Gentleman of Her Dreams (3 page)

She’d forgotten he was a somewhat stubborn soul. She summoned up her sunniest smile. “Honestly, Henry, I can’t very well get to know Mr. Beckett if you’re hovering at my side.” Her eyes widened even as the smile slid off her face. “And while I do need you to perform an introduction, how are we to arrange it so that Mr. Beckett does not come to the conclusion we’re a couple?” She bit her lip. “Maybe this isn’t such a wonderful plan after all. Maybe you should return home and allow me to travel to the park on my own. I’ll simply have to revert back to my original plan of suffering a loose wheel on my buggy which will allow me to throw myself on Mr. Beckett’s mercy, while at the same time using that to my advantage to become acquainted with him.”

For some reason, Henry was once again muttering under his breath.

She arched a brow.

“I’m going with you,” Henry said between gritted teeth.

Why was he being difficult? Honestly, it was not as if this was some unusual occurrence, her changing her mind. In the past, he used to accommodate her frequent flights of fancy with little more than a shrug.

She opened her mouth, but didn’t have time to do more than squeak because she was suddenly hefted up into the air and then plunked down in a rather rough fashion on the buggy seat. Reins were thrust into her hand, and Henry gave her a brief nod before he stalked back to Beast’s side.

Someone was obviously miffed.

She could not remember a time when Henry was at odds with her. She cleared her throat, hoping to break the strained silence. “Try to remember that Beast is a little temperamental and prefers a light hand on the reins.”

Henry turned his head and rolled his eyes. “He’s not a little temperamental, he’s a raving lunatic of a horse, and you owe me for this, Charlotte.”

She watched as Henry climbed into the saddle, unable to help but notice and admire how lithe and muscular he’d become. Her gaze drifted to his legs and then darted quickly away because it certainly wasn’t acceptable to gawk at a gentleman’s thighs.

“Are you going to lead the way?” Henry asked.

Charlotte felt heat take over her face. She chanced a glance at Henry and breathed a sigh of relief. Annoyance was still clearly stamped on his face, which meant he hadn’t noticed her ogling him.

What would possess her to ogle Henry? She’d certainly never done so in the past. She swallowed a grunt. That wasn’t exactly the truth. There might have been a few times . . . when she’d hoped they’d be together forever, but then he’d gone and turned funny and . . .

No, she would not allow her mind to travel in that direction. She was not meant for Henry, she was meant for Mr. Hamilton Beckett, and she would do well to remember that.

She flicked the reins and the buggy set to rolling down the street, Henry pulling Beast up beside them. He was watching her somewhat speculatively, and that speculation unsettled her.

They passed the ride to Central Park in silence, and Charlotte was more than relieved when they finally reached their destination. She brought the buggy to a halt and took a moment to scan the area, smiling when her prey, or rather, Mr. Beckett, came into sight.

“I see them,” she called to Henry and pointed off to the left. “He’s parked over there. We need to get closer.”

“It’s starting to rain.”

“Then I guess I should be thankful he’s underneath that large tree. It’s the perfect place to hold a picnic.”

Charlotte edged the buggy around carriages that seemed to be making a hasty retreat from the park, thrilled to discover Mr. Beckett hadn’t moved.

He
was
an adventurous soul, not intimidated in the least that it was most likely about to pour.

He would suit her well.

She pulled the buggy to a stop and turned to find Henry staring off toward Mr. Beckett. He wasn’t wearing a very pleased expression, but then again, it had begun to rain harder, and water was dripping down his nose.

“All right, here’s what I want you to do,” Charlotte said. “You’ll ride Beast past him, call out to him, and then get off the horse. You’ll have to converse with him for a minute or two, I’ll leave the subject of that conversation up to you, and then, here’s the best part, you’ll tell him there’s someone you’d like him to meet. I’ll be watching for your signal, which should probably just be a wave. When I see you wave, I’ll come and join you. You’ll perform the introduction and after five minutes of the social pleasantries, you’ll remember your appointment.”

“I don’t even get to eat lunch?”

Charlotte was unable to stifle a huff of annoyance. It was now raining quite diligently, and her time to attract Mr. Beckett’s attention was disappearing the longer she argued with Henry. “You can take a sandwich with you. Now go and talk to him.”

“Because that won’t look strange, you thrusting a sandwich at me when Mr. Beckett thinks I’m going off to an appointment. It’s a bit difficult to eat on the back of a bucking stallion.”

Charlotte sent him a glare, which started Henry laughing and urging Beast forward. She sat back in her seat and watched as he approached Mr. Beckett, holding her breath when Henry jumped from Beast’s back and shook Mr. Beckett’s hand.

She realized that Henry would be calling to her soon, so she stood up and smoothed her damp skirts down, lifting her head and forcing a smile. Before she had a chance to do anything else, a loud crack of thunder split the air, and the next thing she knew, Beast was charging directly at her, causing the horse attached to the buggy to bolt forward.

Her body lurched backward and then toppled over the buggy’s seat, landing with a splat into a puddle of something vile. She pulled her head from the muck, watched in disbelief as she saw Mr. Beckett driving his carriage rapidly away from her, and then turned her head ever so slightly as her gaze settled on mud-splattered boots.

“Charlotte, are you all right?”

“Why didn’t Mr. Beckett come to my rescue?” she managed to ask after she spit a glob of mud out of her mouth.

“I would have to imagine he didn’t see you,” Henry said. “That lightning strike was too close for comfort, and he was concerned with getting his children to safety.”

“Ah, he’s a wonderful father.”

“Anyone in their right mind would get their children to safety,” Henry grumbled. “Here, take my hand.”

Charlotte blinked muddy water out of her eyes and noticed that Henry was once again holding out his hand to her. She pushed out of the mud, slipped just a touch as Henry pulled her to her feet, and then peered into the distance, biting back a sigh when Mr. Beckett’s carriage was nowhere in sight.

“Are you sure you’re not hurt?” Henry asked.

“Only my pride,” she admitted as she patted his arm, causing bits of mud to fly everywhere. “Not to worry, though. In case you were wondering, I have a backup plan.”

2

H
enry laughed out loud and then swallowed another laugh when two ladies approaching him from the opposite direction eyed him warily. He tipped his hat to them, flicked the reins to urge his horse faster, and then grinned as the image of Charlotte as she’d looked the day before, dripping mud and looking downright miserable, flashed through his mind.

She was more enchanting than ever.

She was also annoyingly determined—determined to proceed with her scheme of bringing Mr. Hamilton Beckett around to her way of thinking.

He had nothing against Hamilton; in fact, in the past he’d enjoyed the gentleman’s company. Hamilton was a fairly capital fellow, and the ladies of New York seemed to find him pleasing on the eyes and possessed of a captivating, if somewhat brooding, nature.

To give the gentleman his due, he had every reason to brood, as he’d been married to a shrew of a woman who’d embarrassed him to no end before she’d died. If anyone deserved a chance at happiness, it was Hamilton . . . but not with Charlotte.

Henry knew Charlotte belonged with him. Even though she hadn’t quite realized that yet, he wasn’t going to allow her to slip away without a fight.

He’d been in love with her for years.

They’d started off as friends—they’d been so young when they met—but then, somehow, through the years, his love for her changed.

It turned intense and horrible. Horrible because Charlotte didn’t return his affections.

Oh, she had loved him—there’d never been a question about that—but she’d loved him as a brother or a best friend, and he’d wanted more.

The year of her debut had been sheer torture for him as he escorted her from one ball to another, forced to watch from the sidelines when gentlemen swooped to her side the moment she stepped foot across the threshold. His only solace in those days had been the single dance she always set aside just for him.

He’d cherished every step, dreamed of taking the floor with her, until one summer evening when he had arrived at her side for their dance and heard her release a sigh—a sigh that seemed to mean their dance, cherished by him, was a tiresome obligation to her.

The thought of being an obligation was abhorrent to him, and he realized he couldn’t continue on with the madness of wanting her, not when the feeling wasn’t returned.

He’d made the decision to leave New York and embarked on an adventure that permitted him to further his knowledge of the family shipping business, while also cementing his belief that his life’s destiny was to travel the high seas as a captain. As he moved from port to port, his longing for Charlotte never abated, and his greatest hope had been that while he was away, Charlotte would finally come to terms with her feelings for him and realize they were meant to be together.

Charlotte would love traveling around the world. Her appetite for adventure was certainly as great as his, and he’d pictured her by his side often over the past two years, the sea mist tangling her hair even as her eyes sparkled at the mere thought of what waited for them just over the horizon.

He’d tried to put his travels into his letters, wanting her to experience them even if she wasn’t with him, and he’d treasured the letters she had sent back, poring over them again and again anytime he’d been fortunate enough to dock in England where her letters waited for him.

It was because of these letters he’d decided to come home.

Her letters had taken on an almost melancholy air, and he’d thought her melancholy was due to her finally realizing how much she missed his company.

He’d obviously been reading too much between the lines because Charlotte wasn’t melancholy in the least; in fact, she was downright scary at the moment, with her sense of purpose and her belief God was directing her path toward Mr. Hamilton Beckett.

He was all for believing God had a hand in a person’s fate, but Charlotte was apparently confusing the message she thought she’d received from above.

He was meant to be her husband.

He took a moment to send up a prayer, asking God to set Charlotte straight, and then glanced around, surprised to discover he was almost to Charlotte’s house.

How was he going to convince her that her thinking was skewered and that she could have the perfect husband if only she’d open her eyes and recognize what was waiting right in front of her?

She still saw him as somewhat of a brother figure, although . . . maybe that wasn’t quite true anymore. Her eyes had lingered on him the day before, and she’d watched him with a strange expression on her face, as if she wasn’t really sure who he was, and that had to be a step in the right direction.

He wanted her to see him differently, wanted her to see that he was her match, wanted her to forget they were best friends—no, that wasn’t right. He wanted her to always think of him as her best friend, but he wanted to be the love of her life, and that was going to be the most difficult challenge he’d ever faced.

He would give her the entire world if it would make her happy, which explained why he was currently driving to her house, unable to refuse the recent message she’d sent him, asking him to call on her.

She hadn’t bothered to add anything else in her note, which made him rather anxious. Charlotte was tricky at the best of times, and if she’d gotten something else into her head, something that involved a backup plan, he’d have to do his best to discourage her. He certainly wasn’t keen on helping her, not if she wanted him to help her land Mr. Beckett.

That would be at distinct odds with what he wanted.

He brought his buggy to a stop in front of the Wilsons’ Park Avenue mansion and jumped to the ground, handing the reins over to a waiting groom.

“Shall I take your buggy to the livery?” the groom asked.

Henry bit back a groan. “Am I to assume I’m not going to be in need of it in the near future?”

The groom smiled. “Miss Wilson has a wagon waiting just over there.”

Henry swiveled his head and frowned. “Is that a boat on the back of the wagon?”

“Some might call it a boat,” the groom said. “Miss Wilson came home with that about a month ago. She’s been patching it up.” The groom grinned. “May I say you’re a brave one, sir? It’s not every gentleman who would take the risk.”

“Risk?” Henry asked warily

The groom nodded. “I do hope you know how to swim.”

“Swim?”

The groom nodded again. “That’s why I told Miss Wilson I couldn’t help her with this particular project. I don’t swim, or I would have gone with her after her brothers, the friends of her brothers, and anyone else she asked balked at the mere thought of taking that contraption out on the water. She’s right hard to say no to, isn’t she?”

“That she is, although it seems there were many who did,” Henry said before turning and walking up the sidewalk, determined to get to the bottom of what was obviously yet another one of Charlotte’s mad schemes. “Thank you for seeing to my horse,” he called over his shoulder.

The groom smiled and jumped into the seat, and Henry watched as the horse and buggy cantered away. He then set his sights on the door, shaking his head before he rapped the knocker against the wood.

She’d always been incorrigible, but instead of growing out of that particular habit, it seemed to be worsening with age, and he could only hope Charlotte hadn’t gotten it into that delightful head of hers to try something dangerous.

As the groom said, she was difficult to say no to, especially since he was trying to win her favor and win her affections away from Hamilton.

Mr. Lewis, the Wilson family’s devoted butler, answered the door and ushered Henry inside, sending Henry a look that appeared almost sympathetic.

“Going to the Hudson Bay, are you?” Mr. Lewis asked.

It seemed as if there really was some dastardly plan in the works.

“I’m not quite certain about that,” Henry said slowly.

“Ah, she neglected to tell you,” Mr. Lewis said. “That explains it.”

“Am I to understand I’ve been summoned to take her boating?”

Mr. Lewis winced before he nodded. “She’s been desperate to find someone to accompany her.” He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Do you know she offered me five dollars to go sailing with her?” He let out a sigh. “I must admit I was briefly tempted, seeing as how she can be somewhat persuasive, but my rheumatism doesn’t do well in the wet. She understood of course. Miss Wilson is a compassionate soul, and it took me a good hour to convince her she hadn’t hurt my feelings by asking me to accompany her, seeing that it brought attention to my ever-increasing fragility.”

“Henry, how good of you to visit.”

Henry swung his attention away from Mr. Lewis and smiled when he caught sight of Charlotte’s mother, Mrs. Margaret Wilson. He stepped forward and took her hand, bringing it to his lips before he dropped it and grinned. “You’re looking as wonderful as ever, Mrs. Wilson.”

Mrs. Wilson beamed. “I see you’ve managed to get quite a bit of polish on your extended travels around the world, Henry. I’ve missed you, dear.”

“I’ve missed you as well, Mrs. Wilson, but I’m not certain I got much polish on my travels. I spent most of my time in derelict ports dealing with unsavory groups of men.”

Mrs. Wilson took his arm and began directing him down the hallway. “You must tell me all about your adventures. The unsavory men sound completely riveting.”

“Mother, I’m afraid Henry won’t be able to tell you his stories now,” Charlotte said, coming up behind them. “We’re on a tight schedule.”

Henry turned and felt his mouth run dry. Charlotte was wearing a gown of blue and white stripes that was nipped in at the waist, showcasing her lovely figure. Her hair was pulled to the top of her head and curls cascaded around her face, while a miniscule little scrap of fabric that he assumed was her hat perched on top of her curls, lending her a rather mischievous air.

The last thing Charlotte needed was to look more mischievous.

Before he could extend her a proper greeting, Mrs. Wilson stepped forward and sent her daughter a frown. “Why are you on a tight schedule, and exactly where are you taking poor Henry?”

Ah, Mrs. Wilson remembered the fact her daughter possessed the habit of pulling Henry, whether willing or not, into schemes that usually landed them in trouble.

“We’re going sailing on the Hudson Bay,” Charlotte said.

“You neglected to mention that in your note,” he muttered.

Mrs. Wilson stiffened for a split second before a somewhat forced smile spread over her face. “I’m going to assume you dock a boat there, Henry.”

“Actually, no,” Henry returned.

Mrs. Wilson spun around so fast she almost made him dizzy. “Do not even tell me you’ve talked Henry into taking out that, for want of a better word, boat.”

“It’s perfectly seaworthy,” Charlotte said, although her tone sounded a tad defensive.

“If you’re determined to go boating today, Charlotte, we could always take out one of my boats,” Henry said. “I have several at my disposal, and I can guarantee that all of them float.”

“We have to go to Hudson Bay, and you stated not a moment ago that you don’t dock a boat there,” Charlotte said between lips that were almost completely closed.

Mrs. Wilson narrowed her eyes and began tapping her toe against the floor. “And why, pray tell, do you have to go boating on Hudson Bay and . . . why are you dressed like that if you’re going boating? Good heavens, Charlotte, if you fell overboard, you’d sink in a split second with that huge bustle.”

“Which is why I’m not planning on falling overboard,” Charlotte said.

“You’re avoiding my questions,” Mrs. Wilson said.

Charlotte let out a huff. “Fine, if you must know, I’ve discovered that Mr. Hamilton Beckett has plans to sail around the bay with his children this morning, and since I’ve decided he’s the most appropriate man for me to marry, I wanted to look my best on the chance I sail into him.”

Mrs. Wilson’s mouth gaped open. She finally snapped it shut, took a step closer to her daughter, and then began to sputter. “I had . . . had . . . had no idea you’d turned your attention to Mr. Beckett, and I certainly wasn’t aware of the fact the two of you have been seeing each other.”