Behind the Scenes

by Jen Turano

  Realizing that this was not exactly the moment to contemplate unproductive notions, he again headed down the sidewalk.

  Passing by a bank, a jewelry store, and then a tobacco shop, he stepped off the curb and into the street. Dodging a delivery wagon filled with newspapers, he slipped around a buggy carrying ladies dressed in the latest fashions, and finally made it to the sidewalk on the other side of Broadway.

  Smoothing hair that had taken to falling over his forehead back into place, he continued forward, not stopping until he arrived in front of the Huxley house.

  Three stories of marble, topped with a mansard roof, built in a style similar to A. T. Stewart’s mansion on Fifth Avenue, looked slightly out of place, set as it was between two empty overgrown lots, lots Asher knew to belong to the Huxley sisters. That the lots had never been developed was one of the mysteries of Broadway, especially since real estate on this particular street kept increasing in value. Demand was at an all-time high, especially for high-end shops.

  Walking up to the wrought-iron gate that separated the house from the crowds traveling to and fro on the sidewalk, Asher pulled up the latch and moved through the gate, making certain it was firmly latched behind him before he proceeded up the sidewalk.

  He’d just made it to the steps that led to the front door when that door opened and Mr. Barclay, the Huxley family butler, stepped out.

  Asher wasn’t well acquainted with Mr. Barclay, but because the Huxley butler spent a great deal of time standing on the stoop of the Huxley house, perusing the traffic traveling down Broadway, they had exchanged the expected nods and occasional comments about the weather every once in a while.

  “Mr. Rutherford, how kind of you to call,” Mr. Barclay began, inclining his head Asher’s way. “May I assume you’re here about a horse?”

  “Of course he’s here about a horse, Mr. Barclay. Why else would he pay us a call, seeing as how he’s never bothered to pay us a proper call before?”

  Looking past Mr. Barclay, Asher discovered Miss Mabel Huxley strolling through the front door.

  That she was a handsome woman, there was no question, although she’d have been downright lovely if not for the pinched look she always seemed to adopt. Her brown hair, streaked with only a touch of gray, was twisted into an elaborate knot on top of her head, while the well-cut and stylish gown she was wearing displayed her trim figure to advantage. A fine bone structure and relatively few wrinkles made it exceedingly difficult to place her age, but the clear annoyance that rested in her green eyes did little to encourage Asher’s expectations for a pleasant visit.

  Presenting her with a bow, and then taking her hand when she stopped directly in front of him, he pressed a kiss to her bare knuckles and summoned up the charm he was known for, grateful he at least had that at his disposal at the moment, if nothing else.

  “You are looking very well today, Miss Huxley.”

  “You may reserve the charm, Mr. Rutherford, for someone who may be impressed by it. I’ve already taken the liberty of having your horse returned to the Rutherford & Company stables, along with Mr. Sinclair’s horse as well, which means there’s absolutely no reason for you to be overly pleasant.”

  Given the manner in which the rest of his day had gone, Asher wasn’t taken the slightest bit aback by Miss Huxley’s disagreeable response.

  Keeping his smile firmly in place, because he was not about to relinquish the one thing he did have going for him—his charm—Asher nodded as pleasantly as he could in Miss Huxley’s direction. “Mr. Sinclair will be delighted to learn his horse is safe and sound, Miss Huxley, but tell me, how were you aware that horse belonged to Mr. Sinclair?”

  “My sister and I enjoy watching the comings and goings on Broadway from our third-floor windows. We have quite the vantage point from up there, and, truth be told, we’ve invested in all manner of telescopes and even opera glasses to aid us in our observations. I have taken a special interest in watching Mr. Sinclair as he comes and goes from your store.” She actually took to fanning her face with her hand. “He’s a most impressive gentleman, and one not many women would fail to notice.”

  Having absolutely no idea how Miss Huxley could possibly expect him to respond to that, Asher was spared any remark at all when Miss Huxley stopped fanning her face and narrowed her eyes at him. “Why was your horse wandering around Central Park unattended?”

  “Embarrassing as this is to admit, my horse, and Mr. Sinclair’s horse, managed to get away from us when they were startled by a loud noise and bolted away before we could secure them.”

  “You would have me believe that Mr. Sinclair was thrown from his horse?”

  “While I find it somewhat concerning that you apparently find it remarkably easy to believe that I could be thrown from my horse, Mr. Sinclair and I were not riding the horses when the loud noise rang out.”

  “How did you manage to get back to the store without your horse?” she fired at him next.

  “It was not without difficulty, Miss Huxley, but tell me this, how did you manage to secure our horses? I did not notice a groom when I saw you traveling toward Broadway a short time ago.”

  “One does not need a gentleman, Mr. Rutherford, to go about the business of life. But since you’ve acknowledged that you saw me driving toward Broadway, do allow me to explain the reasoning behind not stopping at your store to return your horse, but continuing on to my home instead.”

  Crickets seemed to descend over the front stoop as Miss Huxley simply stopped talking, almost as if she’d neglected to remember she was in the midst of a story. Turning around when he realized she’d become distracted by something on the street, Asher glanced up Broadway and then down, finding absolutely nothing worthy of a distraction.

  “Mrs. Astor,” Miss Huxley said, as if that explained everything.

  “Yes, well, how exciting,” Asher began. “Although since you’ve admitted to observing Broadway on a regular basis, I would be surprised if you didn’t frequently see Mrs. Astor’s carriage traveling up and down the street.”

  Miss Huxley’s face looked more pinched than usual. “She drives down this street deliberately, taunting me and my sister with her superiority.”

  “Surely you don’t really believe that.”

  “Mrs. Astor saw Henrietta and I excluded from most society events after we, unfortunately, didn’t enjoy much success with our social debut. She was also largely responsible for seeing us banished to the wallflower section during the few events to which Father managed to secure us invitations.” Miss Huxley took a second to release a sniff. “She’s a rude, spiteful woman, and she still seems to derive pleasure from our failure to take within society.”

  “How very unfair that must seem to you.” Asher began edging as casually as he could backward. “And while I’d love to delve further into the disappointments society has been known to dish out to people, I really should be on my way. My absence has apparently been noted at the store and I mustn’t allow the staff to continue worrying about me.”

  “Ah, yes, that’s where I was going with my conversation—your horse.” Before Asher could attain his goal of making a hasty departure, Miss Huxley stepped closer to him and took a remarkably firm hold of his arm. “I did not return your horse to the Rutherford & Company stable because securing your horse, along with Mr. Sinclair’s, put my sister and myself off our usual schedule. I am not bothered by nonsense such as that, but my sister, Miss Henrietta, is a stickler for punctuality, and she was becoming distressed over the idea we would be late sitting down for tea.”

  Miss Huxley suddenly took to smiling at him in a rather disturbing way. “That punctuality is a characteristic I’m sure you’re delighted to discover you share with my sister.”

  “Quite . . . delighted.”

  She nodded. “As you should be, and you’ll also be delighted to learn that you’ll join us for tea today.”

  Of anything he’d been expecting of Miss Huxley, an invitation to tea had certainly never crossed his
mind.

  “I wouldn’t want to impose.”

  “And I wouldn’t want you to insult me by refusing my invitation, so . . .” She turned and inclined her head to the butler who’d continued to lurk on the stoop. “Mr. Barclay, would you get the door for us?”

  Before Asher could summon up even the flimsiest of excuses, he found himself ushered through the door and into a hallway that seemed to be made entirely of marble.

  “What a lovely home you have, Miss Huxley.”

  “You may call me Miss Mabel since we’ll soon be in the company of my sister, and trying to decipher which Miss Huxley a person is speaking about becomes tedious after only a few minutes. And, as for my home, it’s thoughtful of you to say that, Mr. Rutherford, but I’m perfectly aware that the entranceway and hall appear more along the lines of a mausoleum than a home, what with all the marble Father insisted on using.” She lifted her chin. “He was always trying so diligently to impress people belonging to that illustrious Knickerbocker set, such as the Astors, but I fear the more he tried, the more disdainful they became of us.”

  “I’m sure that’s not true.”

  Miss Mabel pulled him down the hallway and stopped directly underneath a portrait of a man who looked rather rough around the edges. Nodding to the portrait, Miss Mabel caught his eye. “That is my father, a most unpleasant man who was never happy with his life, no matter the great amount of money he made while he was alive. He built this monstrosity of a house simply to impress the elite of society, never realizing that he was building it on a street that was destined to become a desirable retail destination over a residential one.”

  “It’s still a very handsome home.”

  “I much prefer the smaller house we used to live in years and years ago. It was located on the back side of Gramercy Park.”

  “Perhaps you should consider having an agent inquire about the status of that house. It might be a property that someone is willing to sell for the right price.”

  “My sister and I still own the property, Mr. Rutherford, but felt compelled quite a few years back to allow our nephew to move into it. We can hardly demand he remove himself now, especially since he’s mentioned time and time again over the years how grateful he is to us for allowing him such a lovely home to live in.”

  Asher frowned. “I never knew you and your sister had another sibling, and a nephew.”

  “It’s not a topic we care to discuss.” Tightening her grip on his arm, she prodded him into motion again, pulling him past a line of paintings that all seemed to be of her father.

  Stepping out of the hallway a moment later, Asher found himself pleasantly surprised to discover the room they’d entered, a library from the looks of it, was decorated in a remarkably cheerful manner.

  Delicate furniture upholstered in different shades of blue was scattered about the room, while a fire crackled merrily in a fireplace crafted out of what seemed to be white stones, quite like the ones found in riverbeds. Wispy curtains hung from each of the floor-to-ceiling windows that made up an entire wall, pulled closed as so many families preferred in order to keep the people bustling back and forth on the sidewalks from gawking into their lives.

  Bookshelves lined the other walls, while a silver tea service sat on a low table positioned directly in the center of the room.

  Miss Mabel’s sister, Miss Henrietta Huxley, a lady who looked remarkably like Miss Mabel except for the fact that she had white hair with not so much as a trace of the original color left in it, was sitting on a fainting couch to the left of the fireplace. She was reading a newspaper, but it was apparent she was taking issue with one of the articles since she kept grimacing every other second as her eyes traveled down the page.

  Flinging aside the paper a second later, she took off the spectacles she’d been using to read, set them on a side table, blinked a time or two, turned her attention his way, blinked again, and then rose to her feet.

  “Ah, Mr. Rutherford, this is a surprise. I certainly never expected you to come in person to inquire about your horse. But do know that my sister has already sent it back to your stable, although if she’s already informed you of that . . . well, I’m sure I have no idea why you’re still lingering about Huxley House.”

  Finding himself somewhat thankful now that he hadn’t sent someone else to inquire about the horse, almost as if by coming himself he’d managed to dispel a small amount of what sounded like disdain on Miss Henrietta’s part, he moved across the library and stopped right in front of her. Taking hold of her hand, he pretended not to notice that she immediately tried to tug it back from him, and placed a kiss on the very tips of fingers that appeared to be smudged with ink from the paper she’d just been reading. “You’re looking delightful today, Miss Huxley.”

  Miss Henrietta Huxley pursed her lips. “As I just mentioned, your horse has already been returned to you so there’s little need to waste your renowned charm on me, Mr. Rutherford. And do stop with the Miss Huxley business. It gets so confusing when my sister and I are both in the room. You will call me Miss Henrietta from this point forward.”

  “Has anyone ever told you, Miss Henrietta, that you and your sister think almost exactly the same?”

  “I’m sure you’re mistaken about that,” Miss Henrietta said with a sniff.

  “Henrietta, behave,” her sister cautioned, walking up to join them. “You’re being uncommonly surly at the moment, and I’ve already told Mr. Rutherford we have no need of his charm, which is probably why he just remarked about our similarities.”

  “And you have the audacity to bring up my surliness in the conversation,” Miss Henrietta countered before she drew herself up and caught Asher’s eye. “To make amends for that surliness, Mr. Rutherford, I must insist you join us for tea.”

  “I’ve already extended him that offer,” Miss Mabel said.

  “Then why, pray tell, are we standing around? If we wait much longer, the tea will grow cold, and . . . I’ll be completely off my schedule if I’m made to wait for another pot to brew.”

  Pressing his lips together to keep from smiling, Asher moved to the chair Miss Henrietta gestured him toward, waiting until she, along with her sister, took their seats on the blue-and-white-striped fainting couch Miss Henrietta had only recently vacated before he sat down.

  “Have you told him about how difficult it was for us to obtain this special brew?” Miss Henrietta demanded as Mr. Barclay walked into the room and moved to the tea service.

  “I was waiting until the poor man got comfortable before launching into a conversation that revolves around our most treasured hobby,” Miss Mabel began before she turned her attention to Asher. “That hobby, I’m sure you’ll be pleased to learn, given the interest we’ve learned you share with us, is searching out and collecting new blends of tea.”

  Feeling a little fonder of the sisters than he’d been feeling only a moment before, Asher sat forward. “Have you heard that I’m in the process of creating a tearoom on the fourth floor of Rutherford & Company?”

  Miss Henrietta folded her hands in her lap and smiled. “But of course we have, Mr. Rutherford. In all honesty, we’re quite anxious to try out the tea you intend to serve there, see if it measures up to our standards.”

  “One would hope, now that you’ve been made aware of our appreciation for tea, that we’ll be given an invitation to visit the shop before it opens to the public,” Miss Mabel added.

  “I would be honored to have you visit the shop, and I will have Mrs. Banks make arrangements for your visit just as soon as construction on the shop is completed.”

  Miss Mabel exchanged a look with her sister. “Perhaps those charming manners of his shouldn’t be considered overrated after all.”

  “Indeed they should not,” Miss Henrietta said, lapsing into silence when Mr. Barclay began making quite the production of pouring out the new blend of tea the sisters had been exclaiming about, straightening after he’d set aside the pot. He then went about the business of handing cup
s made of delicate bone china all around.

  Accepting the cup Mr. Barclay handed him, Asher was just in the process of bringing it to his lips when the sound of someone running down the hallway drifted to his ears. Seconds later, the door to the library burst all the way open and a whirlwind entered the room, a whirlwind who just happened to go by the name of . . . Permilia.

  Chapter

  Fourteen

  It took every ounce of restraint Permilia had to resist the temptation to rush across the library and knock the cup Asher had raised almost to his lips straight out of his hand. That temptation, she was quite certain, was a direct result of all the plots she’d been imagining ever since he’d left her company, some of those plots involving the all-too-peculiar Huxley sisters.

  She knew full well she might be imagining the whole plot business in regard to the sisters, but given the way the day had gone, it could turn out to be more than coincidence that the Huxley sisters had come into possession of Asher’s and Harrison’s horses.

  For all anyone knew, these sisters could be in on the sinister plan to do away with Asher. And when the assailant in Central Park had not met with any success, they might have taken it upon themselves to lure Asher into their house by absconding with his horse.

  The idea that the man had placed himself smack-dab into a situation that could very well see him dead had temper boiling through her veins, temper she tried to control by drawing in a deep breath and slowly releasing it.

  She was less than successful controlling that temper when she noticed the Huxley sisters watching her from their positions by the fireplace, calmly sipping their tea as if they weren’t concerned at all that a woman who was a complete stranger to them had burst into their home so unexpectedly.

  Their calmness, in Permilia’s opinion, all but proved the rumors she’d heard about these particular sisters—rumors that centered around their curious natures and the fact that they rarely socialized with anyone but each other.