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

by Lower, Becky

  • • •

  Jasmine settled back in the carriage with a contented sigh. Finally able to catch her breath, she realized she was exhausted. But also more excited than she’d ever been in her life. Visions of her wedding dress danced through her head, and her fingers itched for her sketchpad and pencil so she could begin putting her ideas down on paper. This long night would be even longer, since her head would not hit her pillow until she had a few sketches done.

  “Well, Jasmine, you certainly surprised me tonight,” Charlotte grumbled good-naturedly, with a smile on her face. “Just when I think I can predict your every move, you pull the rug out from under me. Been doing that your entire life.”

  Jasmine smoothed down her ruined skirt. “What color do you think my wedding gown should be?”

  Charlotte’s eyes filled with tears. “Another of my babies is getting married.” She reached across the carriage and took Jasmine’s blistered hand in hers. “You’ll need a long bath when you get home, and some ointment for your burns, so talk about your wedding dress can wait for awhile. You’re filthy, and your hair has lost all its pins. You smell of smoke and your dress is ruined.”

  George pulled his wife back to his side. “Yes, but it was because of Jasmine’s quick thinking Parr managed to emerge from the fire. Without her, he would have died in that blaze. I think a dress is a small price to pay for a human life.”

  “Not just any human. My future husband. How soon do you think we can marry?”

  Charlotte dried her tears. “Let’s leave that discussion for another day, shall we? We’re all in need of a hot bath and some sleep.”

  Jasmine leaned back into a corner of the carriage. She would need to write to Heather in the morning about the fire and her adventure, pulling her soon-to-be husband from the wreckage just before it collapsed. Her twin would be happy that she’d found the same kind of love that Heather had, even though the man didn’t come with a title. With a sigh, Jasmine closed her eyes. No title, maybe, but he provided the kind of love she’d always dreamed about. He aroused in her such passion, something Alistair never had been able to do. Whatever had she been thinking? She needed intense emotion in her life. Without it, she would shrivel up and become an old crone. Yes, she’d take a passionate marriage over a titled one any day. She couldn’t wait to be with Parr again.

  The carriage rolled to a stop in front of the Fitzpatrick brownstone. Even though it was after 3:00 A.M., lights blazed inside the house. Puzzled that anyone was up at this hour, Jasmine and her parents quickly alighted and sent the carriage on its way. Colleen met them at the door.

  “I was beginning to tink you’d never get home,” she declared as she helped Charlotte with her coat and then turned to Jasmine. “Ach, my wee one, what have you been doing?”

  George handed Colleen his top hat before leading the way into the parlor. “What my daughter has been doing was rescuing Parr from a burning building, that’s what. I’m so proud of her.”

  Colleen’s hand went to her mouth. “For the love of God! Is he all right?”

  Jasmine’s face split into an ear-to-ear grin. “He’s a bit charred, but as fine as any future husband of mine could be expected to be.”

  “Saints preserve us.” Colleen’s eyes widened. “How did that happen?” She grabbed Jasmine in a hug. “It’s what I had hoped for all along, but you seemed so determined not to follow your heart.”

  “He went back into that burning building just to retrieve the cap I gave him, can you believe it? The foolish man.” Jasmine giggled. “How could I possibly deny my feelings for him any longer?”

  George glanced around the brightly lit room. “But why are you still up? And why is every lamp in the house burning?”

  “Ach, I plumb forgot, what with all your news. But a telegram came tonight, shortly after you left for the party. It’s from Mr. Basil, in St. Louis, and I’ve been worried sick about its contents. I can’t sleep until I know your son is safe.” She handed the telegram to George.

  He ripped open the envelope and quickly scanned the missive before handing it to his wife. “All is well, Colleen. Basil is getting married in three days’ time, and wants Charlotte and me to come to St. Louis for the ceremony.”

  “To whom?” Jasmine grabbed the telegram to read it for herself.

  “That lovely girl who helped deliver our daughter Ginger’s baby last fall. Oh, I couldn’t be more pleased,” Charlotte wailed. “But another of my children is going to be wed.”

  George patted her hand. “Now, Charlotte, that only means we’ve done our job well. And we can look forward to more grandchildren.”

  Jasmine raised her eyes from the telegram. “He’s going to bring her to New York directly after the wedding so she can attend the first ball of the season. She’ll need a dress.”

  Charlotte laughed. “Of course, dear. Now you’ll have two dresses to work on over the next few weeks. Oh, I must get some sleep, so we can pack our suitcases and get on the train tomorrow.”

  “But how can I design a dress for someone I’ve never met?”

  “Ginger described this girl, Temperance, in her last letter. You can find it and read it over again in the morning. That should give you some insight.”

  “Mother, you must bring Heather back to New York along with Basil and his bride, so she can attend my wedding. I want her to be my matron of honor.”

  Colleen ran a hand across her forehead and blew out a long breath. “So all is well, but the lot of you are surely a fright. I’ll go and get baths ready for you. And then, I suggest we all get to bed.”

  Jasmine mounted the stairs to her third floor bedroom. It would take a while to get the water heated for a bath, and in the meantime, she already had an idea for her wedding gown. Ivory silk stain brocade with an overlay of satin around the front of the skirt. Lace cuffs that matched the lace veil. Possibly some ruching in the back to create a pleasing appearance to the guests who would be staring at her backside during the ceremony. And some satin wedding boots with pearl buttons. Ah, yes, there were a million options, and she must get started. Sleep could wait.

  • • •

  A late breakfast was barely underway at the Fitzpatrick household when Alistair sent around a message that he would be arriving within the hour. He had an urgent matter to discuss with all of them.

  He pulled up at the Fitzpatrick brownstone shortly thereafter. The butler opened the door and escorted Alistair, Parr, and Lydia Smith into the parlor, where Jasmine, George, and Charlotte waited.

  Jasmine’s eyes lit up as she greeted Parr with a kiss, but narrowed when she noticed Lydia. “I thought you were about to discuss an urgent matter, Alistair.”

  “And I am. It involves everyone in this room. Mrs. Smith has agreed to marry me, so my news will affect her as well as you.”

  Jasmine and Charlotte gave a collective gasp as their heads bobbed Lydia’s way. She was staring at Alistair, love etched on her face.

  “Well, do get on with it, Alistair,” George replied. “Charlotte and I have a train to catch in a few hours.”

  “All right then. May I suggest we all take a seat? What I have to say will surely come as a surprise.”

  With excited murmurs, everyone sat down and a tea tray was brought into the room for the guests. As soon as everyone was settled, Alistair rose and cleared his throat.

  “My news has to do mostly with Parr.” He glanced at the young man, who was now cleaned up from his brush with the fire, although his clothes didn’t fit him too well, since they were from Alistair’s armoire. His hair was singed from the blaze and he still smelled slightly of smoke.

  Parr returned his gaze, with a question in his eyes.

  “I’ve been asked the question repeatedly as to why I made you a full partner in our business rather than offer you merely a salary to be my head man of the stable.”

>   “I’ve asked meself the very same question, Alistair, many times over.”

  “The answer is because I didn’t randomly pick you out of the crowd at the races the day we met. I was searching specifically for you. Your dear mother sent me a letter just prior to her death, telling me about you for the first time. You’re my son, Parr.”

  The color left Parr’s face, and he gulped noticeably. “You’re my da? But how?”

  “I spent a summer in Ireland following the completion of my education at Eton. I met your mother, Rose, there, and had a glorious time with her. But my father called me back home and I had to leave. I had no idea she was with child. I went on to marry my wife, who, as you know, died in childbirth. It wasn’t until after my wife’s death that Rose sent me the letter telling me about you. And about her illness. I was grieving and didn’t come for you right away, but when I decided to get on with my life, I could see no way to continue without having you as a part of it.”

  “You never knew about me?”

  “Never. I swear. Do you think I would have ignored you all these years, had I known about you?”

  “But you’re a titled English lord, and I’m not the first bastard to grace this earth by the likes of noblemen. ’Tis not too much of a stretch to believe that.”

  “No, you’re not, that’s true. But I prefer to think I’m not cut from the same cloth as everyone else. I held off telling you until now, because I wanted to see the man you’ve become. But last night, when we nearly lost you, I realized I had to tell you.”

  Parr nodded. “I’m glad you did. It explains so many things. I wasn’t dropped in the middle of the forest for me mother to find.”

  Alistair smiled. “No, but she did name you correctly.”

  Parr grinned. “You mean the stable?”

  Alistair nodded. Charlotte and George appeared confused as they tried to follow the conversation. Jasmine smiled.

  “I plan to claim you as my rightful son to the King of England, and to place you in line to eventually take over as the Duke of Foxborough someday. That’s where Lydia comes in. She told me last night she wants to try to have a child, so I had to let her know that the first-born has already happened.”

  “And I don’t care,” Lydia exclaimed as she rose and joined Alistair. He took her hands in his. “I love this man and that’s what counts.”

  “But you’ll now be known as a viscountess, Mrs. Smith, won’t you?” Charlotte asked.

  Alistair turned toward Charlotte. “Although I’m trying to avoid the use of the archaic English titles here in the States, yes. For all intents and purposes, Lydia will now be known as the Viscountess Wickersham. My son, Parr, is now the Honorable Parr Wickersham, since he will have to take my last name in order to inherit the title. And his wife, Jasmine, will now be the Honorable Mrs. Wickersham. Does that clear things up?”

  “Perfectly, Alistair.” Charlotte’s face gleamed as her eyes flickered from Alistair to her daughter. Jasmine was paying no attention to the conversation. She only had eyes for Parr.

  Alistair sat down, still holding hands with Lydia. He was proud of his son, although he was the first to acknowledge he had nothing to do with the manner in which the young man was raised. Parr was as solid as they came and, although their business had suffered a mighty setback with the loss of the stable, they’d rebuild it together, and put in some of the changes Parr mentioned he was incorporating in the larger stable near the racetrack. And not just a stable would be built. They’d build a new life together here in this great country, as father and son. And their vastly different, but equally tempestuous, wives.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Jasmine and Colleen, with their new seamstress, Daisy, were trying to juggle an assortment of tasks as March wound to a close. They had to create dresses for Temperance and Heather to wear during the wedding ceremony, wedding gowns for both Jasmine and Amanda, and Eliza Logan still was expecting three dresses, not to mention the daily traffic that was visiting the shop and requesting gowns of their own.

  Daisy was a master of the newfangled sewing machine, and was able to stitch straight seams in record time. Colleen continued to do the delicate handwork needed on each dress and gown, and Jasmine was ripping off page after page in her sketchpad and crumpling them loudly before she tossed them in the direction of the wastebasket. The worktable was awash in color, with bolts of cloth from the palest yellow to the deepest lavender laid out across its surface, for inspiration as Jasmine worked on her drawings. She ripped off another page in frustration, and tossed it to the floor.

  “Heather’s dress will be easy to make, but all I know about this Temperance is that she’s tiny, has brown hair, and green eyes. How am I supposed to even begin designing a dress for her?”

  “It won’t be so hard, lass. From what Ginger wrote, it sounds as if she’s had a pretty hard life up to this point. I bet she’s never owned a pink dress before, even when she was little.”

  “Well, she’s not little anymore. She’s my age. And she’s married to Basil by now. I don’t see her in a sweet little pink ensemble.” Jasmine rose and began to sort through the bolts of brightly colored silks and silk satins in the bins of the workroom.

  Colleen joined her. “No, lass, I’m not talking about a sweet-pea pink. You’re right, that’s more a color for young girls. How about a deep rose pink instead? Wouldn’t that be elegant and more appropriate for a young woman?”

  “Yes, I think you’re right, Colleen. The deep pink color of an heirloom English rose is supposed to signify appreciation and gratitude, isn’t it? I’m sure she appreciates Basil taking her out of her hard life and making her a banker’s wife. It’s a perfect choice for a brown-haired woman. Perhaps we can add a few silk roses at the back of the dress? We need to make it a two-piece, because, if she’s as tiny as Ginger says, we’ll need to take in whatever we come up with, and it’d be easier if we only need to alter the top.”

  “An excellent idea, lass. Mayhap we can add an overlay of sheer silk with a rose-pattern? Ooh, it’s going to be lovely.” Colleen clapped her hands together. “Who would have thought, Basil would be the next Fitzpatrick getting married!”

  “Don’t forget my wedding, which will happen as soon as I can decide on what kind of dress I want to make.”

  Colleen wrapped Jasmine in her arms and kissed her temple. “My wee sprite, of course I wouldn’t be forgetting your wedding. You’ve made me so proud. Not only did you choose the right man, you did so not even knowing he was the son of the viscount. You listened to your heart.”

  Jasmine laughed. “You’re only saying that because Parr is a fellow Irishman.”

  “Well, I’ll not be sayin’ you’re entirely wrong there, but lass, you know as well as I do that you were smitten from the first time you laid eyes on that lad. You gave him such a hard time of things.”

  “He is a handsome devil, isn’t he?” Jasmine’s stomach developed butterflies as she thought of Parr and his passionate kisses. “Now, let’s get busy. I want to spend tomorrow at the ranch with him. We’ve had no time together since the fire.”

  • • •

  Parr was in the other stable, near the racetrack. It was larger than the personal stable that had burned to the ground, and more lavish. The center alley was made from cobblestones and proved an easy surface to keep clean and tidy. Where the side aisles intersected with the alley, the cobbles were laid out in a circular pattern, with a darker grey color around the outer edge of the circle. Stalls were on each side, complete with wrought iron and mahogany doors. The vaulted ceiling had windows on either side, allowing light to cascade into the center alley. Overall, the stable presented an image of wealth and luxury, exactly the message he and Alistair wanted to convey to all who raced their horses on the track.

  The stable was not nearly finished, though. Huge lofts on the second floor, front and back, had yet to
be built, so hay had to be brought in on wheelbarrows each day for the horses. But Parr didn’t really mind the extra work. At least he still had all his horses, and himself, intact. He may have lost his sleeping quarters in the barn, his clothing, and all his earthly possessions as well as all the tack. But, since Alistair revealed himself to be Parr’s father, Parr decided to take him up on his offer to have private quarters within the house. At least until he and Jasmine could build their own home on the property. He couldn’t imagine his beautiful Jasmine ever living in a stable, however lavish the quarters would be.

  His beautiful Jasmine. Just thinking about her, and using that phrase, brought a smile to his lips. She was finally his. He no longer needed to entertain thoughts about leaving, since Alistair was now set to marry Lydia Smith. Parr thought about that for a minute, too. Yes, they seemed well suited for each other. Wasn’t it funny, the way love worked. Alistair seemed unable to keep his hands off Lydia, but the several instances when he and Jasmine were together, he never was inclined to touch her, other than a gentle kiss or two. Or so Alistair said last night, after the Fitzpatricks left the home.

  Well, Parr was inclined to touch her. Admittedly, he hadn’t had much of a chance up until now, but enough to recognize the jolt of sexual tension she created whenever he was near her. And, wonder of wonders, she had the same reaction to him. Could life get any sweeter?

  Horse’s hooves and carriage wheels created a cheerful sound on the stones outside the stable doors. Alistair was in town with Lydia, and Parr wasn’t expecting anyone. He went to the doors and peered out at the loveliest sight ever. His beautiful Jasmine was alighting from the carriage. And she was alone.