An Unconventional Courtship (3 page)

“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.

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.

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.