by Lower, Becky
He took a breath when Jasmine let herself in and walked quickly down the hall. Raking a glance over her face, he could discern no physical evidence that she had been kissed by Parr again. This time, at least. If he married her, though, and kept Parr on in his quarters in the stable, would he look upon her with suspicion every time she came in? Christ, he hoped not. The last thing he wanted, now that he’d found Parr, was to place a wedge between their friendship because of a woman.
He rose from his chair and went to her side, leaning down to kiss her lightly on the lips. No, he was certain she hadn’t been kissed this evening. He let out a breath and offered her his arm to lead her to the dining room.
Chapter Twenty-one
Life had been going full-tilt since Jasmine dined with Alistair and her father at Alistair’s ranch. On the ride back to their brownstone in the city a few nights ago, her father had dropped very broad hints that Alistair was about to offer her a proposal of marriage. She’d inhaled the scent of his pipe tobacco as she pondered his words. The thought excited her, since she’d proved once again that she could accomplish whatever she set her mind to. Her mother would be so proud. But there was no joy mingled with her excitement. She admitted that life with Alistair would be pleasant at best, but never heart-pounding. Not at all similar to what it would be with Parr.
Damn, there he was again, creeping into her mind when she’d shooed him away time after time. Had he used some of his famous Irish magic on her to keep him foremost in her thoughts? Or was it because every time she caught Colleen’s brogue or someone called her name, it reminded her of being once again in the stable, listening to Parr refer to her as his cailín?
She shook her head, to banish Parr from her mind, and to replace him with thoughts of her soon-to-be intended. Wouldn’t the ladies be impressed at the first ball of the season, when she was escorted to the proceedings by her fiancé, the Viscount of Foxborough?
She glanced up from the worktable and surveyed her surroundings. Satisfied with the way things at the shop were proceeding, she turned her attention to the dress she was remaking to wear at tonight’s birthday party for Amanda. Since this was to be her betrothal gown, she wanted it to be spectacular. Colleen had sewn the last few embellishments on it this morning and they now closed the curtain to the fitting room so Jasmine could be laced into it. Colleen pulled the bodice tight before she stepped back to get the full effect of the dress.
“Lordy me, lass, but this is the most beautiful creation you’ve come up with yet.”
“It is lovely, isn’t it?” Jasmine ran her hand over the rows of glass beads that Colleen had meticulously sewn onto the bodice. She shook out the skirt over the padding which created the slight bustle and turned sideways in the mirror, enjoying the swish of the lush fabric as she moved.
“I want to check it over from all angles, Colleen, so you might as well get back to work on Eliza Logan’s gown.”
“Aye, I do need to get going on that dress, if she’s to have it in time for her new show. If you’re sure you’re all right here … ”
“Yes, yes, go on with you. I’ll call out when I want you to unlace me.”
Since merely looking at the fabric chosen for Eliza’s gown brought Parr’s eyes into her mind again, she had no desire to oversee Colleen’s work on the dress. What she needed to do was to make certain hers was perfection. For Alistair.
She stood in front of the cheval mirror and stared at her image with a critical eye. She pinched her cheeks to bring color into them and ran her fingers down the gown. She brushed her hair from off her shoulders. The pale peach shade of the dress’s fabric was close to her own skin color, presenting the illusion that she was nude. She smiled at her scandalous thoughts. That image would suit nicely. But if one were to examine the dress more closely, they would begin to notice the details. The entire bodice was overlaid with lace, to which were sewn thousands of peach-colored glass beads, which caught the light, shooting off sparks as she turned this way and that. She spent several minutes turning back and forth, to make certain the light caught the beads regardless of her stance.
The bodice was dramatically cut into a deep V in the back, laced together with a band of silk ribbon a shade darker than the dress. A slight bustle took shape from the matching V shape at her hips. She adjusted the shoulders of the dress so they were almost off the shoulder and peered into the mirror again. Yes, slightly off the shoulder would do. The beads were sewn side-by-side for an inch and a half width around the cuff of the sleeve and around the edges of the bodice, adding a considerable weight to the fabric.
What would happen if the weight of her sleeve somehow pulled the bodice from her shoulder? She gave a slight shrug and one side fell from her shoulders. Her bosom threatened to emerge from the confines of the dress. Yes, this would do nicely. Perhaps in a quiet, private moment, once Alistair had offered his hand, she would shrug from the chill on the balcony, for his view only. She closed her eyes for a moment, thinking about a man’s hands on her exposed bosom. He would run his fingers over the swell of breast, reveling in her petal-soft skin, marveling at how high and tight her globes of flesh were. Then he would lower his mouth to take in the pale pink nipple and set her core on fire. He would raise his head and stare deeply into her eyes before he captured her mouth in a show of possession. Their gazes would lock for a long second before he …
Damnation! Why was she imagining locking gazes with a pair of ice-blue eyes instead of Alistair’s ordinary blue ones?
Tears threatened, blurring the image in the mirror. She blinked them away. No, absolutely not. Regardless of how many times she had to tell herself, Jasmine Fitzpatrick would not shed a tear for that blasted man, nor would she waste any more of her precious time thinking about a mere stable boy. Especially when there was a viscount to enthrall this very evening with her lovely gown. Yes, at the end of this evening, she would be engaged to one of the plums of New York society this year. And he was all hers. Just what she and her mother wanted.
• • •
Alistair dressed slowly and carefully for this evening’s event. He untied his cravat once again and started over. Even though he had hired a new valet, James, to take care of his clothing and to help him get dressed, he was not happy with the way his cravat was tied. But it had nothing to do with James’s abilities. It was the fault of the blasted cravat. It made his neck disappear. Such an idiotic article of clothing, anyway. He glanced in the mirror, and yanked on the cravat again.
No, it was not James’s fault that Alistair was displeased with his appearance. He ran a hand over his stomach. Was his belly beginning to go soft? Did he really have no neck anymore? Alistair grimaced at the image looking back at him. No, he was not going soft, and no, he hadn’t somehow lost his neck. What he had was a dilemma that was making all thoughts about this evening amplify in his mind.
“Give me a few minutes, James, if you please.” He motioned for the man to withdraw from the room, then walked over to his tall dresser. He removed the note that had arrived for him that morning. He needed to read it again. He wanted to touch it, knowing she had touched it, too. He ran his finger over the words and lifted the sheet of fine vellum stationery to his nose.
Immediately, images of Lydia, lying naked and opening her arms to him filled his mind. His body immediately jumped in response, his manhood springing painfully to life. She was coming back, tonight, and would be in attendance at the dance. Alistair scanned her words as he inhaled her fragrance again. He tried to read between the lines of her message. She cheerily wrote of her new nephew, and told him she had missed him greatly. Did that mean she wanted to return to his side, and be his alone? Did this mean she now was thinking about children of her own? His mind buzzed as he thought of the ramifications of this single sheet of luxurious paper.
He ran his hand over his face as he folded the note up. He took one more sniff before he closed the envelope and placed it
back in the dresser drawer. If his body responded to her physical presence even half as much as it had done by her missive, he stood a better than average chance of making a complete fool of himself tonight. His mouth went dry when he thought of getting Lydia alone again and welcoming her back home. It couldn’t happen soon enough.
So what did that say about the path he was on with Jasmine? He’d already asked her father for her hand, and even with George’s reservations, he’d be welcomed into the family, should he go through with things as planned. He was supposed to propose this evening — at least that was the timeline he had laid out for himself. Maybe Lydia’s note had come just in the nick of time.
Since no one except George was aware of his intention to propose to Jasmine this evening, he would not commit any great social faux pas by waiting another day or two. He needed to first see Lydia, to spend some time with her again, to see if she wanted to be with him as much as he wanted her. To put his hands all over her body again. Lord help him. She’d made it very clear she was not in the market for marriage, but he did not want her being touched intimately by any man other than himself. Raging jealousy tore through him at the thought of another man giving her pleasure.
She would laugh at his suggestion to make her his mistress. She had no need of a sponsor, since she was probably every bit as wealthy as he was. Surely he could craft a document before they wed that would leave her fortune in her own control, rather than having it transfer to him upon marriage. Yes, that was it. He would have her to himself, and remove all others from her bed at the same time. That’s what he truly wanted. And if she wanted a child, he’d be willing to try again, although he’d attempt to talk her out of it. He had no desire to watch another woman die in the agony of childbirth, to put another through the same torture his wife, Catherine, had endured.
But that left Jasmine. She was lovely enough, and somewhat charming. He loved her enthusiasm for her new career, and grew amused when she got so animated with her tales of the shop that she forgot to flirt with him. Her feeble attempts at coquetry were almost painful to watch, but she was a definite asset in the drawing rooms of New York, and he had no doubt she would be eager to accept his proposal. But did she really want to be with him? A man twice her age? And she’d want a child quickly, to cement her position in the family, and to create the next duke for England. Was that what he wanted? Did he really want to be with her? For the remainder of his life?
Things had been so much simpler with Catherine. They’d met at a social function, where most upper-crust relationships began. After a brief and awkward courtship, they were wed before they really were acquainted with each other. Love happened, in spite of their beginnings. It just kind of evolved, and by the time she was pregnant with his child, he was besotted by her. Her death hit him extremely hard, and he doubted he’d ever get over it, regardless of who was by his side in the future — Lydia or Jasmine.
He sighed as he wrapped the cloth of the cravat around his neck once more and tied it, this time to perfection. Calling for James again, he quickly finished dressing. He was going to see Lydia for the first time in weeks, and he would be able to compare her, side by side, to Jasmine, and see which lady he truly wanted to build a life with.
Maybe it was time to lay all his cards on the table.
• • •
Charlotte entered Jasmine’s bedroom just as the young woman finished her bath. They needed to have this conversation before going to the party, as much as Charlotte hated the idea of having her plans for her daughter torn asunder.
Snuggled up in her wrapper with her hair piled on top of her head, Jasmine reminded Charlotte of when she was a little girl and would jump into her mother’s lap, smelling clean and soapy and young. Unexpected tears came to Charlotte’s eyes as she took in Jasmine’s appearance.
“Mother, please. No hysterics this evening. It’s just going to be a birthday party.”
Charlotte grabbed Jasmine’s hands and pulled her in for a hug. Still clean and soapy, but the soap had morphed from a simple bar to one with a womanly scent. “You know it’s much more than that. I’m so proud of you. And not just because you’ve managed to land the viscount.”
“What do you mean? What else could make you proud? Isn’t this what we’ve been planning for months now?”
Charlotte ran her hands through her own hair before she replied. “Let’s sit for a moment and enjoy a cup of tea before you begin to get ready, shall we?”
Jasmine groaned. “Are we going to have ‘the talk’?”
“No, my darling. At least not the one you’re referring to. We’ll hold off on that one until such time as you’re engaged.” They sat in chairs in a corner of Jasmine’s bedroom and Charlotte poured them tea from the cart. She took a sip of the fragrant, hot liquid and cleared her throat delicately. Smoothing her dress, she turned to face her daughter.
“I’ve been doing some thinking. First, I wanted to tell you how proud I am of you and your shop. Although it’s meant finding a replacement lady’s maid here at the house, what you’ve done for Colleen, allowing her to improve her way of life by showcasing her talents as a seamstress, is admirable. And, for that matter, what you’ve done for yourself is wonderful. You’ve taken a hobby, which you’ve had all your life, and chosen to do something significant with it. So, I’m proud of you. More than I’ve been in my whole life.”
Tears sparked at Jasmine’s eyes and she blinked rapidly. “Thank you, Mother. That means a lot.”
Charlotte leaned over and grasped Jasmine’s hand. “You’ve followed your heart, just as your sisters have done, when it comes to your business. I remember how you used to drive the dressmakers crazy with your demands. I now understand why. None of them had your vision. So now it’s time to follow your heart with regards to your private life, too.”
Jasmine squirmed in her chair and averted her eyes. “What do you mean? I’m getting engaged this evening, to the man you and I have been trying to impress since he arrived in our midst a few months ago. I’ve done it, Mother.”
“But it bothers your father and me that you don’t seem too happy about it.”
“You’ve talked with Papa about my quest for Alistair?” Jasmine’s voice squeaked.
“He has accompanied you more than I have, when you visit the ranch, and your lack of excitement has him worried, along with some other things. We want you to have a life similar to what we’ve had. To see your partner every day for the next forty years and have just the sight of him set your stomach to fluttering. Alistair offers a lot, true, with his title, and to be his wife would set you up well in society. But is it enough? Your father doesn’t think so, and I’m beginning to wonder if I haven’t been overzealous in that regard. I’ve put some pressure on you to pursue him because of his status, but lately I’ve noticed your heart doesn’t seem to be in it.”
“What are Papa’s other worries? Does he think Alistair isn’t suitable? And if not, why did he give his approval?”
“He gave his approval begrudgingly, because he considers Alistair a good friend and he knows you will be well taken care of. But the age difference is a big concern to him. Your father thinks you’ll soon be bored by Alistair and will start searching for a diversion. And that would be devastating, to the both of you and to your position in society.”
Jasmine’s eyes clouded over and Charlotte could tell she was fighting back tears. “Darling, I don’t want you to cry unhappy tears tonight. If someone else has stolen your heart, you need to run to him instead.”
Jasmine sighed. “No, Mother. I want this as much as you do. I’ve made my choice, and it’s Alistair. His title will be enough.”
Chapter Twenty-two
Colleen finished lacing up the back of Jasmine’s peach gown for the second time. This time it counted, as Jasmine was finishing her preparations for the party. She had insisted that Colleen lace her corset tighter than ever,
which pushed her breasts up even higher. As Colleen finished, Jasmine turned toward the mirror. Yes, the corset had done its job. Her décolletage was lovely and enticing. Just the image she wanted to portray. She ran a finger over her swell of bosom. Alistair would not be able to resist her tonight. And she would accept his proposal on the spot. Her stomach fluttered in anticipation, and she bounced from foot to foot.
“Don’t be doing that, lass. Your breasts are about to tumble out of this dress as ’tis. You don’t be needing to encourage them.”
Jasmine grinned. “But I must make Alistair aware of what he’ll be getting every night from here on.”
“Oh, I think Alistair knows what he’s getting. But what of you? Are you sure you know what you’re givin’ up, missy? Are you so certain he’s the one for you? And it’s not just his title you’ll be going after?”
“I’m well aware of the reservations everyone has about Alistair. But he offers me everything I’ve ever wanted — a fine place in New York society, wealth in abundance, and he’ll give me pretty children. All I’ve ever wanted.”
“Ach, all that means nothing, lass. What about true love? You didn’t even mention love.”
“Love has little to do with marriage, Colleen.”
Colleen stepped back and stared at Jasmine. Tears filled her eyes. “How can you say that? Look at your sisters. Ginger married her true love. She could have picked any of her other beaux and lived a boring, comfortable life such as you’re suggesting for yourself. But she didn’t. She held out for the one man who made her feel true passion. Same with Heather. She could have ended up with Blake Morgan, almost did. But she was meant for David, and she’s so happy.”