by Turano, Jen
Turning back to Edgar, Wilhelmina arched a brow. “Did I hear correctly about something regarding a proper proposal?”
Edgar smiled a little sheepishly. “This wasn’t exactly how I pictured it, me sitting on a frozen lake of incredibly cold ice with seemingly half of New York society skating around us.”
Disappointment was swift and evidently showed on her face, because the next thing she knew, Edgar was leaning closer to her, his eyes suddenly holding that certain something she’d seen the night before at the ball, something that had her toes curling.
“Would it be completely untoward of me to voice a proposal this very minute?” he asked.
“Are you going to do so simply because a marriage between us is now expected, given that Mrs. Travers discovered us alone together?” Wilhelmina asked in voice that had turned slightly breathless.
“Absolutely not.”
“Then why are you so determined to marry me?” She couldn’t resist asking, even though she was beginning to come to her own conclusion regarding that, a conclusion that left her feeling distinctly light-headed.
“I believe it might have something to do with the fact I love you, and . . . something to do with the fact that I know you’re the only woman I’ve ever loved, and will ever love, so . . .” Edgar paused and sent her a small smile. “Please put me out of my misery and finally agree to become my wife.”
For a second, as her breath got caught in her throat, she could only stare at the gentleman who’d always been her very dearest friend, and evidently wanted to become an even dearer friend—albeit one known as her husband—for the rest of her days. Leaning in toward him, she smiled. “You do realize that I would have agreed to marry you even if you hadn’t solved the mystery of the missing fleet, don’t you?”
He traced a lazy finger down her cheek as his smile turned into a grin. “I would have investigated the matter even if I thought you wouldn’t accept my proposal, but . . .” He suddenly stopped smiling. “Wait a minute. Did you just agree to marry me?”
“I did, although . . . I do have some . . . conditions.”
“You have . . . conditions?”
She couldn’t help but grin at the incredulous look crossing his face. “They’re not difficult conditions, Edgar, and in all honesty, there’s only one.”
“And . . . ?”
“I think we should enjoy a long engagement, especially because it’s been seven years since you’ve been in my company for any significant amount of time. It could turn out that you don’t care for me as much as you think you do, and . . . while I don’t care to dwell on how miserable that would make me, it still needs to be a consideration.”
“I distinctly remember professing my love for you just a few short minutes ago,” Edgar said slowly.
“And while I distinctly remember you professing your love for me, something I assure you I’ll never forget, it wouldn’t hurt to enjoy a long engagement. Although . . .” Her eyes widened. “Good heavens, Edgar, I do beg your pardon. I’ve just now recalled that I have yet to profess my feelings for you, although I would imagine you’ve already figured out that I love you as well.”
“You . . . love me?” Edgar asked.
Wilhelmina smiled. “I readily admit that I do, although it certainly took me long enough to realize that what I’ve always felt for you is love of the deepest sort.”
“At least you finally did.”
“Indeed.”
Edgar leaned closer to her. “Very well, I will agree to your condition, but only if you’ll clarify what you consider to be a reasonable amount of time to get to know each other again, and if I agree that it’s not too long.”
“Hmm . . .” Wilhelmina began. “What about six months?”
“What about three?”
Without the least little hesitation, she nodded. “Done.” And then, before he could negotiate further, and even with the throngs of skaters circling them, Wilhelmina leaned forward, placed her lips on his, and found herself more than content with the idea that she’d be free to kiss his lips anytime she wanted to for the rest of their lives.
Epilogue
THREE WEEKS LATER
“I’m simply thrilled you permitted me the honor, my dear Wilhelmina, of hosting the ball that will formally allow society to know you’ve accepted Edgar’s proposal of marriage.”
Smiling, Wilhelmina turned to Nora Wanamaker, unable to resist the urge to lean in and kiss her soon to be mother-in-law’s cheek.
“I wouldn’t have had it any other way,” Wilhelmina said. “And allow me to say, while you and I are waiting for additional guests to arrive, that I’m delighted you’re no longer put out with me, and . . . delighted to learn that you’ve been secretly holding out hope that Edgar and I would someday find our way back to each other.”
“I’ve spent a good deal of time at church, praying over that particular hope,” Nora said with a smile of her own before she nodded to where Wilhelmina’s father was standing at the end of the receiving line. “It’s wonderful to see your father out and about. I was afraid he wouldn’t be well enough to join the festivities tonight.”
Wilhelmina turned her attention to her father, who was still forced to use a cane, although the air of moroseness that had been settled around him for the past two years was nowhere to be found.
Switching her gaze to her mother, who was standing directly beside her father, Wilhelmina smiled over the fact that her mother no longer looked as if she carried the weight of the world on her slender shoulders. That look had disappeared almost the moment she’d learned that Wilhelmina was marrying Edgar and learned that her days of being a pauper were over.
“My parents did not do well with the whole being-poor notion,” Wilhelmina said right as Edgar touched her sleeve, drawing her attention. Her smile immediately turned into a grin when she found Permilia standing beside Edgar.
“I’m so delighted you could make it,” Wilhelmina said, leaning forward to accept Permilia’s kiss on her cheek.
“Of course I made it,” Permilia returned before she lowered her voice to a mere whisper. “And while I would normally make the claim that this is certain to be the event of the season, I’ve recently learned that Alva Vanderbilt has let it be known she’s going to host a spectacular costume ball in that new mansion of hers on Fifth Avenue—a ball in March, no less, after the season is officially over.” She let out a bit of a sigh. “Since I’m very much afraid Alva is going to do her very best to make sure her ball will be spoken about a hundred years from now, I do hope you won’t be disappointed when everyone discontinues talking about this ball.”
“That won’t bother me in the least, since I’m more concerned with marrying Edgar than making an impression on society, but . . .” Wilhelmina leaned closer and dropped her voice to a whisper quite like Permilia had only recently done. “How did you learn about Alva Vanderbilt’s ball?”
“I have my ways,” Permilia said rather mysteriously. “Now then, since I don’t want to monopolize your time, I’ll leave you to your other guests, but do make certain to come find me when you’re done with the receiving line.” She winked. “I’ll be one of the ladies lounging in the wallflower section.”
Before Wilhelmina could respond, Permilia glided away, leaving Wilhelmina to face Miss Lucy Webster, Permilia’s stepsister and the young lady who’d been responsible for Edgar proposing in the first place. Swallowing a laugh when Miss Webster took to gushing about what a lovely couple Wilhelmina and Edgar made, Wilhelmina threw herself back into the process of extending the proper pleasantries to the guests who followed after Miss Webster.
Blowing out a satisfied breath an hour later, when she finished greeting the last guest, she turned to Edgar again.
“Do you mind if I go off to speak with Permilia and the rest of the wallflowers for a bit?” she asked.
Edgar smiled, kissed her cheek, and shooed her away, saying something about searching out Mr. Rutherford to enjoy a celebratory toast.
Making
her way through the crowded house, Wilhelmina discovered that she wasn’t in the least upset to be leaving the social world of New York City behind. She and Edgar had agreed that with his mills being where they were, it would make more sense to live in Pittsburgh. Even though society had wholeheartedly accepted her with open arms after it had become known her father’s fortune was being restored, and that she was soon to become Mrs. Edgar Wanamaker, Wilhelmina had discovered that the New York social world no longer appealed to her as it once had done.
Coming to a stop when she reached the back wall of the ballroom, she simply stood there for a moment, watching Permilia, Miss Gertrude Cadwalader, Miss Temperance Flowerdew, and a few other young ladies she didn’t know well, chat with each other—although Miss Flowerdew seemed content with merely listening.
The mere idea that the wallflowers were engaged with each other was an enormous change from just a few weeks before, and that warmed Wilhelmina all the way down to the tips of her toes.
Lifting her chin, she moved to join the group, knowing without a shadow of a doubt that these wallflowers, all of whom society had relegated to the sidelines, were soon to break free from those sidelines and hopefully claim their happily-ever-after just as she’d been able to do.
She couldn’t wait to see how they went about accomplishing exactly that.
Keep reading for a special sample of Behind the Scenes by Jen Turano.
Chapter
One
MARCH 1883—NEW YORK CITY
Pressing her nose against the glass of the carriage window, Miss Permilia Griswold felt her stomach begin to churn as she took note of the throngs of people lining Fifth Avenue. Even though darkness had descended over the city hours before, the lure of witnessing New York society trundling down the street in their fancy carriages, on their way to Mr. and Mrs. William K. Vanderbilt’s costume ball, was apparently enough of a spectacle to keep people out and about on a chilly spring night.
That her father’s carriage was still blocks away from their destination of 660 Fifth Avenue and yet crowds were pressed three deep in and around the sidewalk, gave clear testimony to the importance of this particular ball and to the interest New Yorkers had for its highest society members.
Even though Permilia was included on the invitation list for the most important societal events in the city, she’d not grown up within the cosseted inner circles of society, which exactly explained why her stomach was churning.
She was uncomfortable in social situations, had yet to master all the rules that went with being a member of New York society, and . . .
“You’re fogging up the window, Permilia, which is obscuring my view and making all the people outside our carriage appear to be little more than ghosts wobbling about. It’s a most unnerving sight.”
Tearing her attention away from a crowd she could see perfectly fine through the merest trace of fog on the window, Permilia settled it on her stepmother, Ida Griswold. “Forgive me, stepmother. That was most inconsiderate of me.” Turning back to the window, Permilia began swiping at the mist with a gloved hand, stopping midswipe when Ida suddenly took to tsking.
“A lady must never use her glove in such a common fashion,” Ida said, her words having Permilia’s hand dropping into her lap. “And”—Ida’s gaze swept over Permilia’s form—“you’ve taken to slouching again. On my word, if you’d simply remember to maintain a proper posture at all times, I’m quite certain you wouldn’t find yourself cast in the troubling role of wallflower season after season.”
Swallowing the sigh she longed to emit, Permilia forced a smile instead. “Contrary to the prevalent thought of the day, I’m not a lady who feels as if my life has been ruined simply because I’ve obtained the somewhat undesirable label of wallflower.”
“Of course your life has been ruined,” Ida countered. “You’re twenty-something years old, have never taken within society, nor have you ever attracted the devotion of a gentleman. Why, even your own stepsister doesn’t care to spend time in your company.”
“I believe that has more to do with the fact that Lucy and I have nothing in common than my tendency to slouch upon occasion.” Permilia switched her gaze to her stepsister, Miss Lucy Webster, who was sitting ramrod straight on the seat opposite her, staunchly ignoring the conversation as she waved to the crowds gathered along the street.
Leaning forward, Permilia looked out the window Lucy sat beside. The crowd on Lucy’s side of the street was obviously enjoying Lucy’s waves, given the cheers they were sending her stepsister’s way. Permilia couldn’t say she blamed them for their enthusiasm.
Lucy had been chosen to perform in one of the many quadrilles Alva Vanderbilt had planned for the evening. And because Lucy was to be in the Mother Goose Quadrille, she was dressed to perfection as Little Bo Peep and looked absolutely delightful. Her honey-colored curls peeked out from under her cap, and her figure was shown to advantage with the low-cut neckline of her gown, her rather bountiful charms accentuated by the diamond necklace she was wearing. That Lucy had perfected a royal wave, moving her hand back and forth exactly so, had the corners of Permilia’s lips curving up.
“It is such a shame that your father is still out of the city and couldn’t attend this ball, dear,” Ida continued. “He would have enjoyed seeing you looking so well turned out tonight.”
Permilia’s lips stopped curving at once as she settled back against the carriage seat. “I may have a propensity to slouch upon occasion, stepmother, and to not adhere to every society rule, but even you must admit that I’m always well turned out. Modesty aside, I do believe I possess a distinct flare for fashion.”
Lucy immediately stopped her waving. Turning a head that sat on a remarkably graceful neck, she pinned Permilia beneath the glare of an emerald-green eye. “How can you make the claim that you’re always well turned out? You purchase your clothing from stores that cater to working women and have less than desirable locations.”
“True,” Permilia said with a nod, the motion setting the large diamond tiara Ida had insisted she wear shifting around on her head. “But there’s absolutely nothing wrong with the fashions I find in those shops. Truth be told, I enjoy shopping in out-of-the-way places, searching for designs that have a unique style. Besides, the owners of those shops need my money far more than the owners of the fashionable shops do. I, for one, am proud of the fact I have an eye for thrift.”
She gestured to the sparkling white gown she was wearing, one that had tiny paste jewels sewn throughout the folds of the fabric, lending the garment an icy appearance. “My snow-queen ensemble was designed by an innovative woman who works in a little shop in a slightly questionable part of the city. And while I did pay Miss Betsy Miller a rather dear amount for my gown, as well as for the fur muff I had her design to complement the gown, the price I paid would have doubled if I’d sought out the services of a more esteemed establishment.”
“Not patronizing the tried-and-true establishments of society is considered beyond peculiar, and that right there is exactly why you haven’t taken with the fashionable set,” Lucy argued. “Your father, my stepfather, is one of the wealthiest gentlemen in the country, which means you have absolutely no reason to be frugal. It’s downright embarrassing when you’re seen lurking around the poorer sections of town, and it lends clear credence to the idea that you’re undeniably odd.”
Permilia lifted her chin. “Simply because one comes from wealth does not mean one should abandon their thrifty principles. Besides, Miss Miller, the woman I hired to create my costume, needed the funds she earned from me because her rent was past due and she was worried about being kicked out on the street.”
Lucy’s mouth gaped. “You had a conversation with this woman?”
“Of course I did. It’s always seemed rather silly to me to be standing around having your measurements taken while not enjoying the company of the woman taking those measurements.”
Permilia lifted her chin another notch. “And before you dissolve in
to a fit of hysterics—something your expression clearly suggests you’re about to do—know that I have no intention of abandoning my habit of speaking with whomever I choose. Furthermore, I also have no intention of abandoning my frugal ways, even if those ways embarrass you upon occasion.”
Lucy’s forehead puckered. “Your oddness is exactly why I have yet to acquire a suitable offer of marriage. I have no idea why you have to continue on with your stingy and peculiar attitude when that attitude is ruining my life.”
“You’ve been extended five completely acceptable offers since you made your debut two years ago,” Permilia shot back. “And since you and I barely acknowledge one another when we’re out and about in society, I really don’t understand how you can claim that I’m the one ruining your life. If you ask me, your disenchantment with the gentlemen who’ve cast their attention your way has more to do with your air of displeasure toward life in general, which, in my humble opinion, is a direct result of your unfortunate sense of entitlement and a condescending attit—”
“That will be quite enough, Permilia,” Ida interrupted. “As is so often the case when we’re trying to gently point out some of your more glaring faults, you immediately try to misdirect the conversation by throwing nasty accusations Lucy’s way. She, I must say, has just made a most valid point regarding your position on wealth.”
Ida began fiddling with a diamond bracelet that encircled her gloved wrist. “Possessing abundant wealth is not meant to be a burden, but meant to be fully enjoyed. Surely you must realize that by clinging to your parsimonious ways, while doing absolutely nothing to hide those ways, you’re sabotaging any slight chance you may still have to take within society. You also diminish the chances of attracting the notice of a suitable gentleman, something your father hopes may still happen.”