Out of the Ordinary

by Jen Turano

  “Who would have ever thought I’d receive such timely assistance from an editor from the New York Sun?” Harrison asked, stopping directly in front of Asher as he snagged a glass of champagne from a passing server and took a sip. “There I was, about to lose all feeling in my arm due to the surprising strength of Miss Flowerdew’s grip, when from out of nowhere, Mr. Charles Dana joined us. It was a fortuitous arrival to say the least, especially when he began questioning Miss Flowerdew about society intrigues and she was only too happy to throw herself into that nasty business, allowing me the opportunity of making an inconspicuous escape.”

  Asher frowned. “One would have thought after learning Miss Flowerdew is anxious to become better acquainted with you, you’d have given her a wide berth for the rest of the evening.”

  “That’s a little tricky to do when a young lady is determined to waylay a gentleman, and takes said gentleman by surprise the second he enters a room.”

  “Women can be tricky.”

  “Too right they can,” Harrison agreed, reaching out to give his friend a hearty and commiserating clap on the back.

  Unfortunately, it quickly became clear that clapping a man on the back when he’d just put some tasty tidbit into his mouth was not a particularly good idea because it resulted in a bad case of choking.

  Wheezing for breath, Asher’s color went from red to purple, which had alarm coursing through Harrison as he stepped close to his friend and gave his back a sound pounding. That pounding came to a rapid end, though, when Asher went from wheezing to sputtering and took an unsteady step away from him.

  “I’m fine, Harrison, or somewhat so, which means you may feel free to put any additional thoughts of pummeling aside, if you please.” Asher fished a handkerchief out of his pocket and began dabbing at his now watering eyes, stilling when his gaze happened to land on Harrison again. Heaving what sounded exactly like a long-suffering sigh, he slid his handkerchief into his pocket before pulling out another length of velvet ribbon. Handing it to Harrison, Asher shook his head.

  “I don’t have an unlimited supply of those, so do have a care with that one. Far be it from me to point out the obvious, but you wouldn’t even have need of the ribbons if you’d simply allow me to introduce you to my barber.”

  Setting his champagne on a high round table beside him, Harrison took the ribbon and made short shrift of tying his hair back. “If I did get introduced to your barber, I’d then be forced to visit him often to keep my hair looking presentable. Then I’d have to abandon something else in my tight schedule, such as riding my horse in Central Park, which would lead to Rupert, my horse, becoming plump as a partridge. And,” he continued as Asher looked ready to argue that very valid point, “if I would agree to the barber, I would then imagine it would only be a matter of time until you’d start badgering me to visit your store on a regular schedule to improve the state of my wardrobe.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with adopting a fashionable attitude,” Asher said, gesturing to the formal suit Harrison was wearing. “You’re looking very well turned out this evening, and because you used the services of Rutherford & Company’s personal stylist, it barely cost you any of your precious time.”

  Harrison brushed away a small bit of lint from the well-cut sleeve of his jacket. “And while I appreciate you affording me such a dapper appearance this evening, I’ve just realized that being well turned out is probably why Miss Clementine has been so keen to cling to me. It’s your fault she’s now got me in her sights, and to avoid similar circumstances in the future, I do believe I’ll have to be more hesitant with allowing your stylist to dress me.”

  For a second, Asher simply considered Harrison, then frowned. “You don’t actually dress so outlandishly to dissuade young ladies from pestering you more than they do now, do you?”

  Harrison thought about that for a good few seconds. “What an interesting idea, but I’m sure that’s not why I choose to pair stripes with plaids. However, my clothing taste, or lack thereof as you strongly believe, aside, have you seen Gertrude of late? I’m afraid I got parted from her when we arrived at the hotel.”

  “I would have thought you’d do your best to remain firmly attached to Gertrude’s side after learning Clementine Flowerdew is intent on securing an offer of marriage from you,” Asher said.

  “And I would have been content to do exactly that if Gertrude hadn’t bolted from the carriage almost before it stopped at the entrance to the hotel. She disappeared from sight before I had the opportunity to catch up with her.”

  “You didn’t do something to annoy her, did you, hence the reason for the bolting?” Asher asked.

  “While I would normally proclaim outrage at such a suggestion because I’ve never been one to annoy the ladies, I’ve been wondering if I was mistaken in my belief she enjoyed the way I got her safely off the Cornelia.”

  “Is there more than one way to get off the Cornelia?”

  “Not usually,” Harrison admitted. “But I opted to carry Gertrude down the plank and then down a good stretch of pier, so she might have taken issue with that, although . . . she did proclaim it a thrilling way to depart from a boat, so now that I think further on that, no . . . I don’t believe I did anything to annoy her.”

  “Which is lovely to hear, but getting back to this carrying business—what possessed you to carry Gertrude off your ship in the first place?”

  “She was suffering from a stitch in her side and wheezing somewhat dreadfully, brought about no doubt because Margaret was chasing us.”

  Shaking his head, Asher grinned. “And that right there is why I’m perfectly comfortable not having sisters.”

  “Indeed, but because I have those sisters, I’ve been privy to inside information pertaining to the lady world. And that world seems to enjoy gentlemen sweeping young ladies up into their arms when they’re in distress, hence the reasoning behind my gallant gesture to Gertrude.”

  Asher’s brows drew together. “Your sisters told you ladies enjoy being swept up into a gentleman’s arms?”

  “Don’t be daft.” He leaned close to Asher and lowered his voice. “I got that from reading a few, or perhaps more than a few, romance novels my sisters keep tucked away in the oddest of places.”

  Asher looked around, then lowered his voice as well. “That’s a brilliant strategy, my friend, and one I might have to investigate because I certainly could use some additional insight into the feminine mind, what with me about to be married. But tell me this, besides the sweeping a lady up, have you uncovered any other gestures written between the pages of those books that a lady might find to be swoon-worthy?”

  “There are always a few instances of the hero riding to the heroine’s rescue on a horse. But I’m not certain I agree with the hero then plucking that heroine straight up and onto the back of his horse. Such an abrupt action makes me wonder if the lady would be left sighing in pleasure or screaming in fear for her very life.”

  “That is a question to ponder, but tell me this—if Gertrude wasn’t annoyed with you for carrying her, why do you imagine she bolted into the hotel?”

  Harrison picked up his champagne again and took a sip before he nodded. “Curious as this may sound, her bolting might have had something to do with Agent McParland.”

  “The Pinkerton detective I hired a few months back?”

  “The very same. I think she may fancy him, because after learning that Pinkerton detectives are hired by this hotel, she brought him up in the conversation and then evidently went off to find him, leaving me behind.” Harrison shrugged. “Or at least that’s one of the reasons I’ve come up with as to why she dashed into the hotel.”

  “And here you almost had me convinced you weren’t interested in her,” Asher said with a shake of his head, but before he could expand on that, they were suddenly joined by Mr. Gilbert Cavendish.

  Gilbert was one of Harrison’s closest friends, and he’d proven himself worthy of that title over the past few weeks, not hesitating to o
ffer his assistance to Harrison when it became known that Permilia’s stepmother had decided to remain in Paris instead of returning to the States to organize Permilia’s engagement celebration.

  “Gentlemen,” Gilbert began with a nod all around, “forgive me for interrupting, but I’m afraid we really do need to get the festivities underway. We’re a few minutes from becoming off schedule, and then, well, everything will be cast into disarray.”

  Harrison blinked. “I’m sure a few minutes won’t lead to complete disarray.”

  Gilbert raked a hand through brown hair that was less than carefully maintained, an unusual circumstance that lent credence to the disarray theory. “I realize that you, Harrison, being a more casual sort, do not understand the distress a gentleman of my sensibilities suffers when events don’t go as planned. However, because I did share my schedule with the very temperamental chef who is currently wielding a very large knife back in the kitchen, while making threats to anyone who happens to duck their head into that kitchen to check on the status of dinner, he’s expecting everyone to take their seats within the next thirty minutes. That means we really need to get the special dance we’ve planned for Permilia and Asher underway with all due haste.”

  Asher choked on the sip of champagne he’d just taken. “You’ve planned a dance for me and Permilia?” he managed to ask after he caught his breath.

  Gilbert frowned. “Surely I mentioned that to you.”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  Wincing just the slightest bit, Gilbert nodded and summoned up a charming smile. “Well, I’m telling you now, but there’s no need to fear. Harrison told me all about Permilia’s lack of interest in performing quadrilles, so I’ve chosen the delightful Ticklish Water Polka for the two of you to enjoy.”

  Asher’s face turned a somewhat concerning shade of white. “If memory serves me correctly, and I assure you, I do believe it’s currently serving me very well, my charming fiancée once maimed a gentleman while performing that particular polka. Because of that disturbing incident, perhaps we should simply forgo the dance, which would then appease what sounds like a very temperamental chef since we won’t be late sitting down for his dinner.”

  Raking his hand through his hair again, Gilbert shook his head. “Absolutely not. Permilia will certainly expect a special gesture on your part, and swirling her about the room while everyone looks on is just such a gesture.” He summoned up a smile. “Being the magnanimous friend I am, I give you leave to claim the idea of the dance as your own. That, my dear Asher, will allow you to remind your bride twenty years from now of your thoughtfulness when you take to annoying her by chewing your food too loudly, or . . . by breathing.”

  “I don’t believe Permilia is the type of lady to become annoyed by breathing,” Asher said.

  “That’s because you haven’t known her for twenty years,” Gilbert countered before he craned his neck and looked over the room. “And, even if she does take to maiming you while you swirl her about the room, something I must say I wouldn’t be opposed to watching since I’ve never seen a person maimed while dancing before, you’ll then have that memory to pull out and use when needed, something I daresay you’ll be thanking me for someday.” He stopped craning his neck and took to nodding at something in the distance. “Maiming aside, I’ve just spotted a fine-looking young lady over there. Would either one of you be so kind as to formally introduce me to her before we sit down to dinner? I have yet to find a partner for the meal, and . . . she is lovely.”

  Craning his neck as well, Harrison felt his lips curve when he noticed that the lady Gilbert was interested in was none other than Miss Clementine Flowerdew.

  “I will certainly introduce you to her, Gilbert, but I’m not sure your charming mother will approve of this particular introduction. The lady you’ve cast your eye on is a member of New York society, and you know how your mother feels about society.”

  Gilbert flashed a brilliant smile. “Mother, bless her far too opinionated heart, is currently over in India, having traveled there with my stepfather to finalize an exportation of spices we’ve recently purchased. She’s not expected to return for months. Besides, she’s more opposed to English society ladies than she is to American ones. And because she’s recently begun bemoaning the fact that she has no grandchildren, she’ll be more agreeable to any lady I might set my sights on.”

  Asher handed his empty champagne flute to a passing server, then returned his attention to Gilbert. “Doesn’t your half brother over in England have children?”

  “He does not, and even if he did, they wouldn’t be of any true relation to my mother since she was only his stepmother and didn’t hold that position long because my father died before I was even born. That unfortunate situation had my mother abandoning London, a city she loathed from the start, and abandoning a fully-grown stepson who was only too anxious to assume my father’s title of Earl of Strafford.”

  Asher tilted his head. “I readily admit I’m not well versed in the way the aristocracy works in Britain, but if your brother has no children, won’t you eventually inherit his title and all the land that goes with that title?”

  Gilbert shrugged. “Even though my half brother, Charles, is considerably older than I am, he’s recently married again after his first wife died a few years back. His new wife is incredibly young, and I have every hope she’ll provide him with an heir—and hopefully, a spare.”

  “You don’t care to assume the title?” Asher asked.

  Gilbert shook his head. “Because my mother returned to the States directly after my father died, I consider myself to be an American, although I can claim the honorary title of Lord Cavendish simply because of my birth.”

  “Disclosing you’re the son of an earl might go far in securing Miss Clementine Flowerdew’s attention.” Harrison nodded Clementine’s way. “Especially since I know for a fact that society ladies, and ladies in general, do seem to enjoy the idea of spending time with an aristocratic—”

  “I’m sorry, but did you say that young lady’s name is Miss Flowerdew?” Gilbert suddenly interrupted, even the mere idea of him interrupting a person taking Harrison so aback that he could only manage a nod in response.

  “Flowerdew’s not a very common name I would have to think,” Gilbert said, more to himself than anyone else. “Which begs the question whether this Miss Flowerdew would know an old friend of mine—Miss Temperance Flowerdew.”

  “Clementine and Temperance are distant cousins,” Asher said.

  Gilbert’s eyes widened. “You’re familiar with Temperance?”

  “She’s friends with Permilia, and she’s in attendance tonight.” Asher nodded to the other side of the ballroom. “If you’ll look over there, she’s currently engaged in a conversation with Miss Mabel Huxley and Miss Mabel’s sister, Miss Henrietta.”

  “I must go pay my respects to her” was all Gilbert said before he turned and strode away without another word.

  “That’s an interesting turn of events,” Asher said right as the sound of a violin rang out.

  “It is indeed, but speaking of interesting events, the orchestra seems to be warming up, which means another interesting event is about to take place—the Ticklish Water Polka.”

  “You don’t need to sound so enthusiastic about what could very well turn into my suffering a maiming from my less-than-proficient-polka-dancing fiancée.”

  Grinning, Harrison took hold of Asher’s arm and steered him across the ballroom floor, ignoring that his friend was certainly dragging his feet.

  Chapter

  Twelve

  Watching Asher trying to guide Permilia through the steps of the Ticklish Water Polka was, curiously enough, going far in diminishing the abysmal state of mind Gertrude had been in ever since Mrs. Davenport had clearly bested her by bringing out the tear. That single tear was directly responsible for why Gertrude would now be repairing to Newport for the summer.

  It wasn’t that she had anything against Newport, if one forg
ot that it was teeming with society members, which meant it was also brimming with society events. Those events were certain to draw Mrs. Davenport’s attention—and not for strictly entertainment purposes. That right there was one of the reasons Gertrude was less than pleased with her employer.

  She’d been promised a summer of rest, one she felt she deserved after dealing with Mrs. Davenport’s shenanigans all winter and spring, and yet that promise had been blithely cast aside.

  Apparently, the treat of sponsoring a young lady into the social set was all it took for Mrs. Davenport to abandon her promises. Add in the notion that Edwina seemed genuinely interested in every word that sprang out of Mrs. Davenport’s mouth, and there was little hope left that Mrs. Davenport’s mind could be changed about their new plans since she clearly relished Edwina’s attention.

  To add even more aggravation into the mix was the pesky notion that Mrs. Davenport was encouraging Edwina to address her as Hester—a courtesy Gertrude had never been extended in what now seemed to be far too many years working for the woman.

  It was little wonder she was beyond annoyed with her employer, and that was without counting the troubling business of Mrs. Davenport becoming overly interested in a tiara worn by one of the guests at the Manhattan Beach Hotel. That guest had made the unfortunate choice of joining them on the veranda, wanting to share the beautiful sight of the moon casting its rays over the ocean. However, because the moonlight had also drawn attention to the sparkly tiara nestled in the lady’s hair, she’d attracted Mrs. Davenport’s interest, which was never a fortuitous event.

  Gertrude had been forced to resort to brute strength to tow Mrs. Davenport off the veranda and away from temptation. However, because her employer was incredibly resourceful when she set her mind to it, Gertrude knew she was going to have to be extra vigilant in keeping track of Mrs. Davenport, especially with Pinkerton detectives roaming around the—

  “I daresay Asher wasn’t expecting that move.”

  Glancing to her left, Gertrude found Harrison standing next to her. He was grinning from ear to ear, and when she looked toward what had captured his attention, she discovered that while she’d been distracted with unpleasant thoughts, mayhem had come to visit the ballroom in the form of Permilia.