Gentleman of Her Dreams

by Jen Turano

  Before he could make that suggestion, Charlotte squared her shoulders and sent him a glare. “Fine, be that way then. I’ll go it alone.”

  “You can’t sail that boat by yourself.”

  “I simply won’t unfurl the sail,” she proclaimed. “I’ll row myself across the bay.”

  She was going to be the death of him.

  “You can’t row a boat across the bay,” he said between clenched teeth.

  “I’ll never know for certain until I try.”

  She was the most exasperating woman he’d ever known, and yet, even though he knew her plan was at distinct odds with what he wanted, he, for some unknown reason, suddenly found himself nodding, the action causing Charlotte’s scowl to immediately disappear into a lovely smile, a smile that set his heart to racing.

  He really did love her. Why else would he allow her to twist him around her little finger like this?

  “Come on, you’d better show me this boat of yours,” he grumbled, his mind going numb when Charlotte beamed at him, took back his hand, and pulled him over to the wagon.

  Trepidation rolled over him as he got his first good look at her boat.

  “You call this a boat?” he asked as he dropped her hand and stepped forward, eyeing the disaster in front of him.

  “Of course it’s a boat. Mr. Gardner was going to toss it away, and I rescued and restored it.”

  Henry’s gaze traveled over the length of the boat. It was slightly larger than a rowboat and had a skinny mast sticking up from the middle. “Maybe you should have let Mr. Gardner have his way.”

  Charlotte didn’t bother to respond and instead, walked around to the front of the wagon and climbed up, turning to look at him after she sat down on the seat. “Are you coming?”

  “I don’t think this will float,” he muttered before moving to take his place by her side. She handed him the reins, he gave them a flick, and then, much to his dismay, they were on their way to Hudson Bay where they were certain to meet yet another disaster.

  “I used tar.”

  “I hope you used a lot of it,” he said.

  “I told you, it’s perfectly seaworthy.”

  “You told me it leaks,” Henry countered.

  “All boats leak a little bit.”

  “No, they don’t,” he argued.

  Charlotte let out a grunt. “Really, Henry, if I’d known you were going to be this much of a stick in the mud, I would have never requested your help. Surely you know that I wouldn’t ask you to go sailing in a boat that wasn’t safe? I’m not an idiot, and again, I tested the boat, in water I might add, a few days ago. It was fine.” She sent him another mind-numbing smile. “Now, could we please change the subject and speak about something pleasant? You have yet to tell me anything of the adventures you wrote me about, and I’ve been dying to ask you so many questions.”

  Although he knew he should press her further regarding exactly what water she’d supposedly tested her boat on, he couldn’t seem to get the words out of his mouth. She was watching him with clear delight in her eyes, and he found he couldn’t refuse her request of sharing his adventures with her.

  Time flew as they traveled through the city until they arrived at the bay, when Charlotte suddenly sat forward in her seat and grinned back at him. “We’re here,” she exclaimed, lurching against his side as the wagon hit a rut in the road, the heat from her body causing him to suck in a sharp breath. “This is so exciting.”

  Twenty minutes later, Henry wasn’t so certain it was exciting; it was mostly terrifying. They were well away from shore and Charlotte had just unfurled the sail. To his horror, the cloth was badly frayed and ripped, although uneven stitches were trying to hold the material together. He was fairly certain Charlotte had darned the sail herself, and from what his memory recalled, she was less than handy with a needle.

  “We’re picking up speed now,” she called.

  “I don’t know if that sail’s up for it,” he called back, his eyes widening as he watched one repaired spot slowly unravel right in front of him.

  Charlotte apparently hadn’t heard him, probably because her attention was settled on something in the distance. “There they are. Mr. Beckett is in that lovely sailboat right over there. Faster, Henry, full speed ahead.”

  Henry was trying to comply with her demands, but his attempt at tacking back and forth was met with little success, as the sail was unraveling at a rapid rate. Then, suddenly, the wind died and the boat drifted to a stop as small waves lapped against the sides of the boat.

  “What are you doing?” Charlotte asked. “Why aren’t we moving?”

  “No wind.”

  Charlotte tilted her head and then smiled. “We have oars.”

  “There is no possible way I’m going to row you over to Mr. Beckett’s boat,” Henry declared. “It will take me forever, and besides, it would look somewhat odd if I simply happened to choose his boat when there are plenty of other, closer boats out here.”

  “We can’t just sit here, and no, we’re not going to accept help from any of those other boats,” Charlotte grouched before she brightened. “I know . . . what if I toss the oars overboard and then we’ll start yelling in Mr. Beckett’s direction? He’ll feel compelled to come to our rescue. Since we’re wind-less and oar-less, he’ll offer us a ride back to shore, and I’ll finally have an opportunity to converse with him.”

  She was a menace.

  He swallowed the snort he longed to emit, reminded himself he was trying to woo her, strange as that seemed under the circumstances, and hoped his tone, as soon as he recovered his voice, would come across as reasonable instead of annoyed. “Charlotte, you’re not thinking clearly,” he began. “We cannot simply toss our oars overboard. It would hardly be the prudent option as it would leave us with no way to get back to shore on the off chance Mr. Beckett, or any other boaters, didn’t hear our calls, and . . .” Henry’s words trailed off as he glanced down and realized the reason his foot was suddenly cold was because the boat was quickly becoming submerged. “We’re taking on water.”

  Charlotte lifted her skirts and frowned. “So we are. How strange.” Her frown deepened as she leaned forward and stuck her hand down into the water that was now completely covering their feet. “I wonder where this rather large hole came from because I assure you it wasn’t here when we first set sail.”

  Henry could only sit there, frozen, as water began gushing upward, reminding him of the fountain in Charlotte’s backyard. Sanity returned in a flash; he yanked his handkerchief out of his jacket and stuffed it into the hole, hoping it would at least staunch the flow slightly and allow him to get the boat back to land. He straightened and snatched his hat off his head, beginning to bail as quickly as he could.

  Charlotte pulled the miniscule hat from her head and began scooping water out of the boat, although the smallness of her hat didn’t allow her to make much progress.

  They were doomed.

  The wind kicked up that moment, causing the tattered sails to billow with air, and, much to his relief and surprise, they were off. He tossed her his hat, took control of the rope, and was just getting ready to turn the boat around and head back to shore when Charlotte did something completely unexpected.

  She got to her feet, splashing him with liberal amounts of water as she did so, and began waving her hands wildly over her head, smiling broadly.

  “Ahoy there, we could use some assistance please.”

  One minute she was standing there, rocking the boat, and the next, the wind shifted and filled the sail, causing it to rip down the middle and slap soundly against Charlotte’s face. She stumbled backwards, and he heard a loud, ominous crack. Before Henry could move, the floor of the boat directly beneath her feet disintegrated, and Charlotte disappeared under the murky waters of Hudson Bay.

  3

  Her concern with being fashionably attired was going to be the death of her.

  As Charlotte sunk ever faster through the water, she couldn’t help but
recall how her mother had warned her about wearing a bustle on a boat.

  Maybe she should’ve designed a bustle that could float.

  Now there was an idea. It was too bad she wasn’t going to live long enough to see that invention come to pass.

  The last of her air leaked out of her lungs, and panic set in.

  She was going to die.

  She wasn’t ready to die.

  Black spots began obscuring her vision, and an image of Henry’s face sprang to mind, his eyes twinkling and his lips curled with amusement.

  She struggled to kick upwards, needing to see Henry one last time before she died, but the weight of her skirts forced her to abandon her efforts, the heavy fabric tangling around her legs and sending her hurtling downward.

  She felt a brief glimmer of regret pass through her, regret that she’d been responsible for causing this latest disaster. She sent out a prayer, not really knowing which way was up, asking God to spare Henry’s life, because this was all her fault and he didn’t deserve to die because of her idiocy.

  Something grabbed hold of her hair, but darkness was descending and she didn’t have the strength to question what it was.

  Suddenly, her head was above the surface and her mouth opened, spewing out water before she sucked air into her lungs.

  “Charlotte, love, can you hear me? Are you all right? Please don’t be dead, don’t be dead.”

  She blinked water out of her eyes, felt a strong arm flip her onto her back, but then she was under water again, being sucked back into the cold abyss by the weight of her skirts. A strong arm pulled her up again, blessed air filled her lungs, and then, to her confusion, she heard what sounded like a rip. Her body immediately felt lighter just as realization set in.

  “Did you just rip off my gown?” she sputtered after she spit out a mouthful of water.

  “Thank God, you’re alive.”

  She turned her head and met Henry’s gaze as remorse set in.

  “I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

  Henry smiled. “You should be—you just took ten years off my life, but you’re not all to blame. I shouldn’t have been so easily persuaded to help you with this madness. I knew full well that boat wasn’t safe.” He sobered and lifted a hand to push her hair out of her eyes. “I didn’t know if I could dive fast enough to get to you. It was like someone had attached bricks to your feet.”

  “It was the bustle.”

  “Maybe we shouldn’t let your mother know what happened.”

  Charlotte grinned. It was so like Henry to think about something like that when they were still on the edge of peril. He’d always protected her from blame, always accepted any punishment their antics caused.

  He was the best friend a woman could ask for, and . . . he’d just saved her life. Suddenly, a voice coming from somewhere above her head interrupted her thoughts.

  “Bring the boat around. I can get them from this side.”

  Before Charlotte could see who was coming to their rescue, Henry’s arm was around her middle and he gave her a shove. As she rose up out of the bay, she felt her arm being clasped in someone’s grip. That someone pulled her over the edge of the boat, and she fell hard to the deck, coughing up more water as she did so.

  “Piper, get me a blanket.”

  Charlotte was flat on her back, staring up at the sky, and for some reason, she didn’t seem capable of moving just yet. A shadow passed over her, and then the face of an imp appeared as small fingers reached out and poked her . . . hard.

  “Are you dead?”

  Charlotte opened her mouth, turned her head, and then stumbled to her knees as she crawled to the edge and let what appeared to be half the Hudson Bay escape her mouth.

  A hand rubbed her back, and she closed her eyes for a moment, enjoying the feel of it, before she turned her head, knowing she’d find Henry by her side.

  “Better?” he asked.

  “I don’t think I’m ever going boating again.”

  He laughed, continuing to rub her back as he turned and nodded at someone behind them. The next second, she felt a blanket settling over her shoulders, and Henry’s arm soon followed.

  There was something comforting about having a gentleman’s arm draped over one’s person. It signified safety and strength, and Henry had certainly proven she could find both in his arms.

  That thought was rather terrifying.

  He was her friend, her best friend, and she needed to remember that.

  He didn’t see her in a romantic way, which had become clear during her debut season. Not once had he insinuated he wanted more than their one dance per evening. No, he never sought her out, seemingly content to spend his time with other women, escorting them onto the dance floor with annoying frequency. And then, right before he’d made the decision to leave, something had changed. She could remember the exact moment it had happened. He was standing in front of her, come to claim his one dance, or fulfill his one obligation, as it appeared he viewed it. She didn’t remember doing anything besides letting out a small sigh of excitement, but he seemed to have had enough of his obligation and had suddenly turned cold.

  He’d left town shortly after that ill-fated ball, and she’d tried to forget that she’d longed for more with him. She’d even been somewhat successful in that regard.

  Until now.

  How was a lady supposed to ignore the fact that she truly cared for a gentleman—a gentleman who’d just rescued her from certain death—when all she really wanted to do was hurl herself into his arms and let him comfort her forever?

  She needed to remember that she’d turned this matter over to God, and that He’d sent her Hamilton.

  If she needed confirmation regarding that little matter, the next second provided it.

  “Are you all right, Mr. St. James?”

  Her eyes widened as she looked past Henry.

  It appeared that Mr. Hamilton Beckett had come to her rescue as well. Why did her introduction to Hamilton have to come when she was leaning over the side of his boat and dressed in nothing more than her chemise and petticoats?

  She suddenly longed to be back in her boat, the boat that had a large hole right in the middle of it, so she could disappear through it and not have to face the man who was going to be her husband.

  “I’m fine, Mr. Beckett, thank you for asking,” Henry said. “I don’t know if you’ve ever met one of my dearest friends. This is Miss Charlotte Wilson. Charlotte, this is Mr. Hamilton Beckett.”

  Charlotte’s heart gave an odd lurch. She hadn’t been mistaken regarding Henry’s feelings for her.

  He did see her as only his dearest friend, not his dearest friend whom he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. Why else would he be calmly introducing her to the man he knew she’d decided to marry?

  She summoned up a smile, clutched the blanket tighter around her shoulders, rose to her feet, and slowly turned, thankful when Henry reached out to steady her. Her legs felt wobbly, and she wasn’t certain her wobbliness had been caused by her brush with death.

  No, it most likely had been caused by her realization that she was still a little bit in love with Henry, and yet, he wasn’t in love with her.

  “Thank you so much for rescuing us, Mr. Beckett,” she finally said. “I’m afraid Mr. St. James and I would have suffered a cruel fate if you hadn’t come to our aid.”

  “I’m afraid your boat came to a sad demise.”

  Charlotte turned her head and found there was another gentleman on board, a gentleman she recognized as Hamilton’s brother. She smiled. “Now I’ll have to find another use for the tub of tar I still have, seeing as how I have no boat left to patch.”

  “And isn’t that a scary thought?” Henry muttered before he grinned. “Charlotte, this is Mr. Zayne Beckett. We went to school together.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Beckett. Whom may I thank for hoisting me out of the bay?”

  “I’ll take the credit for that,” Zayne said before he moved close
r and took her hand in his, bringing it up to his lips in a practiced move before dropping it.

  The thought came to her that Hamilton had not taken her hand to his lips; in fact, he’d been perfectly pleasant but hardly what anyone would call enthusiastic regarding his introduction to her.

  Maybe he wasn’t meant to be hers after all.

  Maybe she’d been mistaken.

  And maybe she was trying to convince herself he wasn’t interested because she really wanted Henry to be interested in her. But that wasn’t going to happen, so she needed to remember and stick to her plan.

  “Are these your children, Mr. Beckett?” she asked Hamilton before smiling down at the girl who had poked her and an angelic-looking boy who, for some reason, was making chomping noises as he glared at her.

  “They are my children, Miss Wilson. May I present Miss Piper Beckett and Master Benjamin Beckett who . . .” Hamilton’s voice trailed off as he narrowed his eyes, his gaze settling on his son. “Don’t even think about it, Ben,” he said before he turned to her and sent her a smile.

  He had a lovely smile. It was unfortunate it didn’t seem to affect her at all. It certainly didn’t give her goose bumps like Henry’s smile did.

  No, she wasn’t going to dwell on that. She’d been so good throughout the past two years at keeping her mind away from Henry. Well, except when she wrote to him, but ever since he’d returned, she kept finding her feelings for him bubbling to the surface when she’d been sure those feelings had diminished with time.

  She blinked when she realized Hamilton was speaking to her again. “We’ve been having a slight problem with Ben biting recently. For some reason, he bites people at random, and I’m at the end of my rope trying to deal with the matter. Would you have any suggestions, Miss Wilson?”

  Charlotte looked at the little angel glaring up at her and smiled. “I used to bite when I was younger, and I think I was finally cured when Mr. St. James bit me back.”

  It didn’t seem as if young Ben appreciated that advice because his glare turned fierce, and before she had a chance to move, his mouth was attached to her arm and his sharp little teeth sunk in.