An Unconventional Courtship

by Becky Lower

  Admittedly, at this point in his life, he was ready to take the next step into his future. He had a good, steady job at his father’s bank, and had plans to chart his own course, perhaps open his own bank or take over from his father at some point. All he needed now was a wife, a house, and a family to make his life complete. He was nearly twenty years of age and ready to settle down. Although, until he’d spied Charlotte herding her charges onto the omnibus with a devil-may-care glint in her eyes, he hadn’t really thought about his future other than in the vaguest terms. And most certainly he’d not given a thought to who his wife would be. He’d been content to follow his father’s wishes and court Jane. He’d shared dinners with her, her parents, and his father, but their relationship was not yet even at the handholding stage. One could not say the same about Charlotte, though. Not only had she kept her hand on his arm for an outrageously long time, but she was also sitting next to him, with parents nowhere to be seen, and with their legs nearly touching each other. This was scandalous behavior. Charlotte was a scandalous woman. And he was mesmerized.

  The image of Jane wavered as the scent of lilac made its way to his olfactory senses. He should leave right now, since his unexpected charges were well taken care of, properly in place at their destination, and able to find their way home by themselves, just as they had gotten here. Yet he sat, unable to make his body do what his mind screamed he must.

  • • •

  Charlotte’s heart was surely going to gallop out of her chest. At the very least, she was certain George Fitzpatrick, in all his carefree glory, could hear its erratic beat. He was probably secretly smiling, knowing his outrageous behavior had been the cause.

  She stole a sidelong glance at him, only to find him staring at her instead of at the stage. “Stop it,” she whispered to him, her cheeks beginning to heat with blush. Emma and Katie were taking notice of her muted conversation with George Fitzpatrick, not at all appreciative of how timely his entrance into their lives had been, and how their respective hides had been spared. But Charlotte knew. He could stare at her all he wanted if that was to be his payback. Even as she admonished him. Even if his gaze did make her blush. She owed him at least that much.

  He turned his head so he faced the stage, but he made one more quiet evaluation. “Fanny Wright pales by comparison to you.”

  Her breath caught in her throat. In all her seventeen years, no man had ever paid her such an outrageous compliment. She became very warm and tugged at the neckline of her dress. George Fitzpatrick had made a substantial impression on her. The very first man to ever do so. Now what to do about it?

  They sat silently for the remainder of Miss Wright’s speech, but Charlotte didn’t hear much of the talk. Every time George moved, his arm would brush up against hers in the tightly packed hall, and her entire body would begin to hum. When he uncrossed his legs and his left leg met her right one, even with all the layers of cloth and petticoats between them, his touch sizzled her skin. She’d never responded in such a manner before. She had thought Frances Wright would rile her emotions today, but instead it was a man named George Fitzpatrick who had hold of the spoon and was stirring her up. She had to think about what to do. She wrung her gloved hands together and then she tapped her teeth with a finger as she plotted her next move. After all, she decided, a man as delicious as Mr. Fitzpatrick, and one who had the silver tongue of a devil, just might make good husband material. A much better choice than Theo, although her mother was campaigning hard for him to be her choice. She must come up with a plan to snare George Fitzpatrick before her mother won out and Theo proposed.

  Fanny Wright finally brought her long-winded speech to an end. As the applause died, Emma, Katie, and Charlotte rose in unison. George sprang from his seat as well.

  Charlotte turned to him as the quartet once again entered the street. “Thank you, Mr. Fitzpatrick, for your service today. As payment for your time, I’d love to have you join us for coffee at a nearby restaurant.”

  He seemed a bit flummoxed by her bold invitation. “You’ve adopted coffee as your beverage of choice?”

  “Well, I’ve tried it, certainly. One can’t let the current trend pass one by. It may be unpopular again in another year or so. The time is now.” She laid her hand on his arm. “If not for everything, for coffee, anyway.”

  George seemed to waver in his decision. “Thank you, but I must resist, even though the idea of sharing a cup of the newfangled beverage is appealing. I’ll wait with you until the omnibus arrives, but after that, I must be on my way.”

  Charlotte raised an eyebrow. She’d never been rejected by a man before. But then again, she’d never been so brazen with a man before, either. Her behavior today had been outrageous at the very least, but she was undeterred. Mr. Fitzpatrick was going to take some work if she were to convince him they should wed. “Yes, of course. We’ve held you up enough for one day. Thank you again, Mr. Fitzpatrick, for your assistance. We got here just fine by ourselves, and we’ll get home the same way.”

  • • •

  George waited with them for the omnibus to stop at its designated spot. As the ladies were about to board, he turned to Charlotte. “It’s been my pleasure to meet you today. I am quite certain I won’t have another experience such as this ever again.”

  Charlotte couldn’t keep the chuckle from her voice and placed her hand on his arm. “There can be many more experiences such as this, Mr. Fitzpatrick, if you’re up for it. Emma and I like to stroll in St. John’s Park on Monday afternoons before dinner.” George’s eyes lit up even as he removed her hand. He placed his hat on his head at its customary, jaunty angle, bowed to the ladies, and replied, “A walk in St. John’s Park, eh? Perhaps I’ll see you there someday.”

  He was gone before Charlotte could say anything further. She had hoped for a more concrete response.

  As the trio of women took their places inside the omnibus, Charlotte was lost in thought. George Fitzpatrick would make a perfect husband for her. He hadn’t gotten angry when she’d pulled him into her ruse, as so many would have. Instead, he’d played along with her and helped put Mrs. Beasley’s fears for her reputation to rest. She could not abide a man who forced her to play by the rules. Somehow she knew George would be open to her causes and would love her because of her stand on various issues, not in spite of them. He was a professional, in the staid banking business. She wanted to shake up his orderly life. They could be very good for each other. He’d already shown his impulsive streak by pretending to be her escort in front of Mrs. Beasley. But he was a conservative banker, who probably didn’t have enough fun in his life. Besides, she’d never met a man who affected her as he had. To make her skin tingle when they touched, to set her heart fluttering. Their quiet conversation during Fanny’s speech proved to her he could hold his own as they teased each other. Yes, George Fitzpatrick was a perfect choice for a husband. She’d show him how to have a good time, and he could keep her from getting into too much trouble. They’d fit quite nicely together. Now she just had to convince him of that fact.

  CHAPTER THREE

  “What a pity that Mr. Fitzpatrick left us. But what a salvation he was, helping us deceive Mrs. Beasley. He’s most handsome, don’t you think?”

  Charlotte gave her friend a nudge. “Hands off, Emma. He’s mine. Although he doesn’t know it yet.”

  “Well, if you feel that way about him, why did you not give him your address and allow him to call on you?”

  Charlotte laughed. “Because that would be too easy. If he wants me, he’s going to have to work for it. St. John’s Park isn’t so big that he can’t find me should he so desire. Thank you, Katie, for giving me the idea. Maybe we’ll both come across our future husbands while we stroll through the park tomorrow. And if he can’t find me there, I’ll figure out another way to track him down.”

  Emma’s eyes were filled with doubt as they bounced along in the omnibus. “It is a plan, but not a very concrete one. What were you two talking about, anyway? I
could hear you whispering all during Fanny’s speech.”

  “He accused me of accosting him, and he threatened to have me hauled off by security.”

  “Ooh, that just sent chills down my spine.”

  “I had the same reaction but for a different reason. I’m going to marry that man.”

  Emma took hold of Charlotte’s hands and swung them as if they were still children. “Oh, Charlotte. I had a feeling you’d be the first of our circle to wed. You’re so lucky.”

  “Of course, I’ll have to keep him off balance for a while yet. I must lead him on a merry chase. He thinks me a most scandalous lady right now, but I’ll show him my chaste side soon enough. I’ll make him beg me for a kiss.”

  “Of course. It wouldn’t do to have you just fall into his arms.” Emma turned to Katie, who chimed in on the conversation.

  “Aye, I agree with Charlotte. If he were after me, I’d lead him around by the nose, I would. That’s what I plan to do with my blacksmith. With Carrick McCray. Isn’t that a lovely name? Perhaps I’ll put a bug in William the footman’s ear, and he’ll hire Carrick the next time one of the horses needs shoeing. Then Carrick and I can end up alone together in the carriage house. That’s where I’ll let him catch me. I can see it now—Katie McCray.” Katie hummed a nonsensical tune as they exited the bus at their destination and walked down the street.

  A short while later, Charlotte was resting in her bedroom with a book in her hand. Stray bits of Fanny Wright’s speech flitted through her mind in direct contrast to her outlandish attraction to George Fitzpatrick. “Until women assume the place in society which good sense and good feeling alike assign to them, human improvement must advance but feebly,” Miss Wright had intoned. What was Mr. Fitzpatrick’s stand on women’s rights? True, he had attended Fanny’s speech, but Charlotte didn’t think he had even a remote interest in what she said.

  In fact, Charlotte reflected, he’d probably been headed somewhere else entirely when she’d forced him to make up a story to foil Mrs. Beasley. He’d then insisted, for the sake of their reputations, to accompany Charlotte, Emma, and Katie into the auditorium. For goodness sake, she could have been going to a high tea, and the discussion could have been about the merits of wearing a hoop skirt as opposed to layers of petticoats and he still would have insisted on accompanying them. The man might be open to a wee bit of adventure, but his choice of profession indicated he certainly was much too proper and strait-laced when it came to decorum. He needed a woman like Charlotte to help him see the humor in life.

  No matter how attracted to him she found herself, she could not entertain the idea of marriage to a man if he didn’t believe men and women should occupy the same place in society. That would be the first matter they’d need to address. Then would follow the subject of children. She desired a large family, maybe double the amount any sensible man would want. She had some vague understanding of what a man and woman must do in order to create a baby. From the way her body had tingled whenever George had bumped up against her at the speech, she was definitely interested in researching the matter with him.

  • • •

  George settled into his routine on Monday, but his thoughts kept flitting back to the previous day and his encounter with the unusual woman with the lovely name. Charlotte Ashcroft had occupied his mind all the previous evening, and today he was having trouble adding his sums together. The bank usually closed to the public at two, and then an hour or so would be spent reconciling the books. Normally, it was the part of the day George loved, but today his mind was full of lilac water and silk. His customary routine was being interrupted, and it disturbed him.

  Jane Weymouth never entered his head when he was working. He never even gave her a thought. But Charlotte Ashcroft certainly did. Her petite form, which curved enticingly in all the right places, her pale hair and brown eyes, her scent of flowers, all played in his head. He could find her in the park this afternoon, as she so boldly suggested he do. She was probably accustomed to men crawling after her. But he was no ordinary man, and he would not be so easily tamed.

  He should have insisted on being given her card, so he could call on her properly, at her home, rather than at another chance meeting. Perhaps he should go to the stables and prepare his horse for a ride after the workday ended. If his mount took him to St. John’s Park, it wouldn’t be because Charlotte requested his presence, but rather because his horse needed the exercise. He pondered his idea for a few moments before he decided against it. There would be other Mondays in the park, and he had a mountain of paperwork ahead of him and then dinner with Jane and her family. Charlotte Ashcroft would have to wait.

  He thought for a moment about the more sedate Jane Weymouth. There was certainly no comparison between the personalities of Miss Weymouth and Miss Ashcroft. He never laughed in Jane’s presence, even during those brief moments when they were left alone together. And they certainly never sat side by side with legs almost touching. Perhaps this evening, as they gathered around the piano after dinner to sing, he’d seat himself beside her on the piano bench to turn the pages of the music for her, and their legs would touch. He wondered if he’d get the same sensation moving up his leg that he did when the fetching Miss Ashcroft brushed up against him.

  He passed St. John’s Park as he walked to his parents’ house, which was in the next block down the street. The park was surrounded by the most fashionable residential neighborhood in the city and anchored by St. John’s chapel itself. Surely, if Charlotte and Emma walked in the park on a regular basis, they must live close by. George studied each house that surrounded the chapel, trying to determine which might belong to Charlotte’s father. He wondered about her father and what type of business he was in. It must be something successful to be able to live so close to the park. And he wondered about Charlotte. Did she have many suitors? He assumed she did. Someone as lively and outgoing as Miss Ashcroft probably would have men at her beck and call constantly. He’d be much better served devoting himself to Jane Weymouth. As far as he knew, he was the only man who called on her.

  Yet his thoughts drifted back to Charlotte. How would he hold up in comparison to her many other beaus? Would her father welcome a suitor who had not been to college, or would he demand that Charlotte only marry someone with a higher education? Did she have any siblings? Perhaps a big brother who would threaten bodily harm to him should he lead Charlotte astray? Not that he would, of course. After all, he was a banker. His steps began to veer into the park of their own accord, and he had to use every ounce of control to put himself back on course. Dinner and singing at the piano with Jane Weymouth and her family was on his agenda for the evening. Not a mad stroll through a park in search of an unusual woman.

  • • •

  Charlotte took Emma and Katie on a complete turn of the park twice. George Fitzpatrick and his devil-may-care hat were nowhere to be found. Had Charlotte misread him yesterday? She thought there was a spark of interest from him. Certainly their meeting was not one he would soon forget.

  “Charlotte, please slow down. I had a feeling this was a bad idea. You should have given Mr. Fitzpatrick your card so he could call on you properly. Now we’ve missed him.”

  “Just one more turn around the park, and we’ll head for home. Please, Emma?”

  Katie suddenly broke away from the sauntering group. “I’ve just spied Carrick! I must go say hello.” She strode away from her two friends quickly.

  “So much for our proper accompaniment, eh, Emma?”

  “Katie knows a good thing when she sees it. Let her go. Maybe she and Carrick will marry and have a ton of redheaded Irish babies.”

  “At least one of us will.” Charlotte sighed. “Perhaps I did make a mistake yesterday. But I thought a rendezvous in the park sounded ever so much more exciting than an evening in a stuffy drawing room with Mother at the pianoforte blasting out a tune.”

  “Well, it’s getting dark, so we’d better get on home. I don’t think we’ll be able to pry
Katie away from Carrick anytime soon. Let’s just go on without her.” They wandered past the Irish couple, were introduced to Carrick, and then went on their way.

  Later that evening, when Charlotte was in bed pondering the ceiling, she decided a man who was a banker would not put up with unconventional treatment while pursuing a woman. Well, maybe a bit, since he did willingly participate in yesterday’s shenanigans, but as a regular habit? Of course not. What had she been thinking? Now, how was she going to just happen to run into him in a city the size of New York? Take the omnibus again? No, she’d gotten away with it once. Better not press her luck. What, then?”

  She sat upright, and the book she’d been reading before she doused the candle crashed to the floor. He worked at a bank! His name was George Fitzpatrick, and he worked at a bank. A bank owned by his father. Her father had been talking about setting up a trust for her. With a bit of digging, she could figure out which bank belonged to George’s father and insist that her father set up an account there. What a brilliant plan! She lay back on the bed as pictures of miniature Georges ran through her head. She did so want a large family. She hoped George was of a like mind. Because she had no doubt he would become her husband. With one little catch. He had to believe as fervently in women’s rights as she did. He had not seemed at all interested in what Fanny Wright had to say yesterday. Well, it would be one of the first things they’d discuss, before they got down to talking about the size of their family. She’d give George one more Monday to come to the park, and if he didn’t show, she’d take matters into her own hands.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Days turned into a week, and another Monday came and went with no George Fitzpatrick in the park. It was time for decisive action.

  Charlotte addressed her father at breakfast Tuesday morning as she buttered some toast for herself. “Papa, how many banks are there in New York City, do you think?” She made a grand show of deciding whether to put grape or strawberry jam on her toast, as if his answer was of no consequence, all the while holding her breath.