by Becky Lower
Her father snapped his paper then folded it and set it beside his plate before he smiled at her. “Well, let’s see. There are several banks with good reputations in the city. There’s Mechanic’s Bank, Central Bank, and National City. Why the sudden interest?”
“Well, you and I talked about setting up a trust fund for me and using the inheritance from Aunt Martha as the beginnings of it. I just want to make certain it gets into the right hands, and that the people taking care of such a large sum are honest and reputable. Do you know any of the people who run these banks?”
“I wouldn’t be the prudent man that I am if I didn’t do my homework before turning over my funds to someone. My business accounts are with Mechanic’s Bank, being tended to by old Nathanial Grossman. My personal accounts are with Central Bank, simply because of its convenience. I deal with a gentleman there named Cyrus Littlefield. But I have been hearing good things about National City Bank. It’s owned by a man named Andrew Fitzpatrick, and he’s recently brought in his son, George, to help him. It seems the son has a way with money and can make it multiply exponentially with sound investments. If we are going to establish a trust for you, I’d say National City and George Fitzpatrick are a good pick. He’ll make your money grow into quite a nice sum.”
Charlotte could barely contain her glee. She jumped up from the table and kissed her father on the cheek, smearing a bit of strawberry jam on him. “Oh, thank you, Papa. I think George Fitzpatrick is a perfect solution. May I go with you? When can we plan a visit?”
“I don’t understand your sudden urgency, but I guess we can go today. How soon can you be ready?
“Just give me a half-hour, Papa. Oh, this is perfect!”
Charlotte dashed up the stairs of the four-story brownstone, catching her breath at the landing of the third floor, where her bedroom was situated. Things were back on track now. Soon George Fitzpatrick would realize she was the only woman he wanted in his life. She must put on her finest walking gown, perhaps the new black and white one from France. It certainly gave her an international flair. But then the rose silk suited her coloring. She decided to flatter her complexion with the rose dress rather than be boldly sophisticated, and she urged her maid do something quick with her hair. It was parted in the middle, as was Charlotte’s custom, and piled into a high bun, with long Spaniel curls shaped on either side of her face. Oh, and she should splash on an extra helping of lilac water.
A short carriage ride later, Charlotte and her father made their way into the imposing limestone building that housed National City Bank. Charlotte was impressed by the multitudinous columns in the front of the building and by the massive carved lions on either side of the doorway that guarded the money inside. She waited, impatiently, as her father announced why they were at the bank. A gentleman escorted them into a small room off the main floor and closed the door, saying someone would be right with them.
Charlotte was aware they were put in the small room to shield her female presence from others transacting business, and would normally have taken offense at being treated as of a lesser stature than a man, but today, she thought the secluded setting suited her needs exactly. She straightened her skirt and adjusted her new bonnet as she waited with her father. She hoped George would notice how the rose silk enhanced the color in her cheeks. She hoped George would remember who she was.
• • •
George had no idea why his presence was requested on the bank’s main floor, but he followed his father down the stairs with questions swirling in his head. He certainly hadn’t been at the bank long enough to have a devoted clientele calling on him, even though he had made a few very clever investments on behalf of some of the bank’s patrons. His father led the way to a small private room off the main lobby and knocked gently before he opened the door.
When George recognized one of the inhabitants of the room, he nearly doubled over as his breath left him. It was as if he’d been punched in the gut. Perhaps he had indeed been hit, but not by a man. Instead, petite Charlotte Ashcroft was doing the pummeling. She smiled up at him with a serene expression on her face. He had made a valiant attempt to not think about her in the past week, although he admitted it had been a feeble gesture. She invaded his thoughts every time he let his mind wander, and more than once he had to stop himself from setting up a vigil in St. John’s Park. Now, this unusual woman had tracked him down at his bank! She was no random visitor. How very clever.
The gentleman with her stood to be introduced, as did she. George once again took note of her small, yet curvy, stature, and inhaled a whiff of her lilac water signature scent.
“Mr. Fitzpatrick, we’re so glad you had time in your schedule for this unexpected visit.” The man shook hands with his father. “I’m Benjamin Ashcroft, and this is my daughter, Charlotte.”
“I always have time to talk to a potential client, Mr. Ashcroft. May I introduce my son, George?”
George shook hands with Mr. Ashcroft before turning to face Charlotte. She extended her hand to him. “So nice to meet you, Mr. Fitzpatrick.”
He could not believe the audacity of this woman, acting as if they’d never met, when she’d been invading his thoughts at the most inopportune times for the past nine days. When he was fairly certain she’d planned this visit. He smiled at her craftiness.
“It’s my pleasure,” he replied as they took their seats and began to discuss the purpose of this visit. Mr. Ashcroft and George’s father talked about the need for a trust for Charlotte’s inheritance while George’s eyes kept drifting over to her. He tried to focus on the conversation, but his mind, and his eyes, kept wandering to the vision in rose silk.
More quickly than he could have imagined, his father had the paperwork filled out for a trust in Charlotte’s name, and her father had handed over a large sum of money to the bank. His father rose, taking the papers to the teller’s window for the purpose of finalizing the transaction, leaving George alone with Mr. Ashcroft and Charlotte.
“I’ve heard good things about you, George, and your knack for picking excellent investments. Where did you receive your education?”
George hoped Charlotte’s father’s regard for him would not lessen by his answer. Taking a gulp of air, he said, “I’ve been schooled in finance since I was a boy. My father is the true genius and has passed along all his knowledge to me.”
“All well and good, but I assume you’ve some formal education in business as well. Where did you go? Harvard? Yale? The College of New Jersey?”
“No, sir. Of course, we discussed my going to a university, but my father and I decided there was little use for it when practical knowledge, and my father’s background, would be a better way to learn the business. I began working here a year ago, when I was eighteen.”
“Well, I must admit, you’ve built quite a loyal following. I chose your bank on the advice of some good friends of mine.”
“I see,” George replied. Was it just by chance, then, that they were at this bank? He glanced over at Miss Ashcroft, who still had that serene smile on her face. Yet with his prior knowledge of the type of reckless behavior she favored, he couldn’t help but think he had been targeted. Even though she acted as if this was their first meeting. Well played, Miss Ashcroft.
Business concluded, and with one more offer of her hand and one last whiff of lilac, Charlotte Ashcroft walked out of his life again.
CHAPTER FIVE
A week later, George reached up to help Jane Weymouth from the carriage. They, along with George’s father and Mr. and Mrs. Weymouth, were on the banks of New York Harbor to watch the boat races. He glanced around at the throng of people lining the route.
“It seems we’re not the only ones who are anticipating the races this afternoon,” George stated the obvious. “Just about all of New York is here. We’ll be hard pressed to find a place to spread a blanket.”
“It is quite a crush of people, isn’t it?” Jane was forced to move closer to George as they attempted to navigate through
the crowd and find an open spot. It did not escape George’s senses that she had moved closer, but his body had no reaction. Unlike the heat that penetrated his skin when he was close to Charlotte. Soon, they settled in, spread the blanket, and opened the picnic basket. The throng cheered as each boat passed them, and they craned their necks to follow the boat’s course down the harbor.
This is pleasant, George thought. If I were to marry Jane, life would continue to be pleasant. I get along with her parents well enough, and they are Father’s friends, so there would never be an in-law problem. But it would always be just pleasant, never smolder, or tingle with excitement.
Was this what he wanted? His vision blurred as his mind wandered. And his mind immediately went straight to Charlotte Ashcroft, the exact opposite of Jane Weymouth. Was she what he wanted instead? He’d thought finding a wife would be a relatively simple matter, relying on his father’s input to guide him to the most sensible match. But since meeting Charlotte, his mind became a puddle of mush whenever he thought about it.
As if he’d called out to her, Charlotte suddenly appeared in front of George’s party. As the men stood to greet her, George realized that today she was properly accompanied, with her father, and he assumed her mother, in attendance. It didn’t matter whom she was with. His mouth went dry as he stared at her. Emma Schoonover was with them as well, and a young gentleman who bore a resemblance to Emma.
Introductions were made, and it soon became apparent that Jane’s father and Mr. Schoonover had prior knowledge of each other, having done some business together the year before. Even in the midst of all these people and conversation swirling around them, when George took Charlotte’s hand, it was as if they were alone in this crush of 50,000 bodies. George could swear birds were singing and bells were chiming for them alone. No, he did not want pleasant. He wanted smolder and sizzle. He wanted Charlotte. He may have missed his chance, though, since the young man with her seemed to have already staked his claim.
George’s eyes went to the man in question. Theodore Schoonover exuded confidence. He quickly made it known to the group he was home for the weekend from Harvard. He glanced at the members of George’s party, probably searching for the proper respect such an announcement should convey. His eyes stopped when they got to Jane. George took in her rapt expression, her mouth, and the way she parted her lips when she stared at Theodore. She’d never glanced at George in such a fashion.
George’s eyes ricocheted from Theo to Jane. They had not stopped staring at each other. His gaze then slid over to Charlotte, who had an amused expression on her face. George was sure the expression on his own face was one of bewilderment. Yet, as the Ashcroft group passed on and his party resumed their seats, he could not stop thinking about Charlotte, how her brown eyes sparkled with amusement, and how they melted into heated desire as they locked stares. Or was it his imagination that she was as entranced by him as he was by her? There was only one way to find out. He needed to go to the park on Monday and wait for her.
• • •
George begged off work early the following Monday and made his way to St. John’s Park. Charlotte had said they walked before dinner. He hoped her routine carried from one week to the next, since he had intentionally allowed a few weeks to go by. He’d stake out the park until dark if need be. He strolled into the park, still in his business attire and top hat, trying for an air of nonchalance by pulling out his newspaper to read. Several people passed by and greeted him, most of them business acquaintances, along with a few men and women who traveled in the same social circle as he. One gentleman who was a bank client stopped and sat on the bench with him, discussing investment strategies.
George’s mouth went as dry as a desert when he spotted a familiar petite, curvaceous figure across the park. Unable to form further cohesive thought, he begged off any additional discussion with the man and took rapid strides across the park to the woman whose cleverness and playfulness captivated him from the moment he first laid eyes on her.
He bowed low in front of the ladies. “Misses Ashcroft, Schoonover, and Connor, as I recall. Nice to see you again. Do you mind if I join you?”
Emma tittered, but Charlotte extended her hand to him, with eyes full of mirth. He placed her hand on his arm and fell into step alongside her as they began to stroll once again.
I know little about you ladies, other than you are proponents of the suffragette movement. Why don’t you tell me a bit about yourselves?” George began the conversation.
“Well, Emma and I are best friends, have been since childhood. Emma’s got one brother, Theo, whom you’ve met, and I have two sisters, both younger than me. Most of Katie’s family is still in Ireland but is hoping to emigrate soon.”
“Do you have a lot of extra duties at home then, Miss Ashcroft, with younger siblings?”
“Well, only because I choose to. They’d be perfectly content in the nursery with their nannies and governesses. But I love to play with them and give them instructions in comportment, since Mother’s too busy to do so now. She’s very involved with the church, you see.”
George nodded. “And what denomination does your mother prefer?”
“Methodist. I prefer Anglican services myself, though. They make me feel closer to our English ancestors. But Mother’s all involved in the revivalist movement. She thinks Thomas Jefferson was one of the most enlightened men ever, and she was attempting to just ‘drop in’ to Monticello in Virginia so she could meet him. Fortunately for my mother, the man died before she could make a fool of herself.”
George grinned. “Your mother sounds delightful. When we were introduced at the boat races, I thought she seemed a most enlightened individual.”
Charlotte snorted in delight. “Enlightened? I don’t think that’s the most appropriate adjective to use. Eccentric, possibly. She’s now decided to back the newly formed National Republican party, thinking they would support a woman for president.”
“Ah, I see what you mean. And I see where you get your suffragette tendencies. With a mother such as yours, how could you help but support women’s rights?”
“And what about you, Mr. Fitzpatrick? How do you feel about the plight of women?”
“I admit, I hadn’t thought much about the suffragette movement until someone dragged me to a speech by Frances Wright.”
Charlotte smiled at the reference to their previous encounter. “And now that I have done so, what are your feelings on the subject? Should women have equal rights as men?”
“I don’t see why not. You’re capable of rational thought, even if you are, for the most part, weaker in physical stature. But, as for becoming president, as your mother is hoping, I feel women should obtain the right to vote first before putting themselves forward in a run for the presidency.”
“My thoughts exactly. And just how long do you think it will take for a woman to get voting rights?”
“I believe it should be a law now, but most men are not as forward thinking. It may take years.”
Emma and Katie continued to walk alongside Charlotte and George, Emma clearly bored by the course of the conversation. She kept her eye on the other pedestrians. “Oh, look, Charlotte. It’s Emily Stone, back from her trip to France. Let’s go hear all about the voyage and if she brought back any dresses.”
Charlotte moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue then cast a sidelong glance at George. Her hand was still on his arm, and George could feel a flash of heat where they touched, even through his frock coat. Not to mention the way his body responded when he caught the movement of her pink tongue.
“Why don’t you two go on and speak to Emily by yourselves. I’m certain Mr. Fitzpatrick would be extremely bored by her talk.”
Emma and Katie left them and joined the small crowd around Emily Stone. George and Charlotte walked on past them.
“Nicely done, Miss Ashcroft.”
Charlotte couldn’t keep the twinkle from her eyes as she gazed at him. “Whatever do you mean, Mr. Fitzpatri
ck? But, now since we find ourselves alone, whatever shall we talk about? More politics?”
George stopped on the path and turned to face Charlotte. “No, I only talk politics when I want to rid myself of someone.”
Charlotte’s eyes still twinkled. “Then I shall return the compliment. Nicely done, Mr. Fitzpatrick.”
She patted his arm with her fan before she placed her hand on his forearm again and continued the walk. “So, what brings you to the park today? After all, I invited you weeks ago.”
“I had a light workload today and was able to escape from the bank early.”
“All work and no play makes George a boring boy?”
“Something along those lines, yes.” He smiled down at her. “So tell me. Is there anyone in the park today that you’d consider playing with?”
Charlotte’s eyebrow rose again, as it had on previous occasions, and he caught the movement of her tongue as she placed it in her cheek. “What a scandalous question, although there is one person …”
She steered him off the path and behind the shelter of some tall bushes. He said nothing, since he couldn’t fathom what she was about. Charlotte turned to him and extended her hand.
“You may kiss my hand, if you so desire.”
It was George’s turn to raise an eyebrow. Never in all his nineteen years had he come across a more enticing and intriguing woman. The thought of kissing her, even her fingers, in a park brimming with people, filled him with a desire he’d not known before. He could not harness his usually well-controlled emotions.
His heart rate sped up as her fingers moved under his lips, and she let out a small sigh. She put one small hand on his chest and moved back from his nearness.
