by Lower, Becky
As the dessert plates were cleared away, Alistair took hold of her hand. “Miss Fitzpatrick, I am going to be in town in two days, for a meeting with the bank’s Board of Directors. I was planning to stay after the meeting and attend the theatre. There’s a new musical called The Elves that I’ve been meaning to see. I’ve already rented a box for the performance. Would you care to accompany me?”
Jasmine dipped her head so she could gaze up at him through her lashes, which she batted at him. He had to repress a grin at her behavior.
“Why, I’d be delighted, Mr. Wickersham.” She smiled up at him.
He then turned to George. “Perhaps you and Charlotte could join us?”
“I’ll check with my wife to make certain our calendar is clear. If it is, we’d love to accompany you. I’ll send word around to you tomorrow.”
Alistair led his guests out of the house and made certain they got on their way without mishap. With the wheels from their carriage spewing up the gravel, he closed the door and went to his library. He poured himself a brandy, lit a cigar, and leaned back in his leather chair. He swirled the pungent, amber liquid in its snifter before he took a sip. Yes, until Lydia returned to New York, Miss Fitzpatrick would do nicely.
• • •
Jasmine settled back against the squabs in her father’s sumptuous carriage. The leather seats were cool in the evening air, but she was feeling heated nonetheless. She opened her fan and waved it back and forth for a few minutes, then snapped it shut with a groan of breath. Her father had fallen into a light sleep the minute the carriage pulled away from Alistair’s house and was snoring gently, so she was left alone with her thoughts.
And those thoughts were rioting out of control. She finally had gotten her wish. Alistair was taking her to the theatre in two days’ time, declaring to all of New York society that he had made a choice in the matrimony department. Lydia Smith might be able to get him into her bed, but she couldn’t get him to the altar. Jasmine could and would. So why was she not over the moon?
Tears of frustration threatened again, and she opened her fan back up to dry them. She’d be damned if she let another tear fall for Parr. She touched her lips as she recalled their stormy, tempestuous kiss in the stable. What had she been thinking, drawing him back in for another taste after she’d just slapped him for his impudence? What did that say about her? That she, too, was impudent? Tempestuous? Scandalous? Yes, yes, and yes! She placed a hand on her stomach as it rioted out of control. She would have to make certain that, in the future, she spent no time alone with him, since she couldn’t trust herself around him. She was much better off with Alistair, on all accounts.
First, he was titled. What would Heather and Ginger have to say when she married a viscount? Despite her watery eyes and her roiling stomach, she smiled into the darkness, thinking of her sisters’ reactions to the news. They might have married before her, but she would marry better than they did.
Second, he had money. And not just a little money. He had enough to simultaneously bail out her father’s bank and to begin building a racetrack. She had no idea how much capital it took for both ventures, but she imagined it would be a lot. He could keep her in the latest fashion without it being a drain on him financially.
Third, he was her peer in society. No, she corrected herself, he was above her in social status. But then, it was acceptable for women to marry into a higher echelon of society. But marrying down would never do.
Fourth, he didn’t make her lose her razor-sharp focus. Admittedly, he had yet to kiss her, or touch her in more ways than taking her hand to assist her into the carriage or escort her to dinner. But she didn’t sense the same snap of tension in the air between them, such as what she had with Parr. She sighed. That was a good thing, wasn’t it? She’d be able to get exactly what she wanted from him, since her thoughts wouldn’t be clouded by lust.
But what if Alistair wasn’t exactly what she wanted? She tossed her fan aside and crossed her arms over her stomach. Well, for once, Jasmine, dear, you might not be able to have everything you want. What you want and what you need are two entirely different things. Be an adult about this, and lavish all your attention on Alistair. Make him feel as if he’s the most important man in the world, and that he’s the one who sets you on fire. Eventually, he will.
She began to think about what she would wear to the theatre. Was there enough time to repurpose another one of last year’s gowns so she could create a stir, not only for who her escort was, but also by what she was wearing? She wanted to rework the emerald silk dress, since it enhanced her dark hair and brown eyes. Maybe she’d add some seed pearls and lace to the bodice, and rearrange the skirt to make a slight bustle in the back. Her fingers itched for her charcoal pencil, and she spent the rest of the ride home planning her attire for the upcoming outing.
She could come to love Alistair, even if he was much older. Women had been doing this for years, centuries. She could, too.
• • •
Charlotte fidgeted in her seat at the breakfast table. She sniffed at the offerings that were available on the sideboard. Bacon, coddled eggs, sweetbreads, and some of Cook’s luscious cinnamon rolls were lined up and waiting for the family, as well as an ample portion of fresh fruit, milk, and tea. She helped herself to a gooey cinnamon roll as she listened with half an ear to the conversation between her youngest, Saffron, and her eldest, Halwyn. Their talk brought a smile to her lips. Halwyn may come across as a hard-nosed businessman, but Saffron brought out his good nature. He actually laughed as she embellished on the qualities she wanted in her pony, which she was certain to receive on her next birthday.
As much as Charlotte enjoyed these morning get-togethers with her children, she was unsettled today, as she awaited the appearance of Jasmine. She and her father had been guests at Alistair Wickersham’s ranch last evening for dinner, and Charlotte was dying to hear the details. George had been useless at imparting information, as he crawled into bed and barely kissed her before falling asleep.
Lydia Smith obviously thought she was secure enough in her relationship with the viscount that she could go running off to Virginia for nearly a month. Supposedly to help her sister give birth, but Charlotte thought it might be a ploy to make Alistair long for her. We’ll see about that, Charlotte thought, as she bounced her spoon on the table.
Halwyn turned toward his mother and placed a hand over hers to still the silverware. “Please, Mother, it’s too early for all that clatter. What has you so upset?”
“I’m not upset, I’m merely anxious to talk to Jasmine, and find out how her evening with the viscount went. It was a big night for her, and I only want assurance that things went well.”
“Don’t you think you’re placing a lot of pressure on her by scheming about how she can become a member of English aristocracy? Perhaps you’d be better served helping her redefine her goals to make them more attainable. I think capturing the interest of someone twice her age is a huge undertaking, and pointless. Jasmine appeals to men her own age, men who haven’t formed opinions on everything, and can have their minds easily swayed by a fetching face.”
Charlotte stared at her son for a long moment. “Well, listen to you, Mr. Opinionated himself. I presume you are speaking from experience?”
Halwyn picked his napkin from his lap, balled it up, and placed it on the table. “I understand my sister, possibly better than you do. You’re clouding the issue of her getting married to someone suitable by having your head turned by silly titles. You must examine beneath the lofty title to the man himself. Is he really the best fit for Jasmine?”
With a huff, Charlotte balled her own napkin and threw it on the table. “I’ve given this a great deal of thought, Halwyn. Jasmine needs an authoritative husband to deal with her impertinent nature, and the perfect man for the job is Alistair Wickersham. I think you should leave the matchmaking to me. I’ve done
well with the girls so far, and when Jasmine weds the viscount, our place in society will be firmly cemented.”
Halwyn rose from the table. “Just remember, a title will never keep her warm at night.”
“Halwyn, I can’t believe you’re talking about keeping someone warm at night.” Jasmine laughed as she made her way into the room. “You turn a blind eye to all those adoring women who chase after you at every ball.”
He gave her a lopsided smile. “I assure you I do not. I just haven’t seen anyone yet who captures my fancy. And unlike you, my affections can’t be purchased by dangling a title in front of me.”
Charlotte peered over at Jasmine, as she took a seat at the table. Her face lost its color with Halwyn’s last remark.
“Leave us be, son. Jasmine and I have much to discuss.”
“Come along, Saffron,” he said to the little girl. “Neither of us is going to talk sense into our mother today.”
Charlotte waited until Halwyn and Saffron left the room, and Jasmine helped herself to some breakfast before she began her line of questioning.
“Well?”
Jasmine’s eyes met her mother’s for the first time since she entered the room. “We-e-ll … ” Her eyes began to sparkle. “I have a date for the theatre with Alistair Wickersham tomorrow night. He’s invited you and Papa to be in his box as well.”
Charlotte clapped her hands together. “I guessed it! All we had to do was remove Lydia Smith from the viscount’s line of sight and I was sure he’d notice you. How could he not, my dear? You’re ever so much more lovely.”
Jasmine spread some gooseberry jam on her toast before she answered. “Yes, it helped to have Lydia go out of town, but it bothers me a bit that the air needed to be cleared before he turned his attentions to me. Don’t you think, if I were truly his match, he would have noticed me right away?”
“Well, you have the opportunity in front of you right now to show him the error of his ways. Accompanying him to the theatre will tell New York society who he’s considering for a wife. All you need to do now is to let him realize the message he’s already sending. He’ll come around soon enough.”
Charlotte laid her hand over her daughter’s and was pleased to see her expression move from pensive to excited. “You’re so right, Mother. I’ll make certain to be captivating each and every time I’m around him, and he’ll soon realize it’s me he wants, not someone else’s hand-me-downs. Now, let’s talk about our gowns for the big evening ahead of us.”
Chapter Thirteen
Parr was in the paddock, watching the colt as he grew more confident on his legs. It never ceased to amaze him how quickly animals got to their feet after birth and began to walk alongside the mother. Survival instincts, he guessed. Whereas baby humans needed to be hauled around by their parents for the first year, until they began to take steps. His mind wandered and he allowed it to, since he wanted to avoid thinking about what had transpired last night.
When he caught sight of the now-familiar Fitzpatrick buggy, his heart began to race. Was Jasmine coming to see him? To apologize for saying she hated him? To kiss him senseless once again, and send his heart soaring to the heavens?
He shook his head, to clear away such riotous thoughts. If Jasmine was, in fact, in the carriage, she’d be coming to see Alistair, not him. He should wipe such foolishness from his mind.
As the carriage wheels crunched over the gravel and drove on past the house and came to a stop at the stable door, he was pleased to see Colleen alight from it. He hid his disappointment at finding she was alone.
“Ach, laddie, ’tis good to see you.” Colleen wrapped Parr in a huge hug.
“You’re good for me soul, Colleen. You take away the pangs of homesickness I sometimes feel. Thanks for coming.”
“And I’m bettin’ you have a pretty fair idea about why I’m here, don’t ya, lad?”
He peered into her piercing eyes, and lowered his own. “Aye.”
“Somethin’ happened here last night and it’s more than our Jasmine decidin’ it’s Alistair Wickersham that she wants.”
He continued to hang his head. “Aye, again, Colleen.”
She lifted his chin until he again stared her in the eye. “I canna help it. I love the Fitzpatrick girls as if they’re me own daughters. So when I see two people who were meant to be together fighting against their destiny, I have to step in.”
“Ah, but there’s where you’d be wrong. We are not meant to be.”
“Parr O’Shaughnessy, don’t start playing stupid with me. You are the only one who was able to see Jasmine for what she truly is — a totally misunderstood cailín. You showed her what her true value was, and allowed her to believe in herself. She’s giving me a chance to become more than a lady’s maid. I can be a merchant in me own right. And ’tis because of you. Don’t expect me to turn me back on all that kindness.”
Parr glanced off into the horizon. “You may not be able to turn your back on the facts, but she can. And did, last night. I overstepped, because I was knackered, and she and I had become friends. And because I just wanted so to touch her. I know ’twas wrong of me. I’ve done a fair job of beating meself up about it.”
“That’s codswallow and you know it. I think you’re giving up too easily. Is not my girl worth fighting for?”
Parr snapped his eyes back to Colleen’s as his anger mounted. “I’d lay down me life for her, ye must know that already. But I canna go up against my partner. Alistair found me when I was at me lowest, shortly after me dear mum died, and offered me a new, prosperous life. Hell, I would have worked for him for nothing more than a warm bed and food on my table, but he insisted on making me a full partner in his venture. I don’t know why, but I’m not about to bite his hand by stealing his woman.”
“Ach, aye, I can see where you’re in a bit of a dilemma. I wouldn’t expect you to go against Lord Wickersham, but, la, laddie, you fit my Jasmine so well.”
“If wishes were horses, then beggars would ride, Colleen.” He smiled as he recited the old nursery rhyme.
“Well, then, we’ll just have to sprinkle you with fairy dust, maybe.”
“Or find me that pot o’ gold at the end of the rainbow.”
They stood for a moment, each lost in their own thoughts as the colt strutted around the paddock. “’Tis a beauty, Parr. What’s the horse’s name?”
“Alistair came out this morning and declared him to be Blaze of Glory. We’ll call him Blaze.”
“’Tis a good name. Well, speaking of his lordship, I should get up to the house and deliver the message from Mr. Fitzpatrick.” She waved an envelope in the air.
“What’s that for?”
Colleen again pierced him a gaze that went right to his soul. “Mr. and Mrs. Fitzpatrick have agreed to accompany Mr. Wickersham and Jasmine to the theatre tomorrow evening.”
“Ach, so that’s how ’tis.”
“For now, laddie. For now.”
• • •
Jasmine struggled to keep from grinning as she took her seat in the box. She caught the collective gasp of incredulity from the crowd at the theatre when she walked in with Alistair, closely followed by her parents. But it wouldn’t do to show that their reaction registered with her, or to be so childish as to grin at the response. After all, she was in the company of the mature man she was destined to be with, the man every society mother with a marriageable daughter had set her cap for, and this evening, the best of New York society was being made aware of the fact that Alistair had already made his choice. The whole incident with Lydia Smith turning his head was merely a bump in the road. Obviously, Mrs. Smith had been toying with his affections, since she’d chosen to leave town at a critical juncture, allowing Jasmine to step in.
And Jasmine wasn’t going anywhere. Now that she had Alistair’s undivided attention, she needed
to make the most of her moment. She smoothed the skirt of her refashioned emerald gown, and made certain the lace that adorned the cuffs of her sleeves was straight. She was a walking advertisement for her shop, since this dress would appear as a model of her work, beginning next week, when the shop opened.
But tonight, the dress was part of the total package that was Jasmine Fitzpatrick, soon to be the Viscountess of Foxborough. People may be oohing and aahing over the dress she was wearing, but they were also commenting on whom she was with and what it meant. She raised her fan in front of her face and leaned toward Alistair, causing even more low rumblings from the crowd as their heads nearly touched. She caught the scent of his sandalwood soap, and the cheroot he and her father had enjoyed before they left the house.
“You look quite handsome tonight, Mr. Wickersham.” She batted her eyelashes.
He let his eyes drift from her face down to her bodice, which was cut scandalously low, the corset she was wearing pushing her breasts up even higher. “And you look quite fetching as well, Miss Fitzpatrick. Tell me, is this one of your creations?” He flicked a hand in the air, indicating her dress.
“Yes, it is. Thank you for noticing. And it’s going into the shop first thing, to show the ladies what I’m capable of designing.”
“Judging from the reaction of the crowd tonight, I think the ladies will be beating down the door of the shop as soon as it opens to get their hands on one of your designs. Aren’t you a bit worried, though, about becoming a merchant? A member of the working class?”
“My father’s a member of the ‘working class’ as you call it, and has managed to provide a nice life for his family. So are you, as the owner of a soon-to-be wildly popular racetrack. My sister, Ginger, worked alongside my father at the bank for years, and my twin sister, Heather, is now a schoolteacher in Missouri. I think the rules of society are a bit more lax here in America than they are in Great Britain. Or at least they’re beginning to bend. Isn’t that part of the reason why you came to these shores?”
