by Turano, Jen
Taking the offered hand in hers—although she did so rather gingerly since her hand had almost been maimed by Miss Cadwalader—Wilhelmina gave it a shake, a circumstance she still found a little peculiar, but resisted when Miss Cadwalader began trying to tug her to her feet.
“How fortunate for Mrs. Davenport that you don’t participate in maiming often,” she began. “But if you don’t mind, I prefer staying down here for the foreseeable future, since I have no desire for Mr. Wanamaker to take notice of me this evening.”
“Ah, so we really are in the midst of an intrigue,” Miss Cadwalader breathed before she straightened, squeezed her way through the first row of chairs, and then held out her hand to Miss Griswold, who’d been keeping her attention front and center. “We should hide her.”
Miss Griswold didn’t hesitate. Taking the hand offered her, she rose to her feet, shook out her skirts, sent Wilhelmina the smallest of smiles and turned front and center again. “Perhaps we should engage in conversation, Miss Cadwalader, in order to distract everyone from the idea we’re trying to hide someone.”
“That would most assuredly draw unwanted attention,” Miss Cadwalader returned as she shook out her skirts, making them wider in the process. “You know no one is used to seeing wallflowers actually conversing with one an—”
Whatever else Miss Cadwalader had been about to say got lost when she let out a small squeak and motioned with a hand behind her back for Wilhelmina to stay down.
“Good evening, ladies,” a deep voice—one that Wilhelmina knew full well belonged, to Mr. Edgar Wanamaker—suddenly said. “I know this is very untoward of me, speaking to you without the benefit of a proper introduction, but I’ve just learned that the quadrille is about to begin. As I’m sure you’re well aware, those particular dances can take quite a bit of time to perform. I’m hoping you’ll take pity on a weary gentleman and allow that gentleman, as in me, to join you on those oh-so-delightful-looking chairs as we watch the chosen guests perform their well-rehearsed dance steps.”
“Ah . . . well . . . as to that,” Miss Cadwalader began. “You see . . . ah . . .”
“Did I mention that I brought treats?” Edgar continued.
“Treats?” Miss Cadwalader repeated. “What type of treats?”
“Miss Cadwalader, you’re becoming distracted from the mission at hand,” Miss Griswold whispered in a voice that still carried.
“But I’m starving, and you know that it’s a rare occasion for a real-live gentleman to bring us treats.”
Edgar, Wilhelmina couldn’t help but recall, had always possessed a remarkably kind heart, never one to slight a person simply because they weren’t acquainted with the right people or possessed of the right fortune. She’d not allowed herself to dwell on his kindness over the last few years—the memory of that particular trait a sore reminder of what she’d so carelessly discarded in her youth.
A sharp ringing of a bell suddenly split the air, signaling that the quadrille was soon to begin. Realizing that the ladies shielding her from view were going to have to take their seats, Wilhelmina began backing as quickly as she could underneath the chair behind her, her only thought being to make an escape as quietly as possible. She’d gotten halfway underneath the chair before her bustle, dratted contraption that it was, snagged on the underside of the chair. Before she could get herself free, a loud clearing of a throat sent a sense of dread flowing through her veins.
Lifting her head, she refused a sigh when her gaze was caught and held by none other than the gentleman she’d been hoping to avoid. Mr. Edgar Wanamaker.
Chapter
Two
“Would you mind holding this platter of treats for me?” Edgar asked of a young lady standing beside him—a young lady who happened to be sporting, curiously enough, a hairstyle that had golden curls springing haphazardly around her head as if someone had lost all control of a hot curling tong.
“Ah, well, yes, of course,” the young lady replied, taking the platter he immediately thrust her way. But then, instead of stepping aside or taking her seat, the lady lifted her chin and moved directly between him and his prey—that prey being Miss Wilhelmina Radcliff. “We haven’t been introduced,” she continued with a hint of stubbornness in her green eyes. “And since our hostess is nowhere to be found, nor I imagine, will she materialize in the wallflower section anytime soon, we’ll need to take care of the introduction business in a less-than-proper manner—which is to say, we’ll have to do it ourselves. I’m Miss Gertrude Cadwalader.”
Edgar’s lips took to twitching. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Cadwalader.” He extended her a bow. “I’m Mr. Edgar Wanamaker.”
Miss Cadwalader dipped into a small curtsy, almost losing the platter of treats in the process, a situation she quickly remedied by pushing the platter into the hands of the lady standing beside her. That lady was dressed to perfection in a dress of the latest style, her perfectly coiffed red hair secured on top of her head with what appeared to be a genuine diamond comb. Her eyes, a lovely shade of blue, were twinkling back at him with what almost seemed to be a large dollop of amusement in them.
“How lovely to meet you, Mr. Wanamaker,” Miss Cadwalader continued. “And since you and I have now been introduced—although not properly, I daresay—allow me to present Miss Permilia Griswold.”
“I’m delighted to make your acquaintance, Miss Griswold,” Edgar said as he sent a bow Miss Griswold’s way. “However, before more pleasantries can be exchanged, I have a matter of the utmost importance to attend to—that matter concerning the lady still trying to make what appears to be a less than stealthy attempt at escape.” He turned and set his sights on Wilhelmina once again.
Interestingly enough, while he’d been conversing with the ladies who’d evidently been tasked with hiding Wilhelmina from view—the evidence of that notion being that the two ladies had taken to mumbling apologies to her under their breaths—Wilhelmina had obviously been trying to slip farther under the chair. The result of that nasty business, however, had simply led to her now appearing to be well and truly stuck.
Pushing his way through the first row of chairs, he tilted his head and allowed himself the luxury of simply considering Wilhelmina for a long moment. The years they’d been apart hadn’t changed her appearance much, except that she was now a more mature lady—being almost twenty-five instead of the near infant she’d been at seventeen. Her brown hair was swept up in a simple style away from her face, and the hint of pink staining her cheeks lent her a charming air, one that suggested she was getting a bit flustered. That idea had his lips curving straight into a smile as he leaned down and caught her eye.
“Honestly, Willie, in all the years we’ve been apart, I never once considered the idea that when I finally returned to New York society, you’d go to such extremes to avoid me.”
Wilhelmina’s hazel eyes immediately took to flashing. “I don’t like it when you call me Willie. And who said I’m attempting to avoid you?”
The flashing, an immediate reminder of Wilhelmina’s adorable temper, had his smile turning into a grin. “Since these delightful young ladies were trying their very best to distract me from seeing you—and they were doing a remarkably credible job until I caught sight of the top of that chair you’re under moving—I don’t understand why you’re arguing with me.”
Wilhelmina released a dramatic sigh. “Oh, very well. You’re right. I was trying to avoid you.” She caught his eye, looked incredibly grumpy for all of five seconds, and then released another sigh before the makings of a grin spread over her face. “Since you’ve clearly caught me in my attempt to escape, and I’ve somehow managed to get stuck while in the process of that attempt, could I possibly persuade you to be a dear and help me out of this particular pickle I’ve landed myself in?”
The grin sent him directly back to his youth, where he’d witnessed that particular grin on an almost daily basis, at least during their carefree summer days. Wilhelmina had always been one to apprec
iate a good laugh or an amusing situation, and over the past few years, he’d almost managed to forget her appealing sense of humor.
He was fairly certain that the reason behind his forgetfulness had something to do with the fact that he’d been wallowing in a rather large vat of self-pity for years, or at least the first year or two after he’d left town.
That wallowing had been a direct result of Wilhelmina—the lady he’d assumed he’d spend the rest of his life with from the time he’d been about ten—turning down his earnest offer of marriage. That rejection had sent him reeling and caused him to try his very best to forget her over the ensuing years.
In hindsight, brought about by time and the wisdom that time brings a person, his offer of marriage to her had been beyond ill-advised and beyond ill-timed.
It was that very hindsight that had him entering New York society again, but only in order to seek Wilhelmina out and finally try to put matters right between them, something he had no idea if she’d even be willing to entertain, or—
“If we could accelerate this whole getting-me-unstuck business, Edgar, I would be forever grateful,” Wilhelmina suddenly said, pulling him straight back to the situation at hand. “Especially since we’re beginning to draw attention.”
Looking over his shoulder, he discovered that was, indeed, the case. Quite a few guests seemed to be edging their way. Turning back to Wilhelmina, he squatted down right next to her. “Do you think the fabric of your skirt snagged on a nail?”
“I’m afraid I’m no longer that type of stuck, Edgar. It’s more a case of my, um, parts, not exactly fitting in the small amount of space I tried to squish them into.”
It took everything in him to swallow the laugh he longed to release.
Wilhelmina had never been a lady possessed of a waifish figure—a situation that had bothered her no small amount, although he had always, especially as he’d gotten older, found her curves to be rather agreeable. He’d never mentioned that to her, of course. A circumstance he’d been thankful for after she’d broken his heart by rejecting him out of—
“And besides being firmly wedged between the legs of this chair, I think that, what with all the wiggling I’ve done since I got stuck, my bustle has now become firmly lodged against the seat.”
Having never been presented with this specific dilemma before, Edgar couldn’t help but feel a touch relieved when Miss Permilia Griswold stepped forward. Tapping her chin with a gloved finger—one that, curiously enough, seemed to be stained with a bit of ink—she tilted her head, then tilted it the other way, before she frowned.
“I’m afraid we’re going to have to resort to brute force to release Miss Radcliff from her unfortunate predicament,” Miss Griswold said before she turned an unexpectedly bright smile Wilhelmina’s way. “The silver lining of this situation, though, can certainly be seen in the fact that bustles have not yet reached the size they’re being predicted to reach.”
“I’m not certain I see that as a silver lining, but . . .” Wilhelmina’s eyes widened. “Did you just say that bustles are expected to get even larger?”
Miss Griswold nodded. “I’m afraid so. According to one of my sources—er . . . friends, I mean—quite a few designers are beginning to contemplate a new silhouette for ladies—one that will require bustles to achieve the size of a large birdcage in order to pull off the look designers are convinced will be complimentary to every lady’s figure.”
“Who in the world would want to wear a birdcage on their behind?” Miss Cadwalader asked, once again in possession of the platter of treats, treats she immediately began perusing, looking completely delighted.
Miss Griswold reached out, snagged a sugar biscuit, popped it into her mouth, and shrugged even as she swallowed. “I’m sure there are very few ladies who’d appreciate such an appendage attached to them, but evidently the gentlemen in charge of our fashions seem to believe that larger behinds are . . .”
She stopped talking, shot a look to Edgar, turned pink in the face, and immediately returned her attention to Wilhelmina. “Bustles aside, though, we do need to address your predicament, and I’m afraid to say that the only way we’re going to be able to free you is by tugging that chair straight off of you.” She moved closer and took hold of the back of the chair. “I’m sure this won’t hurt too much.” Before Wilhelmina could voice even the tiniest of protests, Miss Griswold began tugging on the chair, emitting occasional grunts as she tugged.
“What in the world are you doing, Miss Griswold?” someone demanded from behind them.
Turning, Edgar discovered that Mrs. Travers, their hostess for the evening, had joined them. And unfortunately, she was looking less than pleased.
Miss Griswold let go of the chair, wiped a hand across a brow that seemed to have taken to perspiring, and blew out a breath. “Miss Radcliff is stuck, Mrs. Travers. I’m simply trying to see her released.”
Mrs. Travers immediately switched her attention to Wilhelmina. “One would think, given that your presence here tonight is as my social secretary, not as a guest, that you would have taken greater care with the manner in which you comport yourself, Miss Radcliff.”
Wilhelmina lifted her chin in a surprisingly regal manner for a woman stuck underneath a chair. “I do apologize, Mrs. Travers, for causing you undue distress. I certainly didn’t deliberately set out to get in my current predicament. It simply . . . happened.”
“But how did it happen?” Mrs. Travers demanded.
“That’s a bit difficult to explain,” Wilhelmina began. She was spared further response, though, when Miss Cadwalader took that moment to join the conversation.
“She’s under there because of the mouse,” Miss Cadwalader said in a very loud, very carrying, voice before she took what looked to be some type of cookie from the platter and began nibbling around the edges of it.
“A . . . mouse?” Mrs. Travers repeated slowly.
Miss Cadwalader stopped nibbling and nodded. “Indeed, and it wasn’t a little mouse, mind you, but an enormous one, with rather large teeth.” She sent what almost seemed to be the smallest of winks Wilhelmina’s way. “Miss Radcliff should be commended for being brave enough to take on such a beast, but as she was attempting to lure the creature away, she got stuck underneath that chair.” Miss Cadwalader heaved a sigh. “Unfortunately the mouse charged straight through the middle of the ballroom floor.”
Edgar could only watch in dumbfounded amazement as chaos immediately took over the ball. The chaos started when one of the ladies who’d been inching ever so casually closer to them let out a shriek, lifted up the hem of her skirt, and was soon standing on top of a chair, joined seconds later by additional ladies, their shrieks about mice being on the loose echoing around the ballroom. In the span of a single minute, all the chairs were occupied with ladies holding their hems up as servants began dashing into the room, all of them carrying brooms.
Edgar heard Wilhelmina toss “That was brilliant” Miss Cadwalader’s way as Mrs. Travers seemingly forgot all about Wilhelmina being stuck underneath a chair as she hurried off to join the chaos that was interrupting her ball.
Miss Cadwalader grinned. “I do have my uses.”
Wilhelmina returned the grin. “Indeed you do—even though I have to say that, if I had seen a mouse, I’m hardly the type to throw myself on the floor in an attempt to lure it away.”
With eyes that had taken to sparkling, Miss Cadwalader’s grin widened. “A most excellent point, Miss Radcliff, but quite honestly, I didn’t contemplate the mouse explanation very long before it simply burst out of my mouth.” Her gaze traveled over the commotion erupting around them. “I certainly had no idea that my explanation would bring about such an exciting twist to the ball.”
“I’m afraid your time at the ball may get even more exciting, Miss Cadwalader,” Miss Griswold said with a rather significant nod of her head toward a hallway. “I don’t mean to be an alarmist, but I do believe I just saw your companion, Mrs. Davenport, scurry out of the
room and toward what is probably the private living quarters of the family.”
Miss Cadwalader turned rather pale. “You said scurry, but should I assume it was more of a skulk?”
“I suppose her attitude did have a touch of skulking mixed in with the scurrying,” Miss Griswold admitted.
Squaring her shoulders, Miss Cadwalader shook her head. “Honestly, one would think that Mrs. Davenport would have learned her lesson after the last time she went skulking about, but . . . apparently that is not the case.” She sent everyone a nod. “Please excuse me. I simply must go and have a little chat with my employer. I do hope no one will mind if I take the treats with me.” A bit of pink settled on her cheeks. “They may very well help me entice Mrs. Davenport from . . . Well, no need to get into that.” Turning on her heel, Miss Cadwalader hurried away, clutching the platter of treats close, as if she wanted to make certain no one would try to take them away from her.
“That was curious” was all Edgar could think to say when silence, except for all the screaming and shrieking still surrounding them, settled over their small group. Turning to Miss Griswold, the only person left to assist him, he gestured to Wilhelmina, who was still stuck underneath her chair. “I think our best plan of attack, Miss Griswold, would be for you to see if you can get that bustle unstuck. It would hardly be proper for me to attend to that particular task.”
“Too right you are, Mr. Wanamaker,” Miss Griswold replied before she dropped to her knees beside Wilhelmina. A moment later, after she’d taken to shoving a great deal of the material that made up Wilhelmina’s skirt out of the way, Miss Griswold stuck a hand under the chair and set about the tricky business of trying to get Wilhelmina free.
After a great deal of grunting, mutters, and even a yelp or three coming from Wilhelmina, Miss Griswold tipped up her head and caught his gaze.
