by Jen Turano
“You might as well shoot me, Permilia, and get it over with, seeing as how you’ve finally managed to figure out a way to ruin this family once and for all, getting us banned from society in the process, no less.” With that declaration, Lucy stomped dramatically into the room.
Lowering the pistol, Permilia frowned. “What in the world are you going on about now, Lucy?”
Ida took that moment to march into the room, waving a newspaper, her face mottled with temper.
“We’ve found you out, Permilia, and . . .” Ida flung herself into the nearest chair and took to fanning her face with the newspaper before she directed her attention to Mr. Griswold, who’d risen to his feet and was watching the scene unfold with what could only be described as resignation on his face—as if he’d heard these very complaints time and time again.
“She’s ruined us for good this time, George,” Ida proclaimed, her fanning picking up in intensity.
“It’s lovely to see you as well, dear,” Mr. Griswold replied, moving across the room to stop beside the chair Ida was sitting in. Frowning, he looked down at her. “While I realize you are the authority in this household on all things proper, have you neglected to realize that I’m entertaining a guest at the moment?” He turned and nodded Asher’s way. “Mr. Rutherford and I were just enjoying a nice chat, but . . . I don’t believe you’ve greeted him properly.”
Ida’s eyes flashed for all of a second before she rose gracefully to her feet and glided across the room, stopping in front of him. “Mr. Rutherford. How unexpected to find you here in my husband’s study. One would have thought you’d have the butler announce you when you first arrived.”
Taking her hand in his, he raised it to his lips. “I’m afraid I may have arrived at an inopportune time, Mrs. Griswold, which is why the butler did not announce me, and your husband encouraged me to join him up here.”
Ida retrieved her hand and pursed her lips before she rounded on Permilia, who seemed to be in the midst of some type of silent standoff with Lucy, both young ladies glaring at each other—although at least only one of them was currently armed, that lady being Permilia.
Asher had a feeling if Lucy had been in possession of a pistol, given the temper he’d come to understand she had, she might have taken to firing it off, which, given the clear annoyance on Permilia’s face, wouldn’t have boded well for Lucy.
“Would you care for us to send Mr. Rutherford on his way before we disclose the shame you’ve brought upon the family?” Ida demanded.
Permilia looked away from Lucy and frowned at her stepmother. “Asher’s more than welcome to hear whatever you have to say, Ida,” Permilia began, not bothering to so much as blink when Ida started muttering under her breath about the disrespect Permilia was extending her by forgoing the whole stepmother title. “I’ve done relatively little of late that could bring shame on the family, so by all means . . . disclose away.”
With that, Permilia moved back to her chair, took a seat, and placed the pistol directly across her lap.
“I highly expect you’ll be regretting the decision to have Mr. Rutherford stay while your shame is exposed,” Lucy said, her voice practically dripping venom and her eyes narrowed in rage as she advanced farther into the room, her focus settled on Permilia. “Quite frankly, I have to imagine you never expected me, of all people, to discover your secret.”
“What secret?”
Lucy lifted her chin. “That secret that will finally allow you to ruin us all.”
Arching a brow, Permilia crossed her arms over her chest. “Well, go on. . . . Since you’re obviously dying to let the cat out of the bag, here’s your chance. What’s the secret?”
Looking more than a little smug, Lucy crossed her arms as well. “That you’re Miss Quill, of course.”
Chapter
Twenty
For some curious reason, of any secret Permilia had thought Lucy was about to disclose, her being Miss Quill had not even crossed her mind.
She’d assumed that Lucy was going to embellish some obscure detail that one of the many reporters had implied in their articles about her, but disclosing her secret identity . . . That was low, even for Lucy.
Clearly, even though they’d lived together for over six years, Lucy had never achieved even a small measure of sisterly love for Permilia. If anything, given the sheer spitefulness of the disclosure, Permilia was now convinced that her stepsister absolutely loathed her.
Glancing at Asher and her father, Permilia was hardly encouraged to discover those two gentlemen staring back at her with their mouths slightly agape. Realizing that she would get no support from them just yet, if ever, she blew out a breath and rose to her feet. She slipped her pistol as casually as she could into the pocket of her walking gown—since she didn’t particularly want to leave it out in the open, what with Lucy’s questionable temperament—lifted her chin, and forced her attention back to her stepsister.
It was clear that Lucy was not suffering from an inability to react, like everyone else in the room. Instead, she was practically humming with anticipation as she watched Permilia, eyes brimming with malice. In all honesty, Permilia could only conclude that her stepsister had been waiting for years to deliver Permilia her comeuppance and was now undeniably pleased that the comeuppance day had finally arrived.
Swallowing the scathing reprimand that had been on the very tip of her tongue, Permilia drew in yet another steadying breath, reminding herself that Lucy—willful, spoiled, and possessing an unpleasant sense of entitlement—was, in actuality, a victim of her upbringing.
She’d been pampered, coddled, and catered to throughout her entire life, and because of that, she was almost incapable of understanding how concerning her self-centered attitude truly was. But Permilia knew that, while Lucy was a most unlikable sort, she needed kindness over hostility, peace instead of war, and a slightly loving stepsister over one filled with animosity.
“I’m sure it was very unsettling to learn about my secret identity, Lucy,” Permilia began. “And I certainly am sorry to have distressed you. However, there are relatively few people who know I’m Miss Quill, those people being all of you in this room, my editor, of course, one of my friends, and . . . maybe one other person. That being said, I’m not exactly certain why you’re so distressed. Your life has not been disrupted at all, nor will it be unless you happen to allow society to learn what you’ve uncovered.”
“How can you not understand why I’m distressed? You’ve been fraternizing with the enemy—which is the press, if you don’t realize—and that, stepsister dear, makes you a traitor to me and everyone else in society.”
“While I certainly don’t agree with that conclusion, allow me to point out that it would have been prudent on your part to wait until it was just the two of us before you broached this topic. I assure you, there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation for why I assumed the role of Miss Quill, but now you’ve involved people other than just the two of us, including Asher, which complicates the matter.”
Lucy uncrossed her arms and plunked her hands on her hips. “If I need remind you, Permilia, you encouraged me to divulge all in front of Mr. Rutherford, which I have now obliged you by doing.”
Permilia lifted her chin. “You surely have obliged me in that regard, Lucy, although I’m sure you realized I had no idea that you were about to disclose my greatest secret. Having said that, I can’t help but wonder if, had I encouraged you not to divulge my secret, you would have held your tongue, or if you’d simply have gone ahead and blurted out what you have to believe is information that will lead to my downfall.”
Lucy began to advance Permilia’s way. “If you think for one minute that I was going to allow you to bamboozle poor Mr. Rutherford into believing you’re simply a misunderstood wallflower, you’re sadly mistaken. You allowed him to become fodder for the gossips, even going so far as to draw additional attention to the man in your very own column and, by so doing, paved the way for me to discover the true identit
y of Miss Quill.”
“I’m not sure I understand exactly how you puzzled it out.”
“You told us that you’d misunderstood the Go-As-You-Please directions. There were relatively few people in our direct vicinity when you made that admission, and since I knew full well that Mr. Rutherford was not Miss Quill, nor was Mr. Slater, for that matter, I realized that left only you.”
Permilia blinked, impressed that Lucy had been able to make such a deduction, especially since she’d never been a lady who embraced a great love of thinking.
“That was well done of you, Lucy, but in my defense—not that you’ll believe me, of course—I only included the bit about the Go-As-You-Please in my column in order to diffuse the embarrassment I knew Asher had suffered because of my negligence in understanding the steps.”
She shot Asher a glance, surprised to discover that he didn’t appear to be furious, although he certainly wasn’t looking overly pleased with her either. “I know all of this must seem most disconcerting to you, Asher, but I do hope you know that I was not trying to deliberately bring more attention your way by including mention of the two of us in my Miss Quill column.”
Asher frowned. “You really are Miss Quill?”
“I am, or rather, I was up until today.” She gave a shudder. “But that’s an unfortunate story for another time.”
Ida drew herself up and marched Permilia’s way, coming to a stop mere inches away from her. “You mentioned that there may be another person who has learned your identity as Miss Quill. May we count on that person’s discretion in this matter?”
Permilia refused another shudder. “Since I don’t know the identity of that person, I can’t vouch for his or her discretion. But I do take comfort in the idea I haven’t yet received a blackmail notice, which is, in my humble opinion, a positive sign.”
Ida seemed to swell on the spot. “You might have now drawn the notice of a blackmailer?”
“It’s either that or a murderer, or it might simply be a person wanting to warn me that there is someone out there wanting to murder me . . . and a person who might just happen to be aware of my other identity as well.”
“Forgive me, Permilia”—her father moved into motion and quickly reached her side—“but it seems there might be far more people than you’ve admitted to who know you’re Miss Quill.”
Permilia bit her lip. “I’m sure it appears that way, Father, but besides the people I already mentioned, along with my friend Miss Snook, there’s just that man who had a note delivered to me today with Miss Quill written on it.” She thought about that for a moment, then shrugged. “Although . . . that man also sent me the shoe I lost at the ball so he obviously knows I’m Miss Griswold as well. And because my lost shoe has reemerged, I’m going to have to assume the other man who was present when Asher’s murder was discussed might also be aware of who I really am. I can’t say with any certainty that man knows I’m Miss Quill. He may simply want to see Miss Griswold taken care of, completely unconcerned that I’m a society columnist. But that means you might have a valid point about there being more people than I owned up to at first.”
Her father cleared his throat. “It appears this situation is far more complicated than I imagined it to be. It might be for the best if all of us were to take a seat.”
Thinking that was a most excellent idea, especially since it would allow her a moment to collect her thoughts, which had gotten in a bit of a jumble after she started trying to figure out how many people knew her identity, or might want her dead, Permilia moved to a leather chair and sat down.
Lucy did the same, taking a seat in a chair beside her mother, although both mother and daughter were sitting rather gingerly on the very edge of their chairs, quite as if they believed they’d be permanently sullied by sitting on anything other than the best. Permilia turned her attention to her father and Asher, who’d waited for the ladies to be seated before they sat down.
For a very long moment, silence settled over the room, until George cleared his throat again and set his sights on Permilia.
“I think we deserve an explanation as to what could have compelled you to take on a position at a newspaper and then write a column that even I know society took issue with when it first came out.” He shook his head. “Did you not realize that in so doing you were jeopardizing any chance you might have had of finally taking firmly within society?”
Permilia blinked. “Forgive me, Father, but that almost sounds as if you believe I’ve been successful in being accepted loosely within society.”
George blinked right back at her. “Of course you have. Ida’s been telling me you’ve made great strides over the past few seasons.”
“Compared to what?”
Turning his gaze on his wife, George quirked a brow. “Did you not mention a time or two over the last few years that my girl was making progress?”
Ida nodded to Asher. “If you’ve not noticed, George, you currently have Mr. Asher Rutherford sitting in the midst of your study. If that’s not progress on Permilia’s part, I don’t know what would be.”
“He’s not here to court me,” Permilia argued before she frowned and looked at Asher. “You’re not, are you?”
Asher, to her very great surprise, smiled. “In all honesty, Permilia, with all the madness of the past hour, I’ve quite forgotten my original reason for traveling here. I do clearly remember wanting to discuss your reputation and the blow it has suffered due to the articles that were written about us. Although just so we’re clear, I don’t believe your Miss Quill column hurt either of our reputations in the least. I also find it incredibly charming that you would go through the bother to write an article that cast you in a somewhat clumsy light in order to spare my reputation additional censure. Not many ladies would have gone through that bother, or purposefully drawn more attention, and not of the enviable type, to themselves so willingly. That right there shows that—no matter that society has yet to fully embrace you and your quirky nature—you’re a true lady in every sense of the word, and I, for one, am pleased to know you.”
Since what he’d just said were some of the nicest words anyone had spoken to her for a very long time, Permilia found herself unable to speak, but she was spared a response when Asher rose to his feet and moved her way.
“Since we do find ourselves the topic of some unpleasant speculation, and since I do feel a strong sense of affection for you, I believe the only option at the moment, and one that will save your reputation forever, is to allow me to court you for a suitable period of time and then have you accept the protection of my name.”
Permilia briefly found herself, annoyingly enough, still incapable of speech, and Asher had now taken to beaming back at her, indicating he was evidently taking her speechlessness as a sign she was overjoyed by his offer, but . . .
She was nothing of the sort.
Even though she’d accepted her lot as a wallflower and had reconciled herself to the idea that she would more than likely remain a spinster, she did allow herself to dream upon occasion.
In her dreams, she’d conjured up her own very special gentleman, but not once had that gentleman proposed the idea of courtship and then marriage in such a matter-of-fact, almost businesslike, fashion.
While she freely embraced the idea that she was a most progressive sort, that did not mean she was unwilling to experience a touch of romance that included slightly sentimental words paired with a lingering over her hand and . . . perhaps a kiss or two.
Being told her only option to save her reputation was to accept Asher’s less than romantic offer had her hackles up.
Straightening shoulders that had taken to sagging, Permilia lifted her chin. “While I certainly appreciate an offer that sounds exactly like it might have been reluctantly made after all other options had been considered by you—with the assistance of Mr. Harrison Sinclair, if I’m not much mistaken—I’m going to respectfully decline your proposal.”
“Don’t be an idiot,” Ida hissed
before Asher had an opportunity to say a single thing. “You won’t get another offer, Permilia, and this is your chance to finally be accepted, at least somewhat, within society. Besides, if you were to marry Mr. Rutherford, your elevated status within society would improve Lucy’s chances of making a most desirable match.” She narrowed her eyes at Permilia. “After all of the trouble you’ve caused me over the years, I don’t believe I’m asking too much of you to accept Mr. Rutherford’s more than generous offer.”
“Mother,” Lucy practically shouted as she jumped to her feet, her face beginning to mottle, “I don’t want Permilia to be rewarded for her bad behavior by finding herself a husband who is considered one of the most eligible gentlemen in society. That’s not a suitable punishment. If anything . . .” She turned to Asher and began batting her lashes. “It would also save my family from ruin if you were to offer for me, because it would detract from Permilia’s shame, if word ever gets out about her secret identity, and”—she fluttered her lashes again—“I would make a far more appropriate wife for an established New York society gentleman than Permilia ever would.”
“Sit down, Lucy, and mind your tongue. You’re embarrassing not only yourself and Mr. Rutherford, but your mother and me as well.”
Time ceased to exist as everyone, Permilia included, turned, almost in slow motion it seemed, toward George, who’d taken to standing. That he was a formidable man, there could be no question. His eyes were hard, his jaw clenched, and it was evident he was a man capable of building a fortune with his own two hands in an uninviting environment.
He’d never, as far as Permilia knew, shown this side of himself in Ida and Lucy’s presence, but showing it he most certainly was at the moment, and he made quite the impressive figure.
“Don’t speak to my daughter that way, George,” Ida practically spat, advancing on her husband and breaking the curious atmosphere that had descended over the room. “When I agreed to marry you, I told you that Lucy was my responsibility and that you were to have no say in how she was going to be raised.” She nodded to Asher. “While Mr. Rutherford is not exactly what I had in mind for Lucy as a husband, he is from an old family, possesses the required family fortune, and his dabbling in trade can be forgiven because of that family fortune behind him.”
