by Jen Turano
“Good morning, Miss Griswold,” Mr. Cushing said, doffing his hat as he held open the door for her, his greeting pulling her from her thoughts.
“Good morning to you as well, Mr. Cushing.” She walked through the open doorway and found herself all alone in the grand entranceway to Rutherford & Company.
Since it was far too early for any customers to be mingling throughout the store, and it was still too early for most of the employees to arrive, Permilia allowed herself to simply wander around the first floor, enjoying the quiet as she wandered.
Trailing through the accessory department, she moved into the haberdashery, taking her time as she looked through the new styles Asher had personally selected to offer their gentlemen guests.
“Does any of it meet with your approval?”
Returning a silk handkerchief to a wooden box displaying all the colors available, Permilia looked up, smiling when she saw Asher walking her way.
He was looking exceptionally stylish this morning, wearing a navy suit paired with a plaid waistcoat, starched white collar, and expertly tied tie. His hair was combed exactly as it was always combed, not a single strand out of place, and as he drew closer she got a distinct whiff of his cologne, a blend created specifically for him—sandalwood, a touch of lime, and something she hadn’t been able to decipher but thought might simply be Asher.
“You’re looking quite fashionable today, Permilia.” He stopped next to her and, taking her hand in his, placed the now-expected kiss on it—even as she found herself wishing he would kiss her properly again, something he’d not done since they’d almost died at the Huxley house.
She was fairly certain he’d not kissed her because he’d realized that since she’d accepted his offer of employment, that made her an employee, and everyone knew it was hardly appropriate for an employer to take to kissing his employee, but . . . still. If she’d known he’d abandon all romantic interest in her, she might have very well chosen to reject his offer of employment in the hopes he’d turn the offer into a more personal one, one that would have her name changing—
“Is something the matter?” he asked, lowering her hand but only to tuck it firmly into the crook of his arm.
“Just thinking about the meeting I’m soon to have with Miss Miller” was all she was comfortable saying.
“Ah, Miss Miller. What a delightful addition she’s made to the staff. Shall we move up to the third floor and see how the department that is soon to highlight her designs is coming along?”
“I would love to.”
Walking with Asher through the first floor and to the steam elevator, Permilia stepped inside it, then blinked when Asher gestured to the lever.
“Do try to keep yourself in check, Permilia. In all honesty, last week when you insisted on operating this elevator for the first time, I was in fear for my life.”
“My hand slipped on the lever,” she said before she pulled the grate closed, and then, as if she’d been running a steam elevator her entire life, she brought them to the third floor without a single jolt.
Opening the door after the elevator had come to a complete stop, she smiled. “Third floor—ladies’ fashions, including suits, shawls, and the designs of Miss Betsy Miller.” She flung out her hand, stopping Asher from getting out. “I almost forget to include carpeting, which is something I’ve been meaning to speak with you about, because I think carpets belong in the basement.”
“They’re one of our biggest profit makers,” Asher argued, stepping out of the elevator with her.
“And if a customer wants a carpet, they’ll travel to the basement to find them.”
“I thought you wanted me to consider using part of the basement for a new venture in the store, one that would allow us to sell items of a less expensive nature.”
Permilia frowned. “I didn’t know you were considering my idea.”
Asher frowned right back at her. “Why wouldn’t I consider your idea? You’ve proven in a remarkably short period of time that you were born to be a merchant.”
And just like that, Permilia realized that she’d lost her heart to this charming, subtly driven gentleman, who didn’t seem to have the slightest inkling these days that she’d changed her mind about the whole holding him in highest affection business, and . . .
“Did you know that Miss Mabel has already shown up for work today?”
Shaking herself straight from the feelings that had threatened to overwhelm her, Permilia tilted her head. “Why would she have gotten here so early?”
“I’m not actually certain, except she did mutter something about Miss Henrietta wanting to check on Miss Snook and the progress she’s making turning their house into a new school.” Asher smiled. “I think she just enjoys having something she’s solely in charge of, that something being the tearoom.”
“She’s quite good at running it for you.”
“And she’s quite good at mingling with the customers,” Asher added, his tone a mix of amusement and surprise.
“It’s been healthy for her to get some distance from Miss Henrietta, as it has also been healthy for Miss Henrietta to get some distance from Miss Mabel.” Permilia smiled. “And it has certainly been healthy for them to learn that Cybil is the one responsible for their father’s death, although I find it sad to think that Miss Mabel spent all those years believing Miss Henrietta killed their father, while Miss Henrietta was thinking Miss Mabel had.”
“I am thankful you had the foresight to bring in Reverend Perry to counsel them over everything they’d experienced in their lives, what with the polygamy, the murders, the unrequited love, the lies, and a nephew who’d decided to poison you and me that day we’d been invited to Huxley House for tea. Then, if I’m understanding what the Pinkerton detectives concluded, he was going to force his aunts to change their will, promising them he wouldn’t kill them if they complied with his demands.”
“Which they would have never believed.”
Asher nodded. “Indeed, but I don’t think either Jasper Tooker or his mother are what anyone would consider sane. I think he truly believed he could convince his aunts to change their will, which would have then allowed him to poison them and frame the poor butler for the murder of everyone in the end.”
“Which wouldn’t have worked since Mr. Barclay would have simply had to tell the Pinkerton detectives the truth.”
“Again, I don’t think there’s any way of understanding the workings of a less than sane mind.”
“True, and while I know that, I almost feel sorry for Jasper Tooker and his mother. It must be horrible to live a life with hearts filled with so much evil.”
“I’m afraid I’m not that magnanimous since they were determined to kill you, but enough about that madness. They will stay firmly behind bars for a very, very long time, while you and I will now be free to improve this store without the threat of someone trying to murder us.”
With that, Asher steered her around a counter displaying a variety of shawls and into the area where construction was being done on a special space for Miss Miller’s creations. Pushing aside the floor-to-ceiling drapes set up to shield customers from that construction, Asher drew her to a stop.
“I don’t think I’ve thanked you properly for introducing me to Miss Betsy Miller, or for convincing her to come work for Rutherford & Company,” he began with a warm smile that had Permilia smiling in return. “I have a feeling that her designs will someday give Mr. Worth a run for his money, and I do believe those same creations will allow New York City to finally claim a couture fashion title of our own.”
“I’ll be sure to tell her that. And since Miss Miller has offered to teach a few design classes at Miss Snook’s school, I have a feeling New York will soon find itself in possession of more couture-capable designers than it’s ever seen.”
Asher inclined his head. “And paired with the fashion classes you’ve decided to teach at the school, I do believe we’re soon to become direct rivals with Paris in regard to claimin
g the title of the most fashionable city in the world.”
Permilia’s smile turned into a grin. “Miss Snook’s school has certainly benefited from becoming known to Miss Mabel and Miss Henrietta, what with the sisters deciding to aid Miss Snook’s cause by giving her the house on Broadway to use for her classes. That has allowed them to return to the house Mr. Tooker no longer occupies, the one by Gramercy Park they’ve been missing for years.”
Releasing her hand, but only to take hold of her arm, Asher started to walk across the floor with her. “It is interesting how events have played out, but speaking of interesting, do you have a few minutes to spare so that I can show you something?”
“Of course.”
Leading her over to a curved staircase, Asher walked with her up to the fourth floor. Turning right when they reached the landing, they then moved down the hallway that led to her small office, along with the offices of most of the other managers, buyers, and members of the financial staff. Opening the door to her office for her, Asher ushered her inside and then followed her.
She moved across the small space, wishing she’d taken just a little more care to tidy up her office the evening before when she noticed the mounds of sample merchandise she’d gathered over the past few weeks stacked higgledy-piggledy about. Her desk was well and truly buried beneath advertisement copy she’d been working on. Stopping beside one of two chairs the office held, she picked up a stack of scarves and placed them on top of her cluttered desk.
“There,” she said, dusting her hands together. “You have a chair now if you’d like to take a seat.”
“Our final destination isn’t your office.”
“Then why did we come in here?”
“To make the moment more dramatic, of course.”
With that, and without saying another word, Asher took hold of her hand and pulled her out of her office and down the hallway again. Walking past the entrance to the tearoom, Permilia sent a nod to Miss Mabel, who poked her head out of the tearoom and sent them a cheery good morning, her cheerfulness still something that took Permilia aback at times.
Calling a good morning of her own over her shoulder when Asher picked up his pace, Permilia then found herself moving at a remarkably fast clip down the long hallway that led to Asher’s office.
Stopping before he reached his door, though, and in front of a door that had Vice President painted on the beveled glass of the door, he opened it up and pulled her inside. Letting go of her hand, he gestured to the cherrywood desk that was the focal point of the room. “What do you think?”
She frowned. “About . . . the desk?”
“Do you find it too masculine?”
“Is it not supposed to be masculine?”
For some reason, Asher didn’t answer right away but drew in a deep breath, released it, then drew in another.
“It’s meant for you, so I don’t want you to find it too masculine.”
For a split second, Permilia forgot to breathe. Tilting her head, she looked at the desk, then looked at Asher, then looked around the office—which was at least five times larger than the office she had now—and looked back at the door.
Striding over to it, she considered the words that looked as if they’d been freshly painted.
“I don’t understand,” she began slowly.
Asher strode over to join her, took her hand, and then looked at the letters painted on the glass for a long second or two. Nodding his head as if he approved of what he was seeing, he then shut the door before he pulled her across the room and over to a small settee done up in a lovely green-and-yellow-striped upholstery. Helping her take a seat, he waited until she got settled and then joined her.
Taking her hand back in his, he cleared his throat and looked rather determined. “Do you recall me walking outside with Reverend Perry after he was finished counseling the Huxley sisters a few weeks back?”
“I do.”
Asher ran a hand through his hair. “Well, while I was walking with him, he started talking, as he seems to like to do, and what he said was not what I’d been expecting him to say.”
“Because?”
“He didn’t talk about the Huxley sisters or how God would be certain to fix their lives, or how Jasper Tooker or his mother would be judged by God’s hand.”
“Ah, you were expecting him to speak as if he were delivering a sermon, not speak as if he was simply a man talking to another man.”
“Exactly.”
“Reverend Perry enjoys being just a man, Asher.”
“Indeed, and he seems to be a somewhat intuitive man, because he brought up things that I needed to hear.”
“He does enjoy doing that as well.”
Asher smiled. “Quite, but when I got to thinking about what he’d said—about how he believes that God has us experience different situations, some pleasant, some not, all to get us turned on a certain path, if we so choose to take that path, I realized that you and I might have very well been meandering on a variety of different paths, all of which eventually led to the two of our paths crossing.”
Permilia found she’d lost the ability to speak again and only seemed capable of nodding her head, which fortunately, Asher took as a sign to continue.
“I always assumed I’d marry a young lady who held a proper position in society, and a young lady who’d want to spend the money I labored to make but not concern herself with my business, and certainly not concern herself with making my business better.” He smiled. “But that was before I met you, and . . .”
Before Permilia could regain the use of her voice, Asher was off the settee and kneeling on bended knee before her.
“You will have the position of Vice President of Rutherford & Company no matter what your answer to my next question will be because you deserve that position. However . . .”
To Permilia’s confusion, he got to his feet, pulled her up beside him, and then tugged her over to the cherrywood desk, where he opened up the top drawer. Pulling out two sheets of paper, he took a deep breath and then laid the first piece of paper on top of the desk.
On it was a name—Miss Griswold.
“I had the art department make up a sample of what your name would look like painted on the door, and since I do want this to be your choice, I wanted you to know that Miss Griswold is a fine choice.”
Permilia smiled—she couldn’t help herself. “But . . . ?”
He returned the smile before he laid the other piece of paper over top of the first one.
Tears blinded her, but since she’d already seen what was painted on the page, it didn’t matter, especially since what she’d seen had been—
Mrs. Asher Rutherford.
Managing a nod, and what might have passed for the word yes, Permilia felt her heart swell to near bursting when Asher let out a yes of his own before he pulled her into his arms, where he immediately took to kissing her—and soundly kissing her at that.
When the sound of Rutherford & Company employees arriving for a normal day at the store drifted into Permilia’s new office, she stepped back and smiled, happier than she’d ever thought she’d be.
“I believe I forgot to express my everlasting love for you, and . . . everlasting affection, and . . . well, everything else a gentleman is supposed to profess when he asks a lady to marry him,” Asher said, although given the distinct twinkle in his eyes, he didn’t look all that concerned about his forgetfulness.
“Since you’ve just expressed all those things, in a rather curious way, I’ll make it a point to not bring up your neglectfulness for the next fifty years or so, but . . .” She smiled and took his hand, placing a kiss on it. “I also was a bit neglectful. In order to correct that, allow me to simply say that I love you, more than I would have ever thought, and more than you’ll probably ever know.”
Pulling her in for one last kiss, Asher pressed his lips to hers, and then stepped back and caught her eye. “Shall we go tell the staff?”
The door to Permilia’s new off
ice took that moment to open, right before Gertrude poked her head in.
“Sorry for the interruption, and for eavesdropping on a door that was definitely closed, but there is a glass insert in this door, and while it’s beveled and distorts one’s view, you can still make out figures.” Gertrude grinned. “And given the closeness of the figures, I and everyone else who came in for that surprise congratulatory tea that Miss Mabel arranged—since she got what was on those pieces of paper out of the art department—might very well know that there’s to be a future partnership, and not one strictly of the business type.”
“Miss Mabel’s throwing us a surprise tea?”
Gertrude nodded as she pulled Permilia right out of her new office. “She is.”
“But she wanted us to reassure you that it really is a celebratory affair and no one will be poisoned,” Harrison added, stepping up to Permilia and giving her a hug before he moved to Asher and hugged him as well.
As she walked down the hallway and then into the tearoom, Permilia’s entire being warmed as she found her entrance greeted with smiles, laughter, and even a bit of applause.
Realizing that she’d finally found the place she was meant to be—a place that wasn’t her father’s mining business, or surrounded by society ladies, or even writing a society column under an assumed name—Permilia stepped farther into the room with Asher now at her side, and knew she was home.
Bowing her head before she joined the crowd of people waiting for her, she felt tears sting her eyes as words she’d heard often in church sprang to mind.
“Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, and cometh down from the Father of lights, with whom is no variableness, neither shadow of turning.”
Feeling quite as if the book of James had said exactly what was in her heart, she lifted her head, smiled, and whispered, “Amen.”
Epilogue
FIFTEENTH OF MAY 1883
Pulling away from one of the most riveting first drafts he had ever read in his life—one that had been written by Mr. Samuel Sprague, a man he had dismissed—Mr. Charles Dana, editor of the New York Sun, settled his attention on the young editor knocking on the side of the doorframe.