by Lower, Becky
Chapter Eighteen
“How nice to meet you, Miss Logan.” Jasmine took the hand of the famous actress and led her into the back of the dress shop. Fortunately, Colleen had been very complete with the details of the woman’s appearance, so each of the drawings and bolts of fabric were selected to suit the actress. They had opened the bolts and laid them across the worktable with the sketches of the different dresses on top of them. Colleen took care of the front of the shop while Jasmine discussed with the actress exactly what image she wanted to create.
“Please, dearie, call me Eliza. I’m anxious to see what designs you’ve come up with for me. Your assistant, Colleen, had such a beautiful gown on last evening, I thought the patrons were going to nick it off her before the night was done.”
Jasmine smiled at the image. “Sounds as if your evenings at the theatre are much more fun than mine.”
“Shaa, we do have great craic most evenings. Although sometimes we get a mite too rowdy for our own good. I do go through a lot of dresses.”
“Well, then, it’s fortunate that I know just where you can go to replace them. And it doesn’t involve crossing the Atlantic. Here, take a look at my sketches and tell me which, if any, of these appeal to you.”
Eliza’s gaze flicked over the four drawings before her. Then she lifted her eyes to Jasmine, sitting across the table from her. “Must I limit myself to just one?”
The knot of anxiety in Jasmine’s stomach eased just a bit. She smiled at the actress. “No, Eliza, you can have as many of these creations as you want. In fact, I’ll make them exclusive designs and not offer them to any other.”
Eliza clapped her hands together. “Then I shall have one of each of these beautiful creations. And I love the colors you’ve selected.”
Jasmine blew out the breath she’d been holding, stood, and began to pick up the bolts she had selected one at a time. She draped a deep rose silk over the actress, who stood in front of a cheval mirror. At Eliza’s nod, she proceeded to the next bolt. One by one, she unfurled bolts of the sumptuous fabric in sparkling deep tones and delicate pastels.
“I think this blue would look especially good on you. It’s the color of snow on a winter’s eve.”
She picked up the ice-blue bolt of cloth and held it in front of Eliza, staring into her eyes. They were almost the same color as Parr’s. And the exact same shade as the fabric. No wonder Jasmine had been drawn to it.
“Beautiful,” Eliza whispered. “I love this one best of all. ’Twill make up into a lovely gown. Shall we talk about what to adorn it with?”
For the next few minutes, they discussed what embellishments to add to the gowns. Jasmine amended her drawings a bit to add a small train on the back of the blue dress, to which she would add a band of white fur on its edge. It was highly impractical, but it was what the actress wanted. And, Jasmine decided, what the lady wanted was just fine with her. Colleen took a few measurements before Eliza left the shop.
Once the word got out that Jasmine was dressing actresses, her business would grow by leaps and bounds. She tried to curb her excitement until all the decisions were made and Eliza Logan took her leave.
Colleen joined her in the small private back room of the shop for a victory hug before she returned to the front to wait on a new customer. Jasmine began to clear all the fabrics and embellishments that had been pulled for discussion. As she picked up the ice-blue fabric to set it aside for Colleen to begin work on, she ran her hands down its length. Ice blue. The color of Parr’s eyes. She so desperately wanted to tell him of this coup, and to have him share in her accomplishment. She turned away from the fabric and gave her attention to her designs. She would never be able to discuss any of this with Parr ever again. Alistair’s the one who should be excited for me. I’ll make him see what an accomplished woman I am, beginning this evening. Then he’ll fall in love with me and we’ll marry and I’ll share his home. And his bed. She swallowed, hard.
And Parr will be only a few hundred yards away. She swallowed again, and ran a hand over her suddenly tense stomach.
At that unwanted thought, she furrowed her brow. She’d have to deal with him sooner or later. Maybe she did need to talk to him and clear the air between them.
She clutched her stomach and a little shiver of anticipation ran down her spine. Yes, she now had a wonderful excuse to talk to Parr again.
• • •
Charlotte’s attention was diverted from the weekly menu Cook had placed in front of her when the creak from the front door signified that Jasmine and Colleen had returned from their shop. She quickly agreed with Cook’s recommendations, and dashed into the hall before the pair could disappear upstairs.
“Hello, you two hard-working ladies,” she called to them as they were hanging up their outerwear. “I’ve just ordered tea to be placed in the parlor, and would appreciate a few minutes of your time.”
Charlotte caught the quick eye contact between her daughter and their maid, but paid it no heed. She entered the parlor and sat. Jasmine and Colleen followed meekly.
Charlotte waited until the tea service was brought in and they each had a hot cup of tea and some of Cook’s sweetbreads before she began her line of questioning. “So, how was work today?”
“Oh, Mother, the most exciting thing happened!” Jasmine quickly filled her in on the visit from the Irish actress, and the success of the remainder of the day. “Halwyn is quite impressed with my sales, even though he’d never admit it,” she replied with a grin.
“So it looks as though I’m going to have to begin interviewing for a new lady’s maid then. I was waiting to see if the shop was going to take off before I began the tedious process of weeding through all the available women.”
Jasmine took a bite of the bread and washed it down with the fragrant liquid before she replied. “Yes, I’m afraid I’m stealing Colleen from you, Mother. And we’re interviewing at the shop for someone to run the sewing machine to do the straight seams. We’re narrowing the field there.”
Charlotte pursed her lips and brushed imaginary wrinkles from her skirt. “I’m very pleased with your success, dear, but don’t forget about Mr. Wickersham in the process.”
Jasmine and Colleen shared another glance before Colleen rose. “I’ll leave you two to talk in private then. Thank you for the spot o’ tea, Mrs. Fitzpatrick.” She quickly left the room, leaving Jasmine to face her mother alone.
“I haven’t forgotten about Mr. Wickersham, Mother,” she replied.
“Really? I agree with you that teasing the gentleman to some extent is a good move, but there’s a fine line between teasing and neglect. Be certain not to cross it. Especially since Lydia Smith is due to return to New York within a week.”
“He’s taking me to the gathering of the bank’s board members this evening, Mother.” Jasmine puffed out a breath. “That should cement my relationship with him, since you know how those wives of Papa’s board members talk. I plan to take our relationship to the next level this evening, by letting him kiss me. But Alistair enjoys hearing of my success with the shop, so I’ll have lots to talk to him about tonight.”
“Wonderful, dear. Have you thought about what you’ll wear?”
“I just got home from being on my feet all afternoon, dealing with demanding clients, so no, I haven’t given it any thought. And all I want to do now is soak my feet in Epsom salts and take a long bath. Don’t worry, Mother. I’ll be ready for Alistair when he comes to pick me up. But right now, I need a soak.” She stood up and began to walk toward the door. “I’ll be certain to get your approval on my gown before I leave.”
Charlotte sat for a minute after Jasmine left, and pondered. Was her daughter losing interest in the viscount so soon? And becoming angry when her mother reminded her of him? She shook her head. After all, Jasmine was the one who’d initially set her cap for him, and Charlotte was
merely trying to help her along. If there was an available member of the British aristocracy roaming around New York’s high society, what harm could come from helping her daughter land him? Just thinking about the civic and philanthropic organizations that would open their doors to both Jasmine and Charlotte if they were aligned with the viscount made Charlotte’s mouth salivate.
Was she putting her own desires ahead of her daughter’s? Jasmine was certainly taking her shop seriously, and Charlotte took pride in what she was accomplishing. But did being the mother of the latest new name in the fashion industry compare to being the mother of a viscountess? Surely not. She’d need to make certain Jasmine didn’t lose sight of her real goal in life.
Chapter Nineteen
Alistair drove his open carriage by himself to Manhattan to pick up Jasmine for the evening. He didn’t care that the late February evening was a bit brisk, although he was certain Jasmine would complain about it, once he collected her. He needed to be alone with his thoughts for a short time, and a drive from the Bronx was just the ticket to clear his head. He relished the cool breeze as it brushed across his face.
Things were progressing at a good pace with the stable, the racetrack, and his professional life. He had managed, between the Harpers and the Fitzpatricks, among others, to lodge himself into a group of powerful men. He regretted he wasn’t closer to downtown and could go to the gentlemen’s clubs each evening. A lot of business was conducted at these informal gatherings, and he needed to find a way to infiltrate these meetings if the track was to be successful. Of course, a wife who had connections wouldn’t hurt, either. Society women were a powerful force in their own right.
His thoughts turned first to Lydia Smith. God, the woman did set his heart pumping. She was beautiful, seductive, and totally uninhibited. So much so, it caught him by surprise every time he was with her. He was no better than a schoolboy around her, constantly aroused and enamored, with his tongue hanging out of his mouth. He couldn’t keep his hands off her. But she had made it clear that, even if he was so inclined, she didn’t care a bit about his title and wanted nothing to do with marriage.
And why should she? Her husband had left her with a considerable fortune, which she was more than capable of managing. If she were to marry, that fortune would revert to her new husband to do with as he pleased. Alistair could understand her hesitancy to form an official union with a gentleman. Besides, being a widow didn’t carry the stigma that a divorce did, so Lydia was free to move within respectable society. By removing herself from his side for several weeks, she in effect told him she had no worries that he would replace her while she was gone. And if he did, so be it.
He then thought of Jasmine. She did care about his title. In fact, he was quite certain that was all she wanted from him. He had yet to evoke any emotion from her. She had not made herself available for him to become more intimate. He hadn’t even kissed her yet. He didn’t want to.
Comparing the two ladies side by side, it was easy to see where his preference laid. He would tick off the days until Lydia returned, and, if she still wanted to dally with him, he would be honored to have her be his escort for the high season to come. He was aware of what was being said about her among their social circle, and that the mothers with eligible daughters were annoyed that she would infiltrate the ballrooms and divert the single men’s attentions from their daughters. So, he would do these mothers a favor and keep Lydia occupied. They may be disappointed to begin with, since he was taking himself off the market. But he would also be taking Lydia off the dance floor, too, and that, they’d have to respect.
It was the least he could do. He’d garner favor among the ladies, he’d have Lydia by his side, he’d spend his nights having the most gratifying sexual experiences of his life with no fear of getting another woman pregnant, since Lydia obviously knew what to do to prevent a night in bed from turning into an unplanned pregnancy. Yes, it was a good plan.
Now, what to do about Jasmine? She was lovely enough, and when she forgot herself, she was quite charming. However, any liaison with her would have to end in marriage. He respected both her and her father enough to realize and agree with that. And he was certain the marriage to her would be only tolerable. She didn’t get his blood stirring in anything close to the same manner as Lydia. Perhaps he was being too hasty, though. He should really give her the benefit of the doubt, at least until he kissed her. He might be surprised by his reaction to her, although his gut-wrenching lust-filled reaction to Lydia from the first moment he laid eyes on her was etched in his mind. Jasmine certainly hadn’t invoked the same desire.
But maybe he should give her a chance. After all, Lydia might be able to liven his nights, but he needed someone to represent him at women’s gatherings. Jasmine would be perfect for that chore. If only he could sense a spark of desire in her. Well, he’d have to test her, and tonight was a perfect opportunity. He was collecting her, and together they would make their way to the small gathering of the board of directors of the bank and their families. They would be alone in the carriage for a few minutes. Enough time to kiss her and see what happened. He drew his horses to a halt in front of the Fitzpatrick brownstone. The sudden quiet after listening to hooves and carriage wheels for the past few miles made him restless. Yes, he would kiss Jasmine Fitpatrick tonight if it was the last thing he did. He’d spent enough time thinking about it. It was now time to take action.
• • •
Jasmine was a bit surprised and annoyed to see Alistair pull up in an open carriage. Even though the ride to the restaurant was short, the night air would wreak havoc with her hairdo. And she didn’t want to do anything as unflattering as drape a shawl over her head for the trip. No, she would just have to smile and act as if this was a wonderfully romantic part of the evening, and hopefully be able to repair any damage once she got to their destination. Or if not, leave subtle hints that Alistair was the reason for her mussed hair, since he couldn’t keep his hands off her. That would get these old biddies talking behind their fans for sure.
“Aren’t you the clever one, Mr. Wickersham, bringing an open carriage, so we’ll need to snuggle close to each other under a blanket?” She flashed her best smile as she settled herself next to him on the seat.
Alistair laughed at her boldness. “I did bring several blankets, so you won’t get chilled on the way there. I know it’s a bit unusual, but I do love having the wind in my face. I’ll admit to a bit of claustrophobia in a closed carriage. Those tiny windows and the skinny door make me unsettled.”
He pulled a blanket out from behind the seat and opened it with a flourish. He laid the blanket over her, taking care to cover her arms. He leaned close to her as he tucked the fabric around her, and gazed into her eyes. Their mouths were mere inches apart. She caught the scent of his sandalwood soap, and the hint of tobacco.
“There. Warm enough?”
She returned his stare. “There’s one more thing you could do to really warm me up, Mr. Wickersham. Or should I say Alistair?” She pulled an arm out from under the cover and wrapped it around the back of his head, pulling him in for a kiss.
He acted a bit surprised at her boldness, but returned the kiss, slanting his lips over hers. The kiss began lightly, feather-soft. Not good enough for her. She was certain his kisses with Lydia Smith were not so tame. She deepened the kiss and moaned slightly, for effect. Alistair wrapped his arms around her and drew her closer to him. This was more like it. His tongue begged entry into her mouth, so she moaned again and allowed him access. The kiss became quite pleasant.
Now that she thought about it, an open carriage might be the best thing that could happen to their relationship. After all, they were still parked in front of her house, and were kissing out in the open. If her parents were watching, they would demand Alistair offer marriage to protect her virtue, having taken such liberties in front of all of New York City.
As they broke ap
art, Jasmine took a quick glance toward the house, a bit disappointed to see no one at the windows. And the street was empty of spectators. Damnation.
“Well, that was unexpected, Miss Fitzpatrick,” Alistair said as he picked up the reins and began the drive to the restaurant.
“But not unwanted, I hope?” she replied as she ran her hand over her hair.
“Not at all, fair lady. Not at all.” He took the reins in one hand and wrapped his other around her, pulling her close to him. Jasmine didn’t mind the contact, but she also noticed she didn’t feel the frisson she had with Parr. Or even with Philippe. Perhaps there were too many layers of fabric between them. That must be what it was, she was certain of it.
The ride was accomplished in a few short minutes. Alistair pulled up in front of the restaurant and jumped down from the carriage. When he wrapped his hands around Jasmine’s waist, she didn’t feel any fluttering in her stomach. Lord, even Philippe, with all his bad habits, had done more for her sexual appetite than Alistair! She couldn’t help but compare his kiss to the one she shared with Parr. Why hadn’t her reaction been the same? This was the man she desperately wanted to marry, and tonight signaled a major step forward in her efforts. So why did she feel so hollow?
• • •
As they were ushered into a private dining room of the restaurant, Amanda Phillips’s mother came up to Jasmine and Alistair. Mr. Phillips was on the board of directors at the bank, so it came as no surprise they were at this dinner. What Jasmine didn’t expect was to be pulled away for a private chat.
“Jasmine, dear, we’re so excited. And it’s all your doing.”
She searched Mrs. Phillips’s face for a clue, but found nothing. “Are you talking about my new shop?”
“Indirectly, I suppose. After all, it was at your shop where Amanda came into contact again with Blake Morgan. They’ve been seeing each other ever since. We had such hopes for them last year, but then, he thought Heather was a better match … ”