by Turano, Jen
Giving his mother a kiss on her cheek, Edgar turned and accepted the greatcoat Mr. Hodges was holding out to him. Slipping his arms into the sleeves, he buttoned it up, stepped through the door Mr. Hodges was holding open, and found himself considering a sky that was beginning to look threatening once again. Flipping up his collar, he strode down the snow-covered sidewalk, unable to help but wonder if he might actually be fortunate enough to win Wilhelmina’s hand once and for all before this day was through.
Chapter
Six
“I simply cannot apologize to you enough, Miss Radcliff, for the truly deplorable behavior of my stepsister, Lucy, last night,” Miss Griswold said as she steered the well-appointed sleigh down the surprisingly busy snow-covered street.
Tucking a strand of hair that had escaped its pins back underneath her hat, Wilhelmina smiled as she turned to her new friend. “You really must not consider the matter another minute, Miss Griswold. I’m sure your stepsister didn’t notify Mrs. Travers about seeing me and Mr. Wanamaker disappear through the French doors out of any sense of malice. As I’ve mentioned, the blizzard struck right around the time Edgar and I were foolish enough to venture outside, so I’m sure your stepsister was simply concerned for our welfare.”
Miss Griswold suddenly seemed to forget she was responsible for controlling the magnificent beast that was pulling the sleigh, because she oh- so-casually dropped the reins into her lap even as she turned to catch Wilhelmina’s eye. “I do wish I could agree with you, Miss Radcliff, but my stepsister has been cosseted outrageously throughout her nineteen years on this earth. That cosseting only increased when her father died five years back. While she doesn’t possess a truly vindictive nature, she does possess a self-indulgent one, and that right there is why she alerted Mrs. Travers to your disappearance.”
“I’m afraid I’m not following you,” Wilhelmina admitted, keeping an eye on the horse that, surprisingly enough, didn’t seem to need a guiding hand as it pulled them ever closer to Central Park.
“Mr. Wanamaker is an extremely handsome gentleman, Miss Radcliff. Add in the rumors regarding that respectable fortune he’s apparently in possession of, and I’m afraid he’s just become of great interest to all the eligible society ladies in the city. Lucy, I’m sad to say, is no exception to that and apparently decided she wanted your Mr. Wanamaker for herself. That, my dear, is exactly why you were discovered in the conservatory.”
“He’s not actually my Mr. Wanamaker quite yet” was all Wilhelmina could think to respond—a response that Miss Griswold completely ignored as she smiled somewhat grimly and continued on as if Wilhelmina had not even spoken.
“In all honesty, I don’t believe Lucy thought the matter through properly, although the whole thinking business is always questionable when it concerns my stepsister. Lucy evidently didn’t consider the potential consequences of you and Mr. Wanamaker being discovered alone together. I certainly don’t believe she expected him to immediately declare his intention to marry you. That intention, amusingly enough, has caused my stepsister to take to her bed today. She’s armed with a cool cloth and a bottle of smelling salts, moaning ever so often as her mother, my stepmother, sits by her side, wringing her hands and pondering whether or not a doctor should be summoned.”
Wilhelmina fought a smile. “You do have a way of painting a scene with your words, Miss Griswold. But if you’ll recall our conversation of last night, as you so kindly drove me home, I’m not entirely convinced it would be fair of me to take Edgar up on his offer.”
“Mr. Wanamaker, from what I’ve observed of him so far, is a gentleman,” Miss Griswold countered. “Because of that, you have no option but to take him up on his offer, or else he’ll be forever plagued with feelings of guilt and . . . he will most certainly sink into a deep and life-altering melancholy.”
“Edgar has never been prone to melancholy.”
Miss Griswold pursed her lips. “He’ll more than likely become prone to it if you don’t accept his offer, especially after Mrs. Travers makes certain your reputation is destroyed. That will then see you out of your job as a social secretary, and the next thing you know, you’ll be seen wandering through the city in rags, holding out your hand for a scrap of bread from anyone who passes you by.”
Wilhelmina tilted her head. “Have you ever considered dabbling a bit with writing? I daresay you’d do well penning a gothic novel, what with the knack you seem to have for imagery.”
Waving that observation aside, Miss Griswold plowed on with her argument as if Wilhelmina hadn’t just voiced a brilliant suggestion. “Truth be told, I’m not exactly certain why you’re dithering about accepting Mr. Wanamaker’s proposal of marriage—especially since I’m convinced you truly care about the gentleman.” She gave a rather knowing nod of her head. “You probably have never realized this, but when you speak of the man, your voice takes on a distinctly sappy tone.”
Opening her mouth to dismiss that idea, Wilhelmina suddenly pressed her lips together when the thought struck that there just might be a grain of truth to Miss Griswold’s observation.
“I fear you may be right about that, Miss Griswold,” she finally admitted. “And truth be told, I have recently come to the conclusion that I care about Edgar far more than I’d realized. Having said that, I’m simply not comfortable with the marriage idea, given that he made his offer under what can only be described as extenuating circumstances.”
“Wasn’t it his idea to go to the conservatory in the first place?”
“Well, yes, but considering nothing untoward happened between us, I’m not comfortable holding him responsible for us being found out, nor am I comfortable holding him to his offer of marriage, especially after I rejected him all those years ago.”
The sting of tears caught her by surprise. Turning her head, she brushed them away, but when she returned her attention to Miss Griswold, she found that lady considering her with far too much understanding resting in her unusual eyes.
Clearing her throat, Wilhelmina summoned up a smile. “The good news about that long ago rejection, though, at least according to Edgar, is that he claims it helped turn him into a man—a role he fills rather nicely.”
“He does indeed,” Miss Griswold agreed.
Wilhelmina’s smile widened. “Do you know that one of the reasons I turned down his proposal all those years ago was because I didn’t think he was measuring up very well against the older gentlemen who were seeking my favor?”
Her smile faded straightaway as the truth of what she’d actually done that night settled into her very soul. “I was so foolish, you see, having my head turned by those other gentlemen, all of whom were certainly more sophisticated than Edgar, but none of whom, in hindsight, were prepared to give me what I truly needed—affection of the most genuine sort, something Edgar had always made available to me from the time we were mere children.”
Miss Griswold immediately took to clucking. “From what you told me last night, you, my dear Miss Radcliff, were all of seventeen years old. Most young ladies are complete idiots at that age and make ridiculous choices on a frequent basis.”
“Did you make ridiculous choices when you were seventeen?”
Miss Griswold tilted her head and adjusted the reins on her lap. “None that I can think of. But . . . I’ve always been a somewhat unusual sort, a circumstance that practically guaranteed my admittance into the wallflower set instead of the fashionable one when my father and I moved to New York.”
“My tumble down the society ladder and into the wallflower set is yet another reason why I’m uncomfortable marrying Edgar. I’m afraid he’ll eventually come to the conclusion that I only accepted his offer in order to escape the difficulties of my life.”
“I don’t think you’re giving the gentleman enough credit. If you ask me, I think he returned to the city in order to discern whether or not you still held any affection for him—because he obviously still holds a great deal of affection for you.” She gave a short bob o
f her head. “I could see it in his eyes last night whenever he looked at you. He adores you.”
“Which is an encouraging idea. Although . . .” Looking up, the rest of Wilhelmina’s words died on her tongue when she took note of a delivery wagon sliding its way through the street. Unfortunately, that wagon seemed to be sliding in their direction, a circumstance Miss Griswold had yet to notice. “I don’t mean to be an alarmist, Miss Griswold, but it might be a sensible choice to retake the reins at this particular moment. If we don’t remove ourselves from that wagon’s path, I’m fairly certain it is soon to crash into us, leaving your sleigh—along with us, I must add—a mess of tangled parts.”
Miss Griswold glanced at the wagon in question, and then returned her attention to Wilhelmina. “Mr. Merriweather doesn’t need me to hold on to the reins. He’s very good at getting us around the city on his own, as well as dodging any and all obstacles that might appear in our way.”
“You named your horse Mr. Merriweather?” Wilhelmina couldn’t resist asking, even with certain danger and death sliding ever closer their way.
“I did. I actually wanted to name him Charlie, but he simply refused to answer to that name.”
Holding her breath as the wagon drew ever nearer and Miss Griswold did not pick up the reins, Wilhelmina felt herself going a bit dizzy from lack of air . . . but then sucked in a large breath a mere moment later, when Mr. Merriweather pulled the sleigh over to the very farthest corner of the road, giving the wagon a wide berth.
Sending Wilhelmina a rather smug smile, Miss Griswold picked up the reins, although she held them in a hand that, to Wilhelmina’s eye, was merely for show.
“Do you and Mr. Merriweather spend much time traveling around the city?” she asked as the horse took that moment to pick up his pace, almost as if he wanted to prove to Wilhelmina that he was in complete control of their situation.
“We travel to Central Park nearly every day to watch society take their afternoon strolls or drives. We also travel to the shops on the Ladies’ Mile as well as the shops located in the seedier parts of the city, because I simply can’t resist searching out a good bargain.”
Wilhelmina’s nose took to wrinkling. “Isn’t your father one of the wealthiest men in America these days?”
“I don’t know if he’s one of the wealthiest, but he does have a rather impressive fortune. I, however, have always possessed a frugal nature—thus the reason for shopping with an eye toward thrift.”
Before Wilhelmina could ask why Miss Griswold would spend every afternoon watching society stroll around Central Park when she was probably never invited to stroll with any of the society members gathered there, Miss Griswold suddenly pulled back on the reins. Unsurprisingly, Mr. Merriweather tossed his head in clear protest, though he immediately slowed his pace.
“There seems to be some type of commotion up ahead, right by the entrance to Central Park, but . . .” Miss Griswold leaned forward, squinting at something in the distance. “On my word, I do believe that Mr. Asher Rutherford might be responsible for the congestion. Although . . .” She leaned further forward. “I’m sure I must be much mistaken about this, but it almost appears as if Mr. Rutherford has taken to hawking some manner of goods in the entranceway to Central Park.”
With that, Miss Griswold clicked her tongue and steered Mr. Merriweather off to the side of the road, pulling on the brake when the horse came to a smart stop. Turning to Wilhelmina, she nodded. “Shall we nip over by Mr. Rutherford and investigate?”
“Investigate what, exactly?”
“What Mr. Rutherford is truly up to, of course. Surely you must find it just as curious as I do that the owner of one of the most prestigious stores in the city seems to be personally peddling wares.”
Seeing no reason to balk over what seemed like a reasonable request, Wilhelmina climbed down from the sleigh, smiling when Miss Griswold moved directly to her side and linked their arms together. Giving their entwined arms a good pat, Miss Griswold immediately took to grinning.
“It’s ever so lovely to have friends, isn’t it?”
Unable to help but return the grin, even as she found herself wondering how it was possible that a charming lady like Miss Griswold had apparently spent her life bereft of many friends, Wilhelmina nodded. “It is indeed, Miss Griswold, and I feel I owe you an apology for neglecting to make a point of getting acquainted with you sooner.”
“Since we’re now on our way to becoming fast friends, you simply must call me Permilia, and I will, of course, call you Wilhelmina, even when you marry your Mr. Wanamaker and become Mrs. Wanamaker to the world at large.”
“I don’t recall stating for certain that I’m going to accept his offer, not that he, now that I consider the matter, did any offering. It was more on the lines of a statement.”
“Only a ninny would cast Mr. Edgar Wanamaker aside, and you, my dear, don’t strike me as a ninny,” Permilia said before she prodded Wilhelmina into motion.
Slipping their way into Central Park , they didn’t stop until they reached a stack of rectangular boxes coated in a glossy pink finish. Mr. Asher Rutherford, owner of Rutherford & Company—a store known for its fine goods—stood directly beside those boxes.
“Ladies,” Mr. Rutherford exclaimed as he slid money into a cash register set up on what appeared to be an old crate. “Have you come to purchase a pair of skates? I have the very latest in ice skates available, and still have a nice selection of styles to choose from.”
Stepping forward with an air that could only be described as confident, Permilia opened a box and stuck her hand inside, peeling away the tissue paper that cushioned the skates inside. “How much are you charging for these?” she asked.
“Five dollars, seventy-seven cents,” Mr. Rutherford said with a smile, the smile fading straightaway when Permilia withdrew her hand from the box and closed the lid.
“That’s flat-out robbery, that is,” Permilia said, apparently not impressed in the least by the idea she was conversing with a gentleman who was considered one of the most eligible gentlemen in the city.
Mr. Rutherford narrowed his eyes. “It most certainly is not.”
“Bloomingdales has skates for under four dollars,” Permilia proclaimed.
“For roller skates, and low quality roller skates, at that,” Mr. Rutherford countered.
Permilia’s lips pursed for a moment before she surprised Wilhelmina by nodding. “You might be right about that.”
“There’s no might about it,” Mr. Rutherford returned. “I know exactly what Bloomingdales charges for the majority of their items, along with what every other store in the city charges as well. What I’m asking for these skates—the convenience of which you’ll be able to enjoy at no extra charge today—is more than fair.”
“I’ll give you six dollars and thirty-two cents for two pairs of ladies’ skates,” Permilia said.
“Did you just pull that figure out of thin air?”
“Of course not. I noted that you purchased your supply—at least the skate I saw in that box—from Dame, Stoddard, and Kendal out of Boston, and they charge around two dollars a pair if you purchase from them directly. However, since you have incurred the cost of having that company send you the skates, as well as the cost of employees you hire to manage your stock, and have included those lovely pink boxes with the purchase of the skates as well, I’m willing to add a bit more to the final cost.”
“I don’t need a pair of skates,” Wilhelmina said before Mr. Rutherford could take to arguing with Permilia, something his expression clearly suggested he longed to do. “I only brought a few coins with me, so even at the discounted price, well, I’m afraid I don’t have enough to cover my share of the bill.”
“I wouldn’t expect you to pay anything,” Permilia said. “They’d be my gift to you—my new and delightful friend.”
Before Wilhelmina could insist that she wasn’t comfortable accepting charity, Mr. Rutherford stepped around his makeshift cash register and sen
t her a most charming smile—one that he’d certainly not been bestowing on Permilia a second before.
“Miss Radcliff, how delightful to see you this fine afternoon. I must beg your pardon for not recognizing you straightaway.” He sent a narrowing of his eyes toward Permilia, as if he blamed her for that unfortunate happenstance. When Permilia calmly began inspecting the stormy skies, Mr. Rutherford’s lips curved just a smidgen at the corners before he returned his attention to Wilhelmina. “Mr. Wanamaker arrived in Central Park about thirty minutes ago, looking for you, of course. But before you go off to find him, do allow me to extend to you my warmest congratulations. Edgar is one of my closest friends from my school days, and I couldn’t be happier for the two of you.” He beamed a charming smile Wilhelmina’s way, the beaming bringing two dimples popping out on either side of his mouth. “What size are those boots you’re wearing?”
“You want to know my boot size?” she asked somewhat weakly, even as she stuck a boot out from underneath the hem of her skirt to peruse it.
“Ah, that looks to be around a size six. So . . .” Mr. Rutherford turned from her, pulled out a glossy pink box, opened the lid, checked the skates inside, then turned and handed her the box. “These should fit just fine.”
Wilhelmina tried to give the box back to the gentleman, but he stuck his hands behind his back and simply wouldn’t take it.
“I’m not comfortable accepting these,” she said.
He smiled another charming smile. “Nonsense, there’s absolutely no reason for you to be uncomfortable about accepting a pair of skates from me. Especially since”—his smile, impossible as it seemed, turned even more charming—“Edgar already compensated me for those on the chance that you’d show up here at the park without a pair of skates. He wanted to make certain that you’d be able to enjoy a day on the ice.”
Wilhelmina’s eyes immediately filled with pesky tears once again, their appearance having Mr. Rutherford whipping a handkerchief from his pocket and pressing it into her hand. Snuffling into it, she managed to get out a word of thanks as Mr. Rutherford took to beaming back at her.
