from fright. Would Philippe have been so understanding? She thought not. Or for that matter, would Alistair? Oh, for God’s sake, what was she thinking? Of course Alistair would comfort her. If only she could attract his attention, which seemed to currently be focused entirely on Mrs. Smith. With an angry flounce of her skirts, she steeled her mind to think of ways to make Alistair notice her.

  • • •

  Parr finished saddling the horses that would be used today at Alistair’s event. Ten people were participating in a ride to see the work being done on the racetrack. With mounts for Alistair and himself, that meant all twelve lively horses were in the paddock, and ready. The late January air was crisp and bracing. He breathed deeply, taking in the clean air.

  The guests began to arrive, led by Lydia Smith. She and Alistair had moved beyond a cordial relationship in the past week, as she now openly kissed him upon her arrival. Parr was pleased for Alistair, since he had listened to the whole story about his wife, and how she and the baby she was attempting to deliver both died in childbirth. Parr determined that was part of the reason Alistair befriended him. He simply had no one else in his life, and needed a friend.

  It helped that Parr genuinely enjoyed the man, in addition to finding himself in these pleasant circumstances. Since Parr’s mother passed, he too had no one in his corner. So he and Alistair were two of a kind in that regard, and leaned on each other as they went about the business of building an empire in the United States.

  Jasmine and her father were also coming along on the outing. Their reasons for attending were obvious. George Fitzpatrick had a keen interest in the racetrack, and Jasmine had a keen interest in Alistair. Ah, cailín, he thought, I think you’re out of luck now. Lydia Smith was proving to be a formidable foe. She had the advantage of already having been wed once, being closer in age to Alistair, and supposedly being an intelligent woman.

  Parr thought Jasmine was a smart woman, underneath all the layers of fluff she insisted on surrounding herself with. He was willing to dig to find her inner strengths, but he doubted if Alistair cared enough to look. Not when Lydia was around, anyway.

  Jasmine came to his side just as he was assisting Mrs. Smith up on her mount. He held the horse’s reins as Lydia stepped up on the mounting block and got situated in the sidesaddle. He was positioning her foot in the long stirrup when Jasmine reached out and took hold of her riding boot.

  “Where did you get these boots, Mrs. Smith?”

  “Oh, aren’t they lovely?” Lydia pulled her foot from the stirrup and lifted her boot into the air. “They’re the latest thing from Philippe Louboutin. Isn’t he an absolute genius to have created a functional yet stylish riding boot?”

  Jasmine blinked and shot a quick glance at Parr. She didn’t speak, but he did.

  “Right-o, Mrs. Smith. They are indeed lovely boots. You’re all set now.” He handed the reins to her and she moved off, toward Alistair’s side.

  “Are you all right, cailín?” Jasmine’s face had lost all its coloring. Even her lips were pale. She blinked the tears from her eyes.

  “That blasted Frenchman stole our boot design and is claiming it’s his! How dare he?”

  “Let’s talk about it as we ride, shall we? I know we can figure out what to do to get back at the lazy sod.”

  Parr helped Jasmine mount up, making sure her saddle was hidden under her skirts, before he leapt on Grey’s back and they headed out.

  Parr could see the anger radiating off Jasmine’s petite frame. He decided a change in topic would probably be beneficial. “I fancy Alistair is getting tired of Mrs. Smith already, don’t you?” he whispered to her.

  Jasmine raised her head and took in the couple in front of them before she angrily replied, “I don’t see how you come up with that notion, Parr, since they’re glued together at the hip.” She turned away from the couple. “I can’t believe Philippe. I know the only reason he’s doing this is because I refused his advances the last time I was in the shop.”

  “What did the rat bastard do to you?” Even though this was an inappropriate conversation for them to be having, Parr was glad Jasmine was comfortable enough to open up to him. She was an impetuous woman, to be sure, but he appreciated the fact she could confide in him. His hands tightened on the reins and Grey snorted his disapproval.

  “Sorry, fella,” he said to the horse as he relaxed his grip. The thought of someone making improper advances on Jasmine set him on edge, and he hated the French slug for touching her, even though he’d never met the man.

  “Well, it went no further than kissing, let me assure you. But that was enough. His tongue nearly gagged me.” She laughed, which was the exact response Parr was hoping for.

  “So, how shall we get back at him? Is he the only cobbler in town?”

  “The only one with a good reputation and a storefront, anyway.”

  “So why don’t you take your designs and open up a shop to compete with him?”

  Jasmine glanced over at him. “What a delicious thought. You may have hit on a really good idea, Parr. Before Heather decided to marry David, she was seeing a client of Papa’s, who owns a haberdashery in town. I know he had talked about expanding his business to include catering to women. Colleen takes her shoes to be repaired at a cobbler who doesn’t have a shop. He merely likes making and repairing shoes and boots. We could have him make the footwear and I could sell them in the haberdashery. I wonder how Blake would feel about going into partnership with me?”

  “I’d say ’tis at least worthy of discussion.” Parr turned from her to watch the rest of the group. “Oh, look, Mrs. Smith has trotted on ahead of Alistair to speak to your father. Now’s your chance.”

  She hesitated for a moment, but pulled away from him and rode toward Alistair, as he suggested. Was it wishful thinking on his part that she seemed a bit reluctant? ’Twas probably the leprechauns playing with his eyesight again.

  Chapter Nine

  Charlotte met her husband and Jasmine at the door to the family brownstone as they returned from their excursion at Alistair’s. She gave her husband a quick kiss on the cheek and ordered a bite to eat and a pot of tea be sent to him in his library. Then she hustled Jasmine into the parlor, where another pot of tea awaited. She poured them each a cup of the fragrant, hot liquid and prompted, “So, how did it go with Mr. Wickersham today? I’m so upset that I couldn’t attend because of the library board meeting. But clearly something took place — you haven’t been this excited in months.”

  Jasmine smeared some soft butter on a poppy seed muffin and took a bite of the warm heavenly goodness before she shrugged. “You didn’t miss much, Mother. Lydia Smith was all over Alistair Wickersham from the moment she arrived. She even kissed him, on the mouth, in front of everyone! I barely got to talk to the man. But you are right about me being excited. Let me tell you what happened.”

  She sat beside her mother on the loveseat and told her about Philippe stealing the boot design she and Parr had come up with, and how Parr suggested she go into business to compete against him.

  “What a ridiculous notion, dear! I applaud your efforts, and think something should be done to that despicable man for causing you to lose out on your season last year, and now stealing your wonderful design and passing it off as his own. Even worse, having your boot design show up on the feet of Lydia Smith, making her even more appealing!” She smoot
hed the skirt of her navy wool afternoon dress as she thought. “You do have an eye for design, but you mustn’t let anything deter you from your goal over the next few months, which is to capture Alistair’s attentions. That should be your primary focus, and discussing ways of competing against Philippe Louboutin with the stable boy will not accomplish your mission.”

  Jasmine sighed. “But I see this all as a means to that end. I keep being told that Lydia Smith is so intelligent, manages her late husband’s portfolio of investments on her own, and always has something of value to impart into the conversation. Even Papa admits she’s a wonderful conversationalist. If I take enough initiative to begin a business, however humble, don’t you think Alistair would be impressed by my ingenuity?”

  Charlotte tapped her cheek with a finger. Jasmine held her breath.

  “All right, dear. I’ll consent to let you talk to Blake Morgan about setting up a shoe store for ladies in his shop. Perhaps we can cut into Philippe’s business somewhat. It may be just the thing to impress Alistair Wickersham. But you’ll need more than one design, especially since Philippe has pirated that one from you.”

  “Oh, I’ve been drawing boot designs, and making better, less clumsy versions of them, since Parr pointed out all the features that create a good, solid boot for riding. I just need to put the finishing touches on them, and interview Colleen’s cobbler to see if he’d be willing to take on the extra work.”

  “It sounds as if you’ve been giving this some deep thought, and I couldn’t be more proud of you. But don’t lose sight of your original goal in the process. I want my daughter to be known as the Viscountess of Foxborough. Just think what it would do for our standing in society.”

  Jasmine leaned over and kissed her mother’s cheek. “And I want the very same. I won’t let either of us down. If Alistair thinks of me as a clever businesswoman, he’ll forget all about the likes of Mrs. Lydia Smith.”

  • • •

  Parr was in the tack room, facing the chore of cleaning the equipment used the previous day on the ride. Alistair had closed the deal with George Fitzpatrick to assist his bank financially in exchange for George’s help in reaching out to the elite of New York society. They were to begin work on the racetrack as soon as the weather broke. Parr was looking forward to spring in this new land for more reasons than getting to work on the track. Everything came easier if your hands weren’t so cold you couldn’t bend your fingers. And, as soon as the spring-fed lake thawed out, he could turn the horses loose in the pasture to get their fill of water rather than trek it bucket by bucket from the trough to each horse. The tack room had a little wood stove in it, and was quite warm today. He whistled a familiar Irish tune, “Johnny, I Hardly Knew Ye,” as he worked.

  He lifted his head from the bridle he was cleaning when the crunch of wheels over gravel signaled a carriage pulling up outside the stable. He was not expecting anyone today. He hurried to the stable doors, where he spied the Fitzpatricks’ now-familiar carriage. He grinned as Colleen and Jasmine alighted and tied the reins to the fence post.

  “’Tis an unexpected pleasure to see the likes of you ladies today.” He led them into the stable. “Come into the tack room where ’tis warm.”

  Colleen found a corner of the room where she could sit with her knitting. Parr picked up a can of leather polish and a rag and began to work again. Jasmine flitted from one piece of apparatus to another, running her fingers over them, before she sat by his side and observed him while he worked the sweet-smelling polish into the leather, making it supple once again.

  “So, what brings you two lovely ladies here today?” Parr asked. “Not that I’m complaining about the company or anything.”

  “I need your help, Parr. I’ve decided to do what you suggested, and go into competition with Philippe. After all, he has only one boot design he can make, but I have come up with several other good ideas.”

  Parr’s grin nearly split his face. “Sin-e! That’s that, then.” He clapped his hands together. “That’s the spirit. Take the bloody bastard on, I say. So, what help can I be giving ye?”

  “Well, I have a few ideas of my own, but what other things should I consider in a boot?”

  Parr stopped his work, and waved the rag around the room. “Take your lead from this room, I’d say. Use buckles, rivets, leather trim, different colors of leather. The sole and heel are the most important parts, so you can get really carried away on the rest of the boot.” Parr stared into Jasmine’s deep brown eyes, which were snapping in excitement.

  “Ooh, you’re right. There’s so much I can do with the styles … ” Her voice tapered off and she stared at the floor. Her hand went to her stomach.

  “What is it, cailín?”

  “Can I do this, Parr? After all, I’m just a woman.”

  He took her hands in his own. Her eyes rose to meet his. “You’re not just a woman. You are an incredible woman. For the love of God, women are the ones who have babies, who keep their families together, who work day and night to provide for their babogs until they’re full grown and who keep the home fires burning. You are much stronger than we men are. I know ya can do this.”

  Jasmine’s eyes had locked onto his during his speech. He was pleased to see the sparkle of excitement return to them.

  “You’re right. I can do this. Just you watch me.” She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you, Parr, for believing in me.”

  He walked the ladies back to their carriage and helped them into it. As it pulled away, Parr put his hand to his cheek. She kissed me! Oh, he’d been kissed by women, and had experienced much more than a chaste peck on the cheek. But he’d never experienced sparks from a kiss before. His cheek was still warm to the touch. ’Twas a pity, though, that was all he would ever get from her. She thinks you’re just a stable boy, someone to flirt with, be friends with, but never one to take seriously. With a sigh, he returned to his tasks. But his thoughts stayed with Jasmine all afternoon.

  • • •

  Jasmine strode into Blake Morgan’s shop with Colleen by her side. He was busy with a customer, but nodded to them. They browsed the store as they waited their turn to talk to him. Jasmine picked up a soft gray wool tweed cap to examine. She placed it on her head and glanced in the mirror.

  “This would be a great cap for Parr, don’t you think, Colleen?”

  “Since when are you thinking of buying presents for someone other than yourself, missy?”

  Jasmine squirmed a bit. Colleen was right. She always had more things she wanted to buy for herself than she had money from her allowance. Still, Parr had not charged her for her riding lessons, and she should pay him back. And his current cap was looking mighty dreadful.

  “It means nothing, Colleen. I merely think he should receive some compensation for helping me with my riding, that’s all. He refused my money, but he can’t refuse a gift, can he?” She primped in front of the mirror again, viewing the cap from as many angles as she could. “Yes, I think this is a good choice.”

  Blake finished up with his customer and moved to their side.

  “You startled me for a moment, Miss Fitzpatrick. I thought you were Heather.”

  Jasmine extended her gloved hand to him. “Well, you should have no problem telling us apart now, Mr. Morgan, since I’m the only one left in town. Nice to see you again.”

  “And may I say you look lovely this morning? That dress is a perfect color for you. You have a good eye.”

  Jasmine smoothed the skirt of her lavender silk gown, which fell in three flounces, each one with a darker color at the edge, and straightened out the fringe on the bodice. Despite the fact this man had relegated her to the sidelines last season in his pursuit of her sister, she couldn’t help but be pleased by his comments on her attire. Especially since this was another of last year’s styles that she and Colleen had updated.

&nb
sp; “What brings you here today?”

  “Well, for starters, I’ll buy this cap for a friend. And I want to talk over a business proposition with you.”

  Blake Morgan’s eyes widened. “A business proposition? What could you possibly know about business?”

  Jasmine’s spine stiffened at his comment. “Mr. Morgan, some of us women want more from life than to sit around and embroider samplers while orchestrating our children’s lives. I want to talk to you about becoming a partner in your business.”

  “Does your father know about this? We talked, briefly, last year about expanding my business, but nothing ever came of it. And with the rumblings that England is cutting back on our exports, it seems likely that nothing will happen this year, either.”

  Jasmine blew out a breath. “I remember hearing you’d spoken with Papa about opening a women’s dress shop. But I’ve come to talk to you about offering ladies’ shoes and boots for sale, along with your collection of men’s hats and footwear.”

  “Well, I’ll be. I hadn’t thought of ladies’ shoes and boots before. Do you have any experience in the design and production of them?”

  Jasmine quickly filled him in on the theft of her clever design by Philippe Louboutin, and her discussion with Colleen’s cobbler about producing her designs.

  “I’m not a fan of sharing my hard work, and especially not getting the credit I deserve. I have many more boot designs that we can manufacture. We can compete with Monsieur Louboutin, and give him a run for his money. What do you say?”

  “Do you have some of your designs with you?”

  Jasmine nearly jumped up and down in her excitement. However, she controlled herself, and acted with the decorum that would be better suited to a business arrangement. “I brought some of my boot designs with me today, yes.” Colleen handed her the sketchpad she’d been working on furiously since the previous day, when she visited the tack room on Alistair’s property. Jasmine opened it to the first page of completed boot designs and handed it to Blake. He sat with the pad on top of the desk while Jasmine and Colleen took seats on the opposite side of the piece of heavy furniture.