by Jen Turano
That gentlemen who enjoyed his elevated position within society never partnered ladies other than the most accomplished, there was no question. However, he, oddly enough, found it rather refreshing to be paired with a lady who exhibited enthusiasm instead of restraint as she . . . galloped about the room rather than glided.
Wincing directly out of those thoughts when he finally reached Permilia’s side again and she greeted him by stepping on his foot, Asher took her by both arms, turned her around, and prodded her forward in the direction she was supposed to be moving.
“This is the part in the quadrille when you’re supposed to follow my lead” was all he could think to say, but to his surprise, Permilia didn’t bat so much as a single eye. Instead, she nodded, smiled, and threw herself into the business of trying to follow his lead.
Guiding her around the room a few more times, he felt she was finally getting the steps down, although she did step on his feet a good ten times before the music began to slow and then fade away, signaling the end of the dance. As the guests surrounding them broke into polite applause, their claps muffled by the gloves they were wearing, Asher looked down and found Permilia beaming back at him, her blue eyes sparkling with clear delight.
“I think that went extraordinarily well, don’t you?” she asked, tucking her hand into the crook of his arm even as she gave a satisfied nod, the action sending her tiara listing to the left.
Unable to stop the grin that spread over his face at the amount of satisfaction Permilia had received from a dance that she apparently felt was an unqualified success instead of the disaster he was fairly sure everyone else thought her performance had been, he reached up and set her tiara back into place. Lowering his hand, he discovered Permilia grinning back at him, quite like the cat who’d discovered the cream . . . and just like that, he realized he’d somehow managed to become completely enthralled with the woman standing beside him.
She was unlike any lady he’d ever known, but instead of wanting to distance himself from her and her peculiar ways, he wanted to learn everything about her because . . . she was charming, enchanting, and he was completely intrigued by her.
Before he could fully wrap his thoughts around that startling realization, Permilia leaned toward him, her perfume clouding his thoughts again.
That circumstance turned out to be rather unfortunate, because she began whispering something about seizing the moment while it was still available. That idea, he was fairly certain, was one he should balk at. However, he simply couldn’t seem to muster up the proper words to allow her to know he was not in full agreement with whatever plan she’d just concocted.
Propelling him forward before he had the presence of mind to stop her, Permilia squeezed his arm, told him to smile, and began steering him in the direction of Mrs. Ida Griswold, a lady he couldn’t help but notice was looking anything but pleased to see them heading her way.
Chapter
Seven
“I don’t mean to spoil what you obviously believe is going to be a marvelous encounter with your stepmother, Permilia, but do you think it may be somewhat rash to approach her at this particular moment?”
Coming to a stop, Permilia caught Asher’s eye. “I’m not certain I understand your hesitation, Asher. This is the perfect moment to approach Ida. We just completed what I consider to be my most successful attempt at a quadrille to date.”
Asher blinked somewhat owlishly back at her. “You truly do consider our quadrille a success?”
“Of course I do. Why do you think I said it went extraordinarily well? I certainly wouldn’t have used that particular word if I thought I’d made a muddle of things.” She smiled. “Why, if it escaped your notice, I didn’t maim a single person while I was on the floor, and . . .” She held up her hand when he opened his mouth, a protest obviously on the tip of his tongue. “That young lady I ran into at the beginning does not count because she recovered rather prettily and wasn’t even limping the last time I saw her.”
“Am I to understand you maim fellow dancers frequently?”
“Maim might be a touch of an exaggeration, although . . .” She bit her lip. “There was this one gentleman—a Mr. McVickar, I believe—who was convinced by Mrs. Frederick Nelson, a friend of my stepmother’s, that I adored dancing the Ticklish Water Polka.” She shuddered. “I fear I’m less than adequate with the polka steps, and . . . it did not end well for Mr. McVickar.”
Asher took to rubbing his temple. “That wasn’t a few years back, was it—when Mr. McVickar was traveling around the city sporting a cane that he was forced to use because of an injury he’d suffered?”
“I’m afraid it was, and once word got out that it was somewhat dangerous to take to the floor with me, well . . . my fate as a wallflower was sealed. But that’s neither here nor there. I’m not above using my recent success on the floor to improve my relationship with my stepmother, so . . . we need to go speak with her before the announcement is made that dinner is about to be served.”
“I believe there’s one more dance before dinner,” Asher said as she pulled him forward again, having to exert far more effort than she’d expected since he seemed to be dragging his feet.
“If you’ve promised that dance to another young lady, I assure you, you’ll still have plenty of time to honor that dance. We don’t need to linger in my stepmother’s presence. I simply need to allow her to see that we’re in perfect accord with each other, and then you’re free to go on your way.” She craned her neck, scanned the crowd surrounding them, and then slowed to a stop. “How curious. I swear Ida was standing right there just a moment ago, but . . . you’re taller than I am. Do you see her anywhere?”
Asher quickly looked around the room before he patted her arm, an action that, in her opinion, was never a good sign.
“I do hope you won’t be overly distressed by this, Permilia, but I’m fairly confident your stepmother slipped away into the crowd while we were trying to make our way over to her.”
“Why would she have done that?”
“I’m not certain, but when I caught a glimpse of her after the quadrille ended, I fear she was scowling our way.”
“Ida doesn’t believe in scowling.”
“Which is rather telling,” Asher muttered before he summoned up a bright smile and beamed that smile her way.
Having come to the conclusion that Asher used his smiles when he was attempting to avoid a topic he did not want to discuss, Permilia pressed her lips together. “Were you purposely dragging your feet so that Ida would have ample opportunity to get away from us?”
If anything, Asher’s smile increased in brightness. “I’m sure I have no idea what you could be suggesting.”
A shot of something warm began to travel through her, something that was, surprisingly enough, not temper, but more along the lines of . . . affection.
He’d been trying to spare her from an unpleasant encounter with her stepmother, an idea so foreign to her that all she could do was simply stand in the midst of the crowd, all of whom were dressed as princesses, knights, and woodland creatures, and stare at the man who was, in actuality, her very own knight in shining armor—at least for the moment.
“You really are a very nice gentleman, aren’t you—no matter the rumors I’ve heard regarding your reputation amongst your business associates?” she finally said, earning a dimming of Asher’s smile in the process.
“How in the world have you heard about my business reputation?”
“You’re constant fodder for articles in all the newspapers around town.”
“You read the articles in the newspapers?”
Practically every charitable thought she’d begun holding for the man disappeared in a split second. “Surely you’re not one of those gentlemen, are you—the ones who still find it peculiar that women actually enjoy reading the articles in a newspaper instead of simply browsing through the society columns?”
“I don’t suppose it would benefit me in the least to admit that I
do still find that idea peculiar, would it?”
“Not in the least.”
He inclined his head. “Then I’ll simply beg your pardon and promise I’ll try diligently to reform my obviously deficient opinion related to women and their reading habits. And . . . I’ll also promise to try my utmost to impress your stepmother with how delightful I find your company.”
“That’s a tall order you’ve set for yourself, but”—Permilia smiled and gestured across the ballroom—“if you’re determined to impress my stepmother, she’s over there, heading toward that hallway.”
“Then we should probably get it over with sooner rather than later.” With that, and after she’d sent him a nod, Asher set off across the floor, whisking her past the guests standing about the room. Guiding her toward the hallway, he brought her to a stop a few feet away from not only Ida but her stepsister, Lucy, as well.
That those two ladies seemed to be in a tizzy, there could be little doubt. Their heads were bent closely together as they whispered furiously behind raised hands, the reasoning behind their whispering becoming perfectly clear when they raised their heads, caught sight of Permilia, and immediately looked guilty.
The look lasted for only the briefest of seconds, because when they turned their attention to Asher, they were suddenly all smiles and fluttering lashes, the speed at which they’d been able to summon up the smiles having Permilia’s lips twitching.
It was one of Ida’s most stringent rules that no matter the circumstance, or the juiciness of the gossip being discussed, ladies were to abandon any action a gentleman might view as unattractive the very moment said gentleman entered a lady’s presence. They were then expected to adopt a most demure and pleasant attitude, an attitude both Ida and Lucy were now displaying to perfection.
Forcing down the bubble of laughter that threatened to escape, Permilia watched as Asher went about the business of charming her step-relatives, stepping forward to kiss their hands.
All sense of amusement disappeared in a flash, though, when Lucy took to holding fast to Asher’s hand, fluttering her lashes so rapidly in his direction that it looked as if she might have gotten something in her eye.
Asher, gentleman that he seemed to be, didn’t so much as blink over the idea that Lucy was clearly flirting with him. Instead, and much to Permilia’s annoyance, he perused Lucy’s dance card and added his name to it.
Avoiding Ida’s gaze, one that had immediately taken to sharpening on Permilia as if it was somehow her fault Lucy was now going to be taking to the floor with Asher, Permilia cast her attention to the right and found none other than Mr. Eugene Slater standing a few feet away from them, trying to look rather nonchalant even though Permilia had the sneaking suspicion he might have been deliberately following her.
Being quite unused to gentlemen bothering to follow her, but being rather delighted by the notion nevertheless, she found herself moving his way, pleased to discover she was perfectly able to return the smile he was now sending her.
“Mr. Slater, how lovely to meet up with you once again” she heard come out of her mouth, the words having Mr. Slater staring at her for a long moment before he grinned.
“You’ve found your voice,” he said, moving toward Permilia and then surprising her by taking her hand in his and bringing it to his lips.
“Mr. Rutherford kindly informed me of your occupation, Mr. Slater, and learning you are involved with mining, well . . .”
“Permilia apparently speaks your language.”
Turning, she found Asher standing directly behind her, Ida holding one of his arms and Lucy holding the other. He was no longer smiling but watching Mr. Slater in what could only be described as a very considering, and somewhat aggressive, fashion.
Mr. Slater didn’t appear to be bothered by Asher’s less than friendly attitude in the least as he gazed in clear delight back at her.
“You speak mining?” he asked.
Permilia smiled. “I was raised in the mines, Mr. Slater, so yes, I do speak that particular language.”
Mr. Slater leaned closer, her hand still grasped in his. “You’re not related to Mr. George Griswold, are you?”
“He’s my father.”
The delight in Mr. Slater’s eyes increased tenfold. “On my word, I had no idea, but in my defense, I readily admit that I’m not out and about often in society. That has led me to commit quite a few social faux pas of late—one being that I was unaware of your true identity when I first approached you.”
Permilia drew back the hand Mr. Slater had lingered over a little too long and smiled. “There’s no need to fret about not knowing who I am, Mr. Slater, but . . . before we continue with our pleasant chat, allow me to present to you my stepmother, Mrs. George Griswold, and my stepsister, Miss Lucy Webster.”
Stepping smartly next to them, Mr. Slater took a moment to perform the expected pleasantries, earning a rare sniff of approval from Ida in the process after he’d kissed her hand in a manner that could only be described as impressive. When he turned and did the same to Lucy, though, earning an earnest fluttering of the lashes from Lucy in response, Ida suddenly looked less than approving.
Clearing her throat, Ida sent Permilia a jerk of her head, one that Permilia wasn’t certain she understood.
Concluding, and hoping she was correct with her conclusion, that Ida found Mr. Slater even less appropriate than she did Asher for her daughter, Permilia squared her shoulders, drew in a breath, and stepped to Mr. Slater’s side.
“Since it’s clear I’ve recovered my voice, Mr. Slater, I do hope you’ll still be willing to take to the floor with me,” she said, earning a nod of approval from Ida in the process while earning a blinking of clear disbelief from Asher, a blink she steadfastly ignored, until she remembered that he still had possession of her dance card. Smiling at Mr. Slater, who’d immediately taken to assuring her he’d enjoy nothing more than taking the floor with her, she turned to Asher and held out her hand. “If you’d be so kind, Mr. Rutherford, as to return my dance card to me, I’d be ever so grateful.”
“While I’m just pleased as punch that you would enjoy dancing with me,” Mr. Slater began as Asher started digging through his jacket pocket, “I distinctly recall Mr. Rutherford making the claim that all of your dances were taken.”
Asher pulled out Permilia’s dance card and handed it to her, although he seemed to do it somewhat reluctantly. “I wasn’t comfortable allowing Miss Griswold to promise you a dance, especially since, if you’ll recall, she was incapable of responding to anything you asked of her with a verbal reply.”
“Don’t tell me you were struck mute again,” Lucy said, speaking up as she took a step forward and, surprisingly enough, took to smiling Mr. Slater’s way. “I’m sure it was quite unnerving to be faced with a lady who was struck dumb in your presence, but do know that the rest of my family does not suffer from that particular oddity.”
“Thank you for that, Lucy,” Permilia said, drawing her dance card up and perusing it for a second, hoping that the trepidation she felt after perusing the dances still available for her wasn’t obvious to everyone around her. Lifting her head, she found Mr. Slater holding his hand out to her. Handing him the card, she held her breath as he took a moment to read over the dances.
“How wonderful. You have the next dance available, a”—he brought the card closer to his face—“Ticklish Water Polka.” Lowering the card, he grinned. “What an odd name for a dance, but it sounds as if it’ll be delightful.”
Before Permilia could respond to that, Ida sucked in a sharp breath and pushed Lucy forward. “Lucy was just bemoaning the fact, Mr. Slater, that with her being so occupied with dancing the Mother Goose Quadrille—a great honor for her, if you were unaware—she was unable to find the time to have all of her dances spoken for, and . . . why, she simply adores the Ticklish Water Polka.”
Lucy’s face began to darken, a direct result, no doubt, of finding herself being pawned off on a man who was looking more surpris
ed by Ida’s suggestion than delighted by it. Drawing herself up, she opened her mouth, but before she could release a single protest, Ida began talking again, nodding to Permilia as she talked.
“You won’t mind stepping aside and allowing Lucy this one little favor, will you, dear?”
Temper flared from nowhere. Leveling her gaze on Ida, Permilia frowned. “I’m not that horrible at the Ticklish Water Polka, and honestly, stepmother, given that I completed the Go-As-You-Please Quadrille quite successfully just a short time ago—a daunting feat if there ever was one—I’m not certain I understand your hesitancy to have me take to the floor to perform the polka with Mr. Slater.”
Ida released a sniff. “Your performance was dreadful at best, and is currently the talk of the ball.”
“I only ran into one dancer,” Permilia pointed out.
“A situation I’m sure stepmothers all around the world would have been proud of, but . . . the reason behind the talk is not because you ran poor Miss Graham over at the very start of the dance. The talk concerns the idea that after stumbling into Miss Graham you proceeded to travel in the wrong direction for almost the entirety of the dance, even when your poor partner”—she nodded to Asher—“tried to put you to rights and get you moving in the proper direction.”
Permilia crossed her arms over her chest. “You can’t travel in the wrong direction with the Go-As-You-Please Quadrille since everyone is supposed to go where they please.”
“You don’t truly believe that, do you?”
A trace of unease slithered up Permilia’s spine. “Do not tell me I’ve been mistaken all these years and that the Go-As-You-Please Quadrille has . . . rules.”
Ida began fanning her face. “I’m afraid there are definite rules to that particular quadrille.”
Permilia shot a glance to Asher. “Apparently the language divide was greater than I knew with my dance instructor, Mr. Vladimir, who was, well . . . Russian. But, be that as it may, language problem or not, I do believe I owe you a most heartfelt apology, Asher. You must have been beyond embarrassed with me as your partner, and here I was going on and on about how accomplished I’d been on the floor. Although . . . that does explain the confusing business about the part of the dance where you told me I was supposed to follow your lead, something I readily admit I believed you were completely wrong about at the time.”
