by Lower, Becky
After George Fitzpatrick introduced his wife, Charlotte turned to Jasmine. “May I present my daughter to you, Mr. Wickersham? This is Jasmine.”
Jasmine turned on her brightest smile and dipped into a curtsy. “My lord,” she breathed, as she peeked up at him from under her lashes.
He took her outstretched hand and pulled her up from her beautiful curtsy, causing her to stumble. “Please, none of that.” He waved his hand in front of her. “This is America, and we’re all on equal footing, so I don’t want to be referred to by some archaic title. Mr. Wickersham will be just fine, Miss Fitzpatrick. And no curtsying. I can’t abide it.”
Jasmine could feel her cheeks reddening as he rejected her attempt to address him properly. No wonder his stable boy acted with such arrogance. He was merely mimicking his employer! Well, she had other methods of gaining his interest. She smiled at him again, acting as though his admonishment about her greeting meant nothing to her, and moved to his side. Surely the lavender water she cloaked herself in before she left the house would entice him.
Alistair didn’t look at her, although from the flare of his patrician nostrils, she could tell he had caught her scent. Maybe this was the way all titled Englishmen behaved. Since it was her first introduction to aristocracy, she had no frame of reference. Instead of gazing down at her longingly, he locked eyes with the stable boy.
“May I introduce you to the head of my stable? This is Parr O’Shaughnessy, originally from Ireland. He has a way with horses that is unparalleled.”
Parr quickly shook hands with George Fitzpatrick, and acknowledged the two women with a tip of his cap. “Top o’ the morning to you, ladies.”
Alistair clamped him on the shoulder. “Let’s show them the horses, shall we, Parr?” He turned to the Fitzpatricks. “Parr’s horse, the Grey Ghost, has won every race he’s entered, and he’ll become the stud for all the horses we’re going to have on the breeding farm. His noble blood will run deep through our line of horses.”
Jasmine observed her mother’s reaction to the news. Were they really standing here in the January cold, engaging in casual conversation about the breeding habits of horses? How totally inappropriate. And were they really going to walk into the stable? She would not have worn her best day dress and slippers had she known they were going to traipse through a smelly, dirty barn. Charlotte shrugged slightly, took her hand, and followed the men without a whimper.
The interior of the stable surprised Jasmine. It was open and bright, unlike most carriage houses and barns she’d been in. The center of the barn was open to the ceiling, and daylight streamed in from the windows that banked either side of the upstairs. The horses were housed in stalls on either side of a wide-open cobblestoned center aisle, which was cleaner than Jasmine’s bedroom. Some of the horses whinnied a greeting to them as they walked into the warm barn. Her eyes ricocheted around the large building. There was room for a dozen horses, each kept behind a wall of finely varnished oak wood and topped with a wrought iron railing. There was so much to see, and it was far different and much more elegant than any stable she’d been in before.
Following a quick introduction of the horses, Alistair turned to George. “I’d be honored to show you where I plan to build the racetrack, but it’s a hike from here, and it’s far too cold out for the ladies. Would you mind if they stay here with Parr in this nice warm stable while you and I take a quick tour?”
“What do you think, Charlotte?” George turned to his wife and daughter.
“It will be fine, George. Mr. O’Shaughnessy can tell us more about the horses, and maybe even give us a glimpse of Ireland while you’re gone.”
Jasmine waited without saying anything as the men hastened to depart. Things were not going at all the way she planned. Ah well, business came first to him, even with an enticing woman in his presence. He’d be back. With a flip of her dark curls, she turned toward Parr, who began walking over to one of the blasted horses.
“Parr is an interesting name. I’ve never encountered it before,” Jasmine said as they walked through the barn. “Does it have a special meaning?”
“’Tis an old Irish name, meaning ‘from the stable.’ Rather a good fit for me, don’t you think?”
“How did your mother know what your profession would be the day you were born?” she questioned as she began to move away from him, along with her mother. Then she had an idea, and turned back. Her mother continued to walk down the center aisle. “Were you possibly born in a barn?”
Parr grinned at her and whispered, “No, not born in one. But rumor has it, I was conceived there.”
Jasmine could feel the blush rising to her cheeks. This man had been making her uncomfortable since she alighted from the carriage, and now his outrageous remark made her even more aware of how inappropriate their conversation had become. Fortunately, he had turned his back to her when they got to the grey horse, so he couldn’t see her reaction.
He ran his hand down the horse’s neck. “This is my special horse, the Grey Ghost. The others all belong to Alistair, but I’m responsible for training them all, and making certain they’re race ready.”
Jasmine studied him as he turned his complete attention to his horse. Even though he was shorter than average, Parr had strong shoulders that tapered to a trim waist, black as night hair, and, she had to admit, a rather fine backside. She followed the track of his hand as it brushed the horse’s flank and wondered how it would feel to have that hand run over her hips. Goodness, whatever was she thinking? She needed to do something to break the hypnotic spell the movement of his hands placed on her. She walked up to the horse and wove her fingers into its mane. Parr turned to her, with only inches separating them. She could almost taste the apple that was on his breath.
Jasmine’s stomach jumped when he pierced her again with those ice-blue eyes. She caught her breath and tried to form a cohesive sentence. “So, tell us about your boss.” Yes, that was it. Parr O’Shaughnessy might be just the weapon she needed in her quest to attract the attentions of the viscount. And she had to win him over before the season began and other women of marriageable age found out about him. Thanks to her father, she had a golden opportunity, and she was damned if she’d squander it.
• • •
“Forgive me, ladies, but I’ll not be discussing Alistair with you. ’Twould be unseemly.” He stood rigid beside his horse.
Mrs. Fitzpatrick fluttered her fan, obviously warm despite the chill that crept into the stable. Parr thought that maybe she was fanning herself because she was embarrassed by her daughter’s question, since Miss Fitzpatrick did not have the good grace to look abashed. He rather enjoyed her spunk, though. And her lovely dark hair that curled so fetchingly around her face.
“Well, of course, Mr. O’Shaughnessy, we wouldn’t expect you to share secrets about your employer with us. Jasmine, what were you thinking? We’ll be certain to invite Mr. Wickersham to dinner later this week, so we can find out more about him ourselves. But what of you, Mr. O’Shaughnessy? What part of Ireland do you hail from?”
“Ah, I am from County Kildare. ’Tis only the loveliest portion of Ireland, home to as many horses as people.”
“So why did you leave to come to the States?” Jasmine asked, obviously unable to control her curiosity.
Parr stole a look at the beautiful, impetuous woman. She wouldn’t know anything about poverty or starvation, so he chose to ignore the potato famine currently ravaging his home country. He smiled at her.
“’Twas because we didn’t have enough bonny cailíns left at home to choose from, and I had been told America was a land full of beautiful women.”
He was rewarded with a sharp intake of her breath, but he noticed a spark of excitement, or ire, he couldn’t tell exactly which, in her deep brown eyes. Ah, yes, this sprite could cause trouble. He’d best be on guard. He could possibly get away with
a ribald comment or two, since she had an impulsive spirit, but that was all he could ever hope for. They may not call women of her station royalty here in the States, but she was from the upper crust of society, and he was not. There was a huge chasm between their stations, and he’d best remember that fact. But with the blasted luck of the Irish, he’d lost his heart to her the moment she alighted from the carriage.
Parr introduced them to the rest of the horses, showed them the orderly tack room, and walked them back to the center of the stable. In the closeness of the aisle, he got near enough to Jasmine to pick up on her lavender scent. Intoxicating, even with the other competing smells from the barn. He hung close and breathed in deeply.
“What is in here, behind this door?” Jasmine put her hand on the door that was slightly ajar and began to push it open. Without giving his actions a thought, he reached out to still her hand. He staggered as a jolt of electricity shot up his arm. He jerked his hand away and stood between the door and Jasmine.
“’Tis only my quarters, cailín. Nothing for you to see.”
Jasmine turned and peeked up at him from under her lashes. Long lashes, he noticed. “You mean, you live out here with the horses?”
“’Tis not so unusual, is it? Besides, ’tis warm and cozy, and I’m near my livestock, should any of them need me.”
He and Jasmine stared at each other for a long moment before they both turned at the sound of Alistair Wickersham and George Fitzpatrick returning from the field. Grateful for the interruption, Parr blew out a long breath. ’Twould not pay for him to be alone with this young cailín for too long. No good would come of it.
Chapter Three
Alistair enjoyed George Fitzpatrick’s company immensely. However, he was not fond of the predatory gleam in his daughter’s eyes. Or her mother’s, for that matter. The daughter’s eyes devoured him as if he was a scrumptious dessert and she had a sweet tooth. He had seen enough of her type in England, which was one of the reasons why he’d chosen to come to America. He supposed women in America were no different from women in England. All mothers wanted their daughters to marry well, and the young ladies who were raised in society did expect a certain lifestyle to be maintained. He could not really fault the women. But it was too early after the death of his wife to want to embroil himself in another relationship. And to put another woman’s health in peril.
Acknowledging that his temporary respite from the machinations of society was at an end, he blew out a soft breath. He supposed being in Miss Fitzpatrick’s presence was going to be the cost of doing business with her father. He gave her a sidelong glance and smiled slightly at her impromptu invitation as they walked alongside her parents and Parr from the stable to the waiting carriage.
“Of course, I’d love to join your family for dinner later this week,” he replied.
She clapped her hands together. “Ooh, good. Mother, can we host Mr. Wickersham tomorrow evening?”
Charlotte patted her daughter’s hand. “No, not tomorrow. Your father and I have been invited to the Harper residence for dinner. Perhaps on Friday?” she asked Alistair.
“I, too, have been invited to the Harpers’s tomorrow night. I’ll need to look at my calendar before I can commit to dinner on Friday. Can we discuss it further at the Harpers’s?”
“Oh, how lovely. We will look forward to seeing you tomorrow evening, then, Mr. Wickersham.” Charlotte dipped her head slightly before she turned and was assisted into the carriage.
Jasmine smiled up at him. “Until we meet again, sir.” She extended her hand to him, palm-side down, as if expecting him to kiss it. Alistair held the hand firmly as he helped the annoying young woman step up into the carriage.
As the vehicle pulled away, he turned to Parr. “So, were the ladies much trouble for you?”
“No, they kept me amused. Although the daughter is a bit of a handful. Did you make some headway with Mr. Fitzpatrick?”
“Yes, he now sees our vision. I explained about our partnership, but he need be the only one who knows, if that’s what you prefer.”
“The women assumed you were my employer, partly because I’m sleeping in the stable. Which is fine with me. They dinna need to know our arrangement, and until I can make enough money from the purses on our horses to become an equal partner financially, I’m happy to let them think I’m merely the stable boy.”
Alistair clamped him on the shoulder. “If that’s the way you want it, fine. But we both know this venture would be lost without your special way with the horses.”
“For the love of God, the last thing I’d be wanting is to have to sit through fancy dinners, dressed to the nines, and make small talk with simple women. No, Alistair, I’ll leave that chore up to you, and gladly. I’d rather be talking to me horses any day.”
Alistair grinned. “I have to admit, on many occasions, I’ve found a horse better company than society women myself. Especially the ones who have never read a book in their lives. Such as Miss Fitzpatrick.”
“I’m not so sure about that one,” Parr replied. “She’s definitely spoiled, and doesn’t think before she talks, but I believe the girl is far more clever than she lets on.”
As the two men walked toward the house for their supper, Alistair replied, “Well, hopefully we won’t have to deal with her too much.” He turned to Parr, but couldn’t read his expression. “Right, Parr?”
He shrugged. “Aye, right you are. Best to leave that one to her kind, men who don’t demand much from their women, other than that they are pretty.”
Alistair raised an eyebrow at Parr’s remark, feeling as though he missed something, but wasn’t quite sure what it might be.
• • •
“I don’t understand why I can’t go with you and Papa to the Harpers’s tonight!” Jasmine pouted as she poured tea for herself and her mother the following afternoon. “It’s merely a dinner party, not a formal affair.”
Her mother blew out a long breath. “Dear Lord, Jasmine, you’ll be the death of me. It is for precisely that reason that you can’t come. It’s a dinner party, not a soirée. An equal number of men and women have been invited, and the seating arrangements have been made. You know how society works, and quit pretending you don’t. It would be highly inappropriate for us to bring an uninvited guest along, even if you are our daughter.”
Jasmine strode around the room, a bundle of nervous energy. Her slippers whispered across the floor. She wished she were wearing boots instead, so her feet could make some noise. “Alistair said nothing about bringing a guest, so he’ll be sitting next to an empty chair. A chair I could be filling.”
“Please, dear. Refer to him properly, even in private. He’s Mr. Wickersham, not Alistair. And you don’t know that he’ll be sitting alone. I’m sure Edith Harper has found a single woman to occupy the chair next to him.”
Jasmine was pushing this conversation too far and could tell it was upsetting her mother, but she couldn’t stop herself. After all, she had a very tight timeline to work with. April was only a few months away and she wanted a ring from the viscount by then. She couldn’t miss any opportunity to further her cause.
Her mother continued. “Mr. Harper is a real estate developer, so I’m quite certain he’s the one who assisted Mr. Wickersham in finding the property in the Bronx. And while you’re right that he just moved here permanently, did it not occur to you that he’s undoubtedly made several preliminary trips here, to buy his property and build that magnificent stable? That didn’t happen overnight, you know.”
Jasmine finally plopped down into a chair and groaned. “So, he may have known the Harpers for as long as a year?”
“Quite possibly.”
“And I’m certain that awful woman, Mrs. Harper, has wasted no time in finding someone to pair him up with, so she can brag about it. You know how she likes to claim herself as a consummate matc
hmaker. The viscount may be harder to snare than I originally thought.” Jasmine chewed her bottom lip as she began to strategize. “This might throw my whole plan into jeopardy, then. I thought no one was aware of him but our family, and that I could have a few months to get to know him without the distraction of the rest of society.”
Her mother reached over and patted her hand. “I know, dear, and that is what I want for you as well, but that’s evidently not the reality of the situation. I assume his visits up until now have been all business, which is why we haven’t met him before. But since he has moved here permanently, and has a house and staff, he’ll start entertaining. Just because the Viscount of Foxborough is new to us doesn’t mean he’s not already been accepted into New York society. Say what they will in public about not being impressed by titles. In private, you know every man wants to align their fortunes with him, and every mother wants to pair him up with their daughters.” She brushed an imaginary wrinkle from her soft wine-colored wool afternoon dress.
“Not that I consider myself in the same category as every other mother. When it comes to you girls, my matchmaking skills are above reproach. Your father is a powerful and distinguished figure in this city, but I’m quite certain Alistair Wickersham would not be turned away from society if your father weren’t there. We’re probably in for a battle if you’ve already set your sights on him.”
Jasmine sighed. She was not at all happy with the way things had developed yesterday at the stable. The mere fact that she’d been left with that odious stable boy while Alistair and her father were out roaming around in some great field angered her. She’d assumed her appearance would be enough to capture his interest, even before she opened her mouth. True enough, he was a tad older than she had hoped for, and his hair was thinning on top, but she could live with that. He was handsome, in a highbred English sort of fashion.