Gentleman of Her Dreams (4 page)

“She’s never met the gentleman, Mrs. Wilson,” Henry said.

Mrs. Wilson closed her eyes and appeared to be counting under her breath. Henry smiled. He’d always enjoyed Mrs. Wilson, enjoyed her no-nonsense approach to life and her no-nonsense approach to her daughter, which, now that he thought about it, could actually work to his advantage.

He should have remembered Mrs. Wilson could be counted as one of his greatest allies.

She’d always adored him, always welcomed him into her home, and he’d always thought Mrs. Wilson harbored a secret hope that he and Charlotte would someday marry.

“Darling, Mr. Beckett is far too old for you, and besides, he has two small children.”

Henry blinked and realized that while he’d been lost in thought, Mrs. Wilson was providing invaluable advice to Charlotte.

“I adore children,” Charlotte said.

“You’ve never been around children for any length of time,” Mrs. Wilson countered.

Charlotte tilted her head and got the mulish expression on her face that Henry knew far too well. “I see my niece and my nephews at least once a month.”

Mrs. Wilson crossed her arms over her chest. “Your brothers and their wives have banned you from being alone with their children.”

Charlotte caught Henry’s eyes and shrugged. “It’s all a complete misunderstanding.”

“I don’t think encouraging a six-year-old to test out your latest invention could ever be confused as a simple misunderstanding,” Mrs. Wilson said with a sniff.

“Sophia needs adventure, seeing as how Charles stifles her, and how was I to know the wheels would fall off the miniature bicycle I made for her?”

“The loss of the wheels caused poor Sophia to run over her father, and that caused Charles to land in a puddle of mud, which resulted in me getting a lecture from him regarding my inability to control you,” Mrs. Wilson said. “And don’t even get me started on what he had to say regarding your ‘special’ bicycle outfit.”

“Charles has always been too stuffy for his own good,” Charlotte muttered. “Sophia wasn’t harmed and neither was Charles. Personally, I believe Sophia was delighted over the whole affair, which just goes to prove that children adore me.”

“Because they see you as one of their peers,” Mrs. Wilson said with a roll of her eyes. “I do not mean to offend you, darling, but a gentleman such as Mr. Beckett, while certainly searching for a woman who would make a wonderful mother, will only consider a woman who is sophisticated and somewhat worldly.”

“I can be sophisticated if I put my mind to it,” Charlotte mumbled.

Mrs. Wilson arched a brow. “My dear, you know perfectly well that is not true. You’ve been blessed with an unusual spirit and a taste for the peculiar, and unfortunately, most gentlemen are not going to be able to appreciate that in you, including Mr. Beckett. He’s far too somber, and you deserve a kindred spirit. As your mother, it is my duty to encourage you to look in a different direction.” She turned and winked at Henry.

Now they were getting somewhere.

“Mother, I know you’re going to find this somewhat odd, but the reason I’ve chosen Mr. Beckett is because I believe he’s been sent to me by God.”

How was a person supposed to argue with that type of reasoning?

To Henry’s surprise, Mrs. Wilson nodded. “I’m sure God is directing you, darling, but you know as well as I do that God works in ways we can’t understand. You might have misunderstood, which is something I do often, so I wouldn’t get your heart set on Mr. Beckett just yet. God might have someone else in mind for you.”

Henry watched as Mrs. Wilson sent him another wink, patted her daughter on the cheek, and strode down the hallway, turning to pause when she reached the other end. “Do try to stay out of trouble, both of you. At your advanced ages, I would hope that shouldn’t be too much to ask.”

“She doesn’t like Mr. Beckett,” Charlotte said when Mrs. Wilson disappeared.

“She didn’t say that, Charlotte. She said he wasn’t for you.”

“He’s the most sought-after gentleman in New York City.”

“But . . . you don’t know him.”

Charlotte released a loud sigh. “I know I don’t, but if all goes according to plan, I’ll meet him today.”

Henry blew out a breath. “Should I even ask what part you want me to play in your little fiasco?”

“I need you to help me with the boat.”

“The boat that no one believes is seaworthy?” he asked.

Charlotte gave an airy wave of her hand. “It’s completely seaworthy. I’ve tested it out.”

Henry frowned. “Where, pray tell, did you do that?”

Charlotte nibbled on her lip, the action drawing his attention. She had the most delectable lips, very plump, and he’d often wondered what it would be like to kiss them.

He shook himself as he realized Charlotte had answered his question, but since he’d been lost in his little daydream, he’d missed all the pertinent parts.

Should he ask her to repeat her answer?

No, that would only cause her to realize something was amiss, and he certainly couldn’t allow her to realize that he found her lips all too enticing.

“So, you’ll do it?”

“Do what?” he was forced to ask.

Charlotte released a grunt and tugged her hand out of his. “You’ll help me sail the boat over to Mr. Beckett and then introduce me to him?”

As far as danger levels went, this was remarkably mild for Charlotte, although he really didn’t want to be the one to introduce her to Mr. Beckett, especially if the introduction resulted in them forming an attachment.

Uncertain what to say, he finally settled on, “You’ll hardly have an opportunity to become better acquainted with the gentleman simply because we’ve sailed up beside him.”

“That’s why we’re going to claim we’re taking on water, and it won’t really be a stretch or a lie for that matter, seeing as how my boat does have a very small, yet manageable, leak.”

She’d lost her mind.

He drew in a deep breath, slowly released it, found that he was still at a loss for words, and took another breath. “We cannot take a boat out into the Hudson Bay knowing full well it has a leak,” he managed to get out.

Charlotte turned sulky in a split second. “You said you’d help.”

“No, I didn’t. You assumed I’d help. I’ve decided not to aid you in this ridiculous plan.”

There, that should put an end to the madness.

She couldn’t sail the boat by herself, and since no one else would agree to go out with her, she would simply have to accept that today was not the day she was going to meet Mr. Beckett. Perhaps she would find some solace in the fact B. Altman was still running their sale on shoes.

Before he could make that suggestion, Charlotte squared her shoulders and sent him a glare. “Fine, be that way then. I’ll go it alone.”

“You can’t sail that boat by yourself.”

“I simply won’t unfurl the sail,” she proclaimed. “I’ll row myself across the bay.”

She was going to be the death of him.

“You can’t row a boat across the bay,” he said between clenched teeth.

“I’ll never know for certain until I try.”

She was the most exasperating woman he’d ever known, and yet, even though he knew her plan was at distinct odds with what he wanted, he, for some unknown reason, suddenly found himself nodding, the action causing Charlotte’s scowl to immediately disappear into a lovely smile, a smile that set his heart to racing.

He really did love her. Why else would he allow her to twist him around her little finger like this?

“Come on, you’d better show me this boat of yours,” he grumbled, his mind going numb when Charlotte beamed at him, took back his hand, and pulled him over to the wagon.

Trepidation rolled over him as he got his first good look at her boat.

“You call this a boat?” he asked as he dropped her hand and stepped forward, eyeing the disaster in front of him.

“Of course it’s a boat. Mr. Gardner was going to toss it away, and I rescued and restored it.”

Henry’s gaze traveled over the length of the boat. It was slightly larger than a rowboat and had a skinny mast sticking up from the middle. “Maybe you should have let Mr. Gardner have his way.”

Charlotte didn’t bother to respond and instead, walked around to the front of the wagon and climbed up, turning to look at him after she sat down on the seat. “Are you coming?”

“I don’t think this will float,” he muttered before moving to take his place by her side. She handed him the reins, he gave them a flick, and then, much to his dismay, they were on their way to Hudson Bay where they were certain to meet yet another disaster.

“I used tar.”

“I hope you used a lot of it,” he said.

“I told you, it’s perfectly seaworthy.”

“You told me it leaks,” Henry countered.

“All boats leak a little bit.”

“No, they don’t,” he argued.

Charlotte let out a grunt. “Really, Henry, if I’d known you were going to be this much of a stick in the mud, I would have never requested your help. Surely you know that I wouldn’t ask you to go sailing in a boat that wasn’t safe? I’m not an idiot, and again, I tested the boat, in water I might add, a few days ago. It was fine.” She sent him another mind-numbing smile. “Now, could we please change the subject and speak about something pleasant? You have yet to tell me anything of the adventures you wrote me about, and I’ve been dying to ask you so many questions.”

Although he knew he should press her further regarding exactly what water she’d supposedly tested her boat on, he couldn’t seem to get the words out of his mouth. She was watching him with clear delight in her eyes, and he found he couldn’t refuse her request of sharing his adventures with her.

Time flew as they traveled through the city until they arrived at the bay, when Charlotte suddenly sat forward in her seat and grinned back at him. “We’re here,” she exclaimed, lurching against his side as the wagon hit a rut in the road, the heat from her body causing him to suck in a sharp breath. “This is so exciting.”

Twenty minutes later, Henry wasn’t so certain it was exciting; it was mostly terrifying. They were well away from shore and Charlotte had just unfurled the sail. To his horror, the cloth was badly frayed and ripped, although uneven stitches were trying to hold the material together. He was fairly certain Charlotte had darned the sail herself, and from what his memory recalled, she was less than handy with a needle.

“We’re picking up speed now,” she called.

“I don’t know if that sail’s up for it,” he called back, his eyes widening as he watched one repaired spot slowly unravel right in front of him.

Charlotte apparently hadn’t heard him, probably because her attention was settled on something in the distance. “There they are. Mr. Beckett is in that lovely sailboat right over there. Faster, Henry, full speed ahead.”

Henry was trying to comply with her demands, but his attempt at tacking back and forth was met with little success, as the sail was unraveling at a rapid rate. Then, suddenly, the wind died and the boat drifted to a stop as small waves lapped against the sides of the boat.

“What are you doing?” Charlotte asked. “Why aren’t we moving?”

“No wind.”

Charlotte tilted her head and then smiled. “We have oars.”

“There is no possible way I’m going to row you over to Mr. Beckett’s boat,” Henry declared. “It will take me forever, and besides, it would look somewhat odd if I simply happened to choose his boat when there are plenty of other, closer boats out here.”

“We can’t just sit here, and no, we’re not going to accept help from any of those other boats,” Charlotte grouched before she brightened. “I know . . . what if I toss the oars overboard and then we’ll start yelling in Mr. Beckett’s direction? He’ll feel compelled to come to our rescue. Since we’re wind-less and oar-less, he’ll offer us a ride back to shore, and I’ll finally have an opportunity to converse with him.”

She was a menace.

He swallowed the snort he longed to emit, reminded himself he was trying to woo her, strange as that seemed under the circumstances, and hoped his tone, as soon as he recovered his voice, would come across as reasonable instead of annoyed. “Charlotte, you’re not thinking clearly,” he began. “We cannot simply toss our oars overboard. It would hardly be the prudent option as it would leave us with no way to get back to shore on the off chance Mr. Beckett, or any other boaters, didn’t hear our calls, and . . .” Henry’s words trailed off as he glanced down and realized the reason his foot was suddenly cold was because the boat was quickly becoming submerged. “We’re taking on water.”

Charlotte lifted her skirts and frowned. “So we are. How strange.” Her frown deepened as she leaned forward and stuck her hand down into the water that was now completely covering their feet. “I wonder where this rather large hole came from because I assure you it wasn’t here when we first set sail.”

Henry could only sit there, frozen, as water began gushing upward, reminding him of the fountain in Charlotte’s backyard. Sanity returned in a flash; he yanked his handkerchief out of his jacket and stuffed it into the hole, hoping it would at least staunch the flow slightly and allow him to get the boat back to land. He straightened and snatched his hat off his head, beginning to bail as quickly as he could.