At Your Request (Apart From the Crowd): An Apart From the Crowd Novella

by Jen Turano

  She released a bit of a breathy sigh. “Your father isn’t growing any younger, Permilia. His hard work will be for naught if you don’t find a worthy gentleman to bring into the family who has the business mentality needed to take over your father’s many endeavors.”

  As Ida launched into another lecture, this one regarding the sad state of Permilia’s social ambitions, Permilia shifted against the seat, being careful to maintain her posture as she did so. A second later, her thoughts began to wander, a direct result of having heard the lecture Ida was in the midst of delivering numerous times in the past.

  It wasn’t as if she’d intended to land herself on the fringes of society, but in all honesty, she’d never aspired to travel within society in the first place. She’d always believed she’d walk through life at her father’s side, helping him run his many mining ventures and eventually taking over that running in the end, even though she was a woman.

  Being a member of the fairer sex had never been an obstacle for her growing up, probably because she’d not been exposed to women much in her youth, her mother having died of a horrible fever when Permilia had been all of two years old. That unfortunate death had left her with only a father to care for her. Since George Griswold had never wanted to leave Permilia in the charge of a nanny or female relative while he’d traveled to grow his investment opportunities, he’d taken her along with him. That had provided Permilia with a vagabond lifestyle, filled with adventures, wonders, and a great deal of dirt, especially when she’d spent time in the mines.

  Her schooling had come at the hands of a tutor, not a governess. And, while learning the feminine graces had been woefully neglected, she’d received an education worthy of any man, something she’d always assumed she’d put to good use when she’d be given the honor of managing the family business.

  That assumption had come to a rather abrupt end when her father met, and then married, within a remarkably short period of time, the widowed Mrs. Ida Webster, a formidable lady one learned rather quickly not to cross—and a lady who staunchly believed a woman’s place was in the home, not traveling around the country participating in . . . business.

  From the moment Ida had exchanged vows with Permilia’s father, Permilia had found herself taken firmly in hand and taken firmly out of the mining world by her new stepmother—a circumstance her father, traitor that he’d apparently turned, heartily approved.

  Ida, regrettably, came from a long line of Old New Yorkers, fondly referred to as the Knickerbocker set, and as such, she was accustomed to traveling in the highest society circles. That meant that the mere idea of her acquiring a stepdaughter with no societal interests was not to be tolerated, hence the reason Permilia was introduced to society at the ripe-old age of nineteen.

  That introduction had not seen Permilia gliding across the ballroom on the arm of one gentleman after another, but had, instead, seen her banished—and banished rather quickly, at that—to the wallflower section.

  Her stepmother had not been pleased with what she proclaimed was a very sad state of affairs and had spent the ensuing years—of which there’d been quite a few—pondering the reason Permilia had not taken within the fashionable set. Ida had come up with a remarkably extensive list to explain Permilia’s deficiencies, including Permilia’s age, her intellect, her height, her unusual red hair, her lack of social graces, and . . . well, the list went on and on.

  Since Permilia preferred to maintain a cheerful attitude, at least most of the time, and since contemplating the many deficiencies Ida kept compiling became somewhat depressing after a while, she’d taken to skulking around the edges of ballrooms, far away from her stepmother’s caustic tongue. That skulking had, surprisingly enough, led to a most intriguing opportunity and had provided Permilia with a much-needed distraction as she was forced to attend one society event after another.

  She had great hopes, though, that she’d someday be able to abandon her distraction—once her father came to his senses and allowed her to return to the mining life she’d been intending to live, not the fluffy world of—

  “What about Mr. Rutherford?” Ida suddenly asked, the question effectively pushing any other thoughts Permilia might have had straight out of her head.

  “Are we speaking of Mr. Asher Rutherford, the owner of Rutherford & Company department store?” she asked.

  “Indeed we are.” Ida gave a single nod. “I heard from none other than Mrs. Templeton that you’ve been seen speaking with that particular gentleman . . . twice.”

  Lucy let out a hiss of obvious outrage, a sound Permilia was fairly certain young ladies were not actually supposed to make—and that Ida unfairly ignored. “You’ve held conversations with Mr. Asher Rutherford?”

  Permilia shrugged. “I’m not entirely certain haggling with the gentleman over the price he was trying to extort for ice skates at the impromptu booth he’d erected in Central Park can truly be considered holding a conversation with the man.”

  Two bright spots of color darkened Lucy’s pale cheeks. “You haggled with Mr. Rutherford—one of the most eligible gentlemen in society?”

  “He wanted over five dollars for a pair of ice skates.” Permilia crossed her arms over her chest. “It was highway robbery.” She smiled. “He eventually took three dollars and some change from me—a sum I felt was more in line with what the skates were worth—which allowed me to enjoy a lovely day on the ice with my very good friend, Miss Wilhelmina Radcliff.”

  Ida immediately began mumbling under her breath, something about a hopeless cause and she was at her wit’s end. When her mumbles finally trailed off, she set a determined eye on Permilia. “What was the conversation about the second time you spoke with Mr. Rutherford?”

  “I must admit I find the idea that your friends are tattling on me fairly disturbing, but the only other time I can actually recall speaking with Mr. Rutherford was at Wilhelmina’s engagement ball. It was not a conversation that had much meat to it. In fact, if memory serves, I believe we spent some time discussing the weather—a subject that you’ve stressed is a perfectly acceptable topic for polite conversation.”

  “You could have brought my name into your conversation,” Lucy chimed in. “Mr. Rutherford is certainly a gentleman I’d welcome receiving a proposal from.”

  Permilia opened her mouth but was spared a response to that nonsense when the carriage began to slow to a stop.

  Ida leaned forward, looked out the window, and drew back. “Smiles at the ready, my dears. We’ve reached Mrs. William K. Vanderbilt’s new home at last. Given that there appears to an entire swarm of curiosity seekers waiting to greet us—and take note of what we’re wearing, no doubt—we certainly shouldn’t disappoint them.”

  Lucy raised a hand and adjusted her diamond necklace, situating the diamond pendant to better draw attention to her charms right before she lifted her head. “I’ll do my very best not to disappoint them, Mother.” With that, she slid across the seat right as the door opened. Taking the hand a groom extended her, Lucy hitched a charming smile into place and stepped out of the carriage in a flurry of satin and lace.

  Holding up a hand that sufficiently stopped Permilia from scooting toward the door, Ida turned a stern eye on her. “I don’t mean to come across as a nag, dear, but do try to be friendly to the gentlemen tonight, especially Mr. Rutherford, if you happen to cross his path. Although, from the sound of it, you may have burned that particular bridge.”

  “I have no interest in Mr. Rutherford, and besides, it sounded to me as if Lucy holds him in great esteem. It would hardly improve our sisterly relationship—or stepsisterly relationship, to be more exact—if I pursued a gentleman she desires.”

  “A lady never pursues a gentleman,” Ida countered, her words at complete odds with the advice she’d just given Permilia. “As for Lucy and Mr. Rutherford . . . well, he has chosen to dirty his hands in trade, probably horrifying his dear mother in the process. Because of that—and because of the promise I made to my first husband befor
e he died his tragic death concerning Lucy and her future prospects—she will only marry a gentleman who has no scandal tarnishing his name, one who truly upholds the Knickerbocker beliefs Lucy’s father held in such high regard.”

  “Does Lucy know about that promise you made to your first husband?”

  Ida looked a bit disconcerted before she lifted her chin. “As I was saying before we got distracted from the subject at hand, your father is very anxious to see you well settled, and this is the last society event of the season. You won’t have another opportunity to mingle with gentlemen until we travel to our cottage in Newport for the summer, and that’s ages away.”

  She waved a hand Permilia’s way. “As I mentioned, you’re looking very well turned out tonight, so do try to take advantage of that, if only for your father’s sake. And remember, a smile can be a powerful weapon when it comes to attracting the attention of a gentleman. I suggest you put that advice to good use tonight, and hopefully, we’ll have good news to tell your father when he returns home at the end of the week.” With that, Ida scooted forward on the seat and stepped from the carriage.

  Lingering behind, Permilia absently checked her fur muff, making certain the stash of dance cards she’d obtained—covertly, of course—from a Vanderbilt servant a few days before were still firmly tucked inside, along with numerous small pencils. Withdrawing her hand after she’d established that her supplies were in fine order, she began inching ever so slowly toward the door, not exactly certain she was anxious to face the crème of society who’d been invited to Alva Vanderbilt’s first society ball.

  Her inching came to a stop, though, when Ida’s voice suddenly drifted through the open door. “Permilia, you’re trying my patience. Don’t make me come back in there and prod you along.”

  Shoving aside the thought that her life had been far less complicated before she’d acquired a stepmother, Permilia headed for the door, knowing there was no help for it but to stumble through the evening as best she could.

  Chapter

  Two

  Pausing midway through the carriage door with her hand extended, Permilia realized there were no Griswold grooms waiting to help her to the sidewalk. Glancing around, she found the grooms in question assisting the coachman as he tried to get Lucy’s Little Bo Peep hook unstuck from the top of the carriage. Unwilling to wait for assistance because there was still a long line of carriages waiting to deposit their riders, Permilia jumped lightly to the red carpet covering the sidewalk, straightening her tiara when she felt it wobble on her head.

  Pretending not to hear Ida’s clucks of disapproval over what was apparently another blatant disregard for the social graces, Permilia lifted her chin. She then made the grave mistake of casting a quick look around.

  What she saw had her freezing on the spot, unable to move so much as a single muscle.

  People—and what could only be described as a throng of them—were assembled at least ten deep along the sidewalk, some even standing in the very midst of Fifth Avenue, each and every one of them craning their necks as they seemed to gawk Permilia’s way.

  Being a lady unaccustomed to people gawking at her, especially since she spent most of her time unnoticed at society events, she found herself at a complete loss as to what was expected of her next. Fortunately, she was spared further scrutiny when Ida sidled up next to her, whispered a sharp reminder to smile, took a painful grip of Permilia’s arm, and towed Permilia along the red carpet. Lucy soon joined them, gliding along at Permilia’s side, waving to the crowds as if it were an everyday occurrence for her to walk along on a red carpet.

  What seemed hours later—but had in actuality been only minutes—Permilia stepped into a well-appointed entranceway, keeping her smile firmly in place as Ida handed their formally engraved invitations to the butler. Once he bowed them forward, Permilia found herself steered down a long hallway by a Vanderbilt footman dressed in maroon livery.

  To her relief, when they reached an ornate fireplace with a fire crackling merrily away in the very midst of the hallway, Ida dropped her hold on Permilia’s arm.

  “I’ve just seen a few of my friends, so I’ll leave you here, Permilia. Do try to remember what I’ve asked of you this evening, and do try to remember that smiling while keeping one’s mouth firmly closed is a great asset when trying to draw the notice of gentlemen.” She actually shuddered. “Gentlemen are not keen on ladies who are too intelligent, and I’m afraid that’s exactly how you come across when you speak on even the most mundane of topics.”

  Turning to Lucy before Permilia could bring up the fact that she never seemed able to talk to most society gentlemen, her tongue becoming tied whenever she was in their company, Ida gave her daughter a lovely word of encouragement regarding the quadrille she was to perform later that evening. Patting Lucy’s cheek, Ida then hurried away, joining a group of society matrons gathered at the foot of a grand staircase.

  “I’m off to the third-floor gymnasium to meet up with the other Mother Goose participants,” Lucy said. “Please refrain from participating in anything that may cause me embarrassment, but do feel free to bring my name up in conversation if you happen upon that lovely Mr. Rutherford again.” She tapped her Little Bo Peep hook against the marble floor. “He’s a very handsome sort, rumored to be beyond wealthy, and . . . just think of the access to all the latest fashions and accessories a lady would have if she happened to gain his affections.” With that, Lucy sent Permilia a nod, turned on her dainty heel, and with her skirts swishing in a very becoming manner—a move Lucy had perfected while watching herself in a mirrored wall—she disappeared into the crowd, leaving Permilia all alone.

  Delighted to be left to her own devices, and anxious to view every nook and cranny that was permissible to view in Alva Vanderbilt’s extravagant home, Permilia fell into step behind a group of exquisitely dressed guests who were climbing up the grand staircase. To her amusement, she found herself in the midst of kings, queens, milkmaids, pirates, and even a few brightly colored insects here and there. Trying to put names to all the costumed guests surrounding her, she reached the second floor and edged as discreetly as possible behind a lush fern, peering through the fronds as guests streamed past her. Sticking her hand into the fur muff, she pulled out one of her many dance cards along with a small pencil. Jotting down the names of some of the guests she recognized, along with the costumes they were wearing, she found her dance card filled with scribbles in a remarkably short time. Feeling as if she’d gotten a great start on her mission for the evening, she stepped away from the fern, stuck her dance card back into the muff, looked up and found—to her very great surprise—an attractive gentleman smiling her way.

  Not being a woman who ever attracted the attention of the gentlemanly type—what with the whole stigma of being a wallflower and all—Permilia wasn’t exactly certain what one was supposed to do when a gentleman sent a smile in her direction.

  Inclining her head ever so slightly in return, she was dumbfounded when the gentleman apparently took that inclination as an invitation to approach her, but before he had the opportunity to join her, she turned on a sparkly heel and bolted after a crowd of guests being led down the hallway by a man who seemed to be the underbutler.

  Ignoring the curious looks sent her way when she slipped into the midst of the crowd, she turned her full attention to the underbutler, hoping that he’d be generous with information regarding the grand house, especially the second floor they were now viewing, which Permilia soon learned was the living quarters of Mr. and Mrs. Vanderbilt.

  Fanning a face that was still a little heated over her almost encounter with a smiling gentleman, Permilia soon found herself distracted from her flustered state of mind by the underbutler’s knowledge of the new Vanderbilt house. To her absolute delight, when she followed the man through a door that was framed with elaborate moldings, she found herself smack-dab in the middle of Alva Vanderbilt’s boudoir.

  Knowing this was a place very few people would ever g
et to see, she tried to drink everything in, especially the bathing chamber that came complete with a large marble tub and risqué paintings hanging from the walls. Additional paintings of the risqué sort were prevalent in the bedchamber as well as in Alva’s private sitting room. Ducking into a shadowed corner to make a few notes on another dance card, she tucked that card back in the muff, but lifting her head, she found that while she’d been distracted, the underbutler had led everyone else out of the room. Not wanting to be found all alone in a place she shouldn’t be alone in, she hurried out of Alva Vanderbilt’s private quarters, quickly catching up with the crowd.

  Falling into step with society members who were all attempting to maintain an air of nonchalance, even though it was likely the majority of them were practically bursting with the extravagance of the evening, Permilia followed them up another flight of stairs.

  When she reached the top of those stairs, she discovered herself in the midst of a gymnasium that had been turned into a delightful tropical forest. It was filled to the brim with ferns and flowers that the underbutler explained had been fashioned under the watchful eye of renowned florist Mr. Charles Klunder. As Permilia moved away from the tour, she heard whispers speculating that the display must have cost more than most men earned in a year . . . or ten.

  Pushing aside the discomfort that idea evoked, Permilia began strolling as casually as she could, slowing to a stop when her attention was drawn to a gentleman dressed as a dashing Richard Coeur de Lion. To her utmost confusion, that gentleman sent her a very warm smile right before he sent her a rather roguish wink.