by Jen Turano
“It’s a lovely peach color, filled with delightful daisies sprinkled throughout the upholstery,” Permilia said, causing Harrison to jump ever so slightly when she materialized right next to him.
He fought the urge to turn again, even though he was beyond curious to inspect a couch he was all but convinced didn’t sport so much as a single daisy on it. “Peach, you say, with daisies?”
Permilia grinned. “Yes, it’s peach, a color remarkably similar to orange if you didn’t know.”
“I like orange,” Harrison said right as an image of Gertrude sprang to mind, an image from the time she’d been dyed orange.
Pretending not to see the sudden knowing look Permilia sent him, although why she was looking that way, he had no idea, he gestured to her dress. “Would I be correct in saying you’re wearing a delightful gown of blue?”
“It’s lavender, but because I’ve come to the conclusion you don’t see colors like most people see colors, you may call my gown blue if you so desire.”
Harrison smiled. “That’s very kind of you. Now if we can only convince your soon-to-be husband that there’s simply no hope I’ll be able to match up my clothing choices to his satisfaction, he’ll spend less time grimacing and I’ll spend less time defending what he considers my peculiar fashion sense. But, speaking of Asher, we seem to have neglected to remember this evening is a celebration of your engagement. And I’ve planned a surprise for the two of you, with the help of a good friend of mine, Mr. Gilbert Cavendish.”
Permilia’s eyes sparkled. “What kind of surprise?”
“It would hardly be a surprise if I told you.” He pulled out his pocket watch and took note of the time. “According to my calculations, we should almost be to our destination, which means we need to repair to the upper deck as soon as possible.”
“There’s a destination?” Permilia asked.
“Indeed.”
“How lovely, but I’ll need to see to Gertrude first.”
“You go on ahead, Permilia,” Gertrude called. “You can’t miss your surprise. Besides, I can’t very well join everyone because I now have nothing to wear. And, not that I want to disclose this next little bit because I have been embarrassed sufficiently enough tonight, but . . . I’m afraid I may be stuck again. This time between the couch and the wall.”
“Perhaps you should simply push the couch out of your way, dear,” Mrs. Davenport suggested.
“I’ve tried that. It won’t budge.”
Harrison swallowed a laugh, caught Permilia’s eye, saw that they’d begun to twinkle, and couldn’t resist a grin. “I’m afraid the couch is bolted to the floor, as is most of the furniture onboard, Gertrude, which is why it won’t budge.”
“Which makes perfect sense, but is not exactly what I wanted to hear right about now,” she called. “Would you have any suggestions regarding how I should get unstuck?”
“We could try butter,” Mrs. Davenport said before Harrison could reply. “I’ve been itching to discover whether butter can be used to assist a person getting in and out of small spaces. Shall I go to the galley and fetch some?”
Harrison wasn’t certain but he thought Gertrude let out a most unladylike snort. “We’re not slathering me up with butter. And why in the world have you been contemplating such an unusual use for butter in the first place?”
“Who says I’ve been contemplating that?” Mrs. Davenport asked.
“You did, just now,” Gertrude said.
“It’s not a difficult task to unbolt the couch, Gertrude,” Harrison called, effectively ending the debate the two ladies were still having about butter. “And while I’d be more than happy to unbolt the couch for you, because of your unusual predicament, I think the most prudent option would be for me to fetch one of my sisters and have her do the deed. I’ll also inquire as to whether one of them may have something stashed onboard the Cornelia that is suitable for you to wear. I have to imagine, given Edwina’s love of fashion, she’ll be the one who’ll have an extra gown, or twelve, lying about.”
In a blink of an eye, Mrs. Davenport was standing right beside him again, having practically knocked poor Permilia out of the way to resume her recently abandoned spot. She then flashed a delighted smile at him, looking exactly as if Christmas had come early.
“On my word, I’ve heard about those sisters of yours—beauties of the day if the talk about the city is accurate. But, tell me this, dear—why is it that none of your sisters has been brought out into society yet? Could it be they lack the proper connection, as in an established society matron, to introduce them into the highest circles?”
“Oh . . . dear . . . this is going to turn problematic,” Gertrude called, the vague nature of her voiced concern being completely ignored by Mrs. Davenport, who was evidently pretending she’d gone deaf and hadn’t heard a word her companion had just spoken.
Taking a firm grip of Harrison’s arm, she began drawing him down the companionway, turning her head and nodding to Permilia as she did so. “Be a dear, Permilia, and close that door for Gertrude. I don’t believe she’ll need you to stay and keep her company, what with her considerate nature and not wanting you to miss your own engagement celebration. Besides, I’ll be back in no time at all, and hopefully in the company of Harrison’s sister Edwina—the young lady I’m now all in a dither to meet, especially since it would appear as if she and I share a great love of fashion.”
Before Harrison could do more than nod to Permilia, who was already turning to head back into the library because she evidently was not keen to simply leave her friend stranded in his library while less than appropriately dressed, and stuck behind the fainting couch at that, he found himself moving at a surprisingly fast clip down the companionway.
“I do hope you’ll encourage your sisters to seek me out if they have any need of my position within society to see them well-settled,” Mrs. Davenport said as she pulled him up a narrow flight of stairs, releasing a little huff when she soon discovered they couldn’t fit up the stairs moving side by side.
Instead of releasing his arm, she simply readjusted her hold on it, stepped forward, and then proceeded to pull him up the stairs behind her, almost as if she was concerned he’d get away from her if she let go of his arm.
Once they reached the aft deck, her grip on his arm didn’t falter, although she did pause after taking only two steps and turned to him, completely disregarding the curious looks they were receiving from some of the guests. “I’m afraid I have no idea where we’ll find your sisters.”
“I imagine they’re in the wheelhouse.”
“Ah, wonderful.” Sending the curious crowd what amounted to a regal inclination of her head, Mrs. Davenport started toward the wheelhouse, leaving him with the distinct notion she was remarkably familiar with his yacht—almost too familiar with it, now that he considered the . . .
“I know you told Gertrude you wouldn’t accept compensation for your couch, but do know that I will send you the funds to cover the damage since I was responsible for it being ruined—inadvertently of course through the malfunction of what I thought was a well-crafted bustle.”
Harrison shook the remnants of his interesting thoughts aside and smiled. “Accidents happen, Mrs. Davenport, and as a gentleman, it would be an insult to my honor to take money from a guest of mine, or that guest’s companion, because of an accident.” He slowed their pace and caught Mrs. Davenport’s eye. “If it makes you feel better, do know that I will donate the couch to a church I support in the Lower East Side, one that is always thankful for donations.”
“You go to church in the Lower East Side?”
“I do. Not all the time, mind you, since I am frequently on one of my ships, sailing one sea after another. But, when I’m in town, I enjoy the authenticity of being around people I’ve known since I was a child.”
Mrs. Davenport came to a complete stop and tilted her head. “I had no idea you grew up in the Lower East Side.”
“Born and raised on the docks d
own there.” Harrison gave her arm a squeeze. “And while I’d love to delve into the unusualness of my past . . .” He gestured out to sea, where lights could now be seen, marking the New Iron Pier that led to Brighton Beach. “Those lights you see are where we’re headed. And because we’re drawing near to the pier where everyone will need to depart the yacht, stories of any type will need to be put on hold.”
Ushering her directly up to the wheelhouse, he paused with his hand on the knob. “Before we go in here, I should probably warn you about my sisters.”
“You sisters come with a warning?”
“I’m afraid so, and while there are many warnings I could give you pertaining to my sisters, the one that is the most pressing is this—Adelaide, one of my younger sisters, is somewhat out of sorts this evening, so whatever you do, do not remark on how beautiful her face is. And, if you do happen to remark on Edwina’s face, which is beautiful as well, do not do so in earshot of Adelaide.”
For the briefest of seconds, Mrs. Davenport seemed to consider what he’d told her, and then, to his surprise, she simply nodded, and with a “Will do,” gestured to the door.
Turning the knob, he held the door for Mrs. Davenport, followed her into the wheelhouse, then took her arm, knowing a little extra support was occasionally needed when a person was faced with meeting his sisters for the very first time.
Unfortunately, before he could perform the expected introductions, Margaret, who’d been manning the wheel, looked up, smiled in clear delight, then gestured Adelaide forward to take over the job of steering the yacht right before she turned her smile his way.
“On my word, Harrison, you’ve done it! You’ve captured the culprit. And how thoughtful of you to bring her here, evidently realizing that now I can finally fulfill one of my deepest desires—that being tossing someone directly into the brig.”
C
hapter
Five
“I really believe we should wait for one of Harrison’s sisters to arrive and unbolt the couch instead of having me attempt the difficult feat of prying you from that tight space,” Permilia said, even as she stood on the fainting couch and tightened her grip on Gertrude’s upper arms.
Gertrude shook her head. “Did you not hear Mrs. Davenport make that remark regarding butter?”
Permilia’s grip slackened ever so slightly. “I did, but if you’ll recall, you nipped that idea in the bud rather sufficiently, so I’m not certain I understand your meaning.”
“Mrs. Davenport, bless her unusual heart, is not a lady to easily brush aside ideas when they strike her fancy. You mark my words, she’ll be trying to convince one of Harrison’s sisters that it’ll be easier to butter me up than unbolt the furniture. That right there is why I need you to try your best to set me free. If you’ve forgotten, you were the one who managed to get Wilhelmina Radcliffe unstuck from underneath that chair a few months back. Because of that experience, I have every confidence in your ability to get me unstuck as well. I’ve been mortified enough this evening, thank you very much, and am convinced that an experiment with butter, with me being the subject of that experiment, will finally part me from the small shred of dignity I’ve managed to retain.”
Permilia grinned. “I can’t claim that the image of you covered in butter isn’t an amusing one. However, since I do seem to have experience getting ladies unstuck, which seems downright odd now that I think about it, brace yourself because this might demand some determined tugging on my part.”
With that, Permilia set to work, but no matter how hard she tugged, Gertrude didn’t budge so much as a single inch.
“I’m really going to have to begin abstaining from all those pastries I enjoy,” Gertrude muttered as Permilia swiped a hand over a perspiring brow.
“You have a lovely figure, Gertrude. It simply wasn’t meant to be stuffed in such a tiny area.” Drawing in a breath, Permilia readjusted her balance while readjusting her hold on Gertrude, muttered what seemed to be a prayer under her breath, and reared backward. What sounded exactly like a pop met her efforts, and before Gertrude could do more than yelp, she found herself, along with Permilia, tumbling up and over the couch, landing hard on the floor of the library.
At first, the only sound to be heard was their labored breathing, but a second later, snorts of amusement replaced the breathing, replaced a second after that with howls of laughter.
A full minute passed before Permilia released a last hiccup of laughter, pushed herself into a sitting position, waited for Gertrude to do the same, then grinned.
“I’m pleased to say that my reputation as a rescuer of stuck ladies remains firmly intact.”
Gertrude returned the grin. “Let us hope that particular talent of yours won’t be needed on my behalf ever, ever again.” She rose to her feet, rubbed an elbow that was smarting dreadfully, then held out a hand to Permilia and helped her friend off the floor.
She gestured to the door. “Now that I’m free, I must insist you rejoin your engagement celebration. A lady usually only gets one of those, and I don’t want to you to tarry longer because of my unusual circumstances.”
A crease immediately marred Permilia’s forehead. “I’m not going to leave you here all by your lonesome, Gertrude. I’ll rejoin the celebration after we get you properly dressed and able to come with me.”
“You’ll do no such thing. I’m fine, and I have little fear anyone else will stumble upon me, what with Harrison probably gathering everyone on the top deck to divulge his surprise. He can’t very well do that divulging, however, without both of the guests of honor, so go. Again, I’ll be fine and I’ll join you just as soon as I’m able.”
Permilia rolled her eyes. “Fine, I’ll go, but if you’re not above deck directly, I’ll be back.” Snatching up a blanket from a basket beside one of the chairs, Permilia wrapped it around Gertrude’s shoulders, gave her a lovely hug, then hurried from the room.
When the door closed behind her friend, Gertrude walked over to a chair and sat down, rearranging the blanket so that it afforded her a small amount of modesty. Leaning her head back, she drew in a breath, heat settling into her cheeks when everything that had recently transpired began whirling through her mind.
She’d gotten stuck to a fainting couch. And while that was certainly a most embarrassing situation, having Harrison walk in on her while she’d been cackling like mad and less than sufficiently dressed was without a doubt the most mortifying experience she’d ever had in her life.
It was almost too much to comprehend, especially with his being a gentleman she held in high esteem, that feeling certain never to be returned on his part after he witnessed her making a true cake of herself and . . .
Gertrude sucked in a sharp breath as truth, and an unexpected morsel of truth at that, took that very second to burrow deep into her soul.
She’d vehemently denied Miss Flowerdew’s accusation that she was romantically attracted to Harrison when, in all honesty, Miss Flowerdew’s assessment of the situation might have been spot-on.
The very idea she’d somehow allowed herself to develop affections of the romantic sort for Harrison lent credence to the idea that she, Gertrude Cadwalader, a normally no-nonsense and practical sort, was in actuality a complete ninny.
Harrison Sinclair was afforded the attention of diamonds of the first water, as Miss Flowerdew had pointed out, and, sadly, Gertrude knew full well she would never rise to that particular status in life, not with her being anything other than ordinary.
Ordinary ladies did not garner the affections of gentlemen of Harrison’s caliber.
Rubbing a hand against a head that felt as if it might burst, Gertrude tried to summon up the practicality she was known to embrace. Unfortunately, nothing of a practical nature sprang to mind. Instead, an odd longing to procure a more sophisticated attitude took hold of her and wouldn’t let go.
If she possessed even a smidgen of sophistication, she would have been discovered by Harrison reclining gracefully on the fainting co
uch, reading a Jane Austen novel in one hand while nibbling at a sugar cookie with the other. Her stockings, which she hadn’t failed to notice were pooled around her ankles, would have been in fine form, and her hair would have been fashioned in a manner that one wouldn’t need to travel to a country far, far away in order to find other ladies wearing a similar style.
She certainly wouldn’t have been discovered standing in a private library garbed in her unmentionables, nor would she have then taken to leaping over a couch where she’d promptly become stuck due to the fact that her figure was not what anyone could call svelte.
Blowing out a breath, Gertrude dropped her head and folded her hands in her lap, stilling when she realized she was considering lifting up a prayer request, one that revolved around asking God to send her a small dollop of sophistication.
The absurdity of such a prayer sent additional heat to her cheeks.
God, she was fairly certain, had far more important matters to attend to other than to grant her the ridiculous request of becoming sophisticated, especially since she truly only wanted to become sophisticated in order to impress Harrison.
Given that Harrison was a gentleman who did not notice the interest of the most fashionable and sophisticated sort, her prayer was ludicrous. Besides, considering her relationship with God had certainly suffered ever since her mother died, a circumstance she took full responsibility for, He was hardly likely to bestow any amount of grace on her, let alone answer a frivolous prayer.
Annoyance with herself had her abandoning her chair and walking over to the bookcase, hoping to find a distraction from her disturbing thoughts. She pulled out a leather-bound book about sea routes, flipped to the first page, and began reading, pausing when a knock sounded on the closed door.
Lifting her head as the door began to open, Gertrude blinked when what could only be described as a whirlwind entered the room. Replacing the book, she watched one of the most beautiful ladies she’d ever seen in her life breeze across the library in her direction, dragging a large satchel behind her with one hand and holding a bowl of something in the other.
