Behind the Scenes Page 11

  Resisting the urge to groan when he realized what had come out of his mouth—although in his defense, he’d only spoken so rashly because he’d been taken by such surprise when she’d kicked him, Asher summoned up his most charming of smiles and directed it at Ida.

  “I forgot to mention to you earlier, Mrs. Griswold, how absolutely delightful I find your stepdaughter to be, and . . . she’s very well versed when speaking about the weather, something I’m sure you’ll be more than pleased to discover.”

  Permilia threw her hands up in the air, turned smartly around, and practically raced away from the table, muttering something about having had quite enough of this nonsense and that she was going home.

  “What an unusual woman your stepsister is, Miss Webster,” Miss Claudia Lukemeyer, the lady he was supposed to be enjoying a most excellent meal with, said with a sympathetic shake of her head Lucy’s way.

  “You have no idea,” Lucy said before she blotted her lips with her linen napkin and promptly threw herself back into a conversation with Mr. Slater, who didn’t seem at all concerned that the woman he was supposed to dine with had just disappeared, on shoeless feet, no less, intent on traveling home without the benefit of a chaperone or escort.

  Glancing to Ida, Asher frowned. “Forgive me, Mrs. Griswold, but should someone go after her?”

  Ida waved his concern aside. “My stepdaughter is a remarkably self-sufficient sort, Mr. Rutherford. She’ll be fine. Please . . .” She gestured to his seat. “The servers are waiting to serve our next course.”

  Distaste settled on his tongue. “I’m afraid I’ll have to miss the rest of the meal.” He moved to stand directly beside Miss Lukemeyer. “I do hope you’ll forgive me, Miss Lukemeyer, but I’m not comfortable allowing Miss Griswold to leave the ball unescorted.” He nodded to Mr. Slater. “Would you be so kind as to ascertain that Miss Lukemeyer is included in the conversation as all of you enjoy the rest of your meal?”

  “But of course,” Mr. Slater said, earning a smile from Miss Lukemeyer and a frown he missed from Lucy.

  “There’s really no need to go after her, Mr. Rutherford,” Ida said as she picked up her glass of wine and took a sip.

  “There’s every need.” Extending the table at large a nod, Asher turned and strode away, unable to disregard the discreet glances and rapidly moving lips that a few people were trying to hide behind their hands.

  Quite unused to being the subject of titillating gossip, he increased his pace, unable to help but wonder if this was what it felt like for Permilia and her fellow wallflowers on a nightly basis—unaccepted in all the right circles, but fodder for the gossips nevertheless.

  Dodging countless tables and servers as he made his way across the gymnasium floor, Asher finally reached the far side of the room but was interrupted from his pursuit of Permilia when Miss Stillwater stepped in his path.

  Taking hold of his arm, she tugged him over to a large fern and practically shoved him behind it. Placing her hands on her hips, she looked him over before giving a shake of her head.

  “What in the world has gotten into you tonight, Mr. Rutherford? I hate to be the bearer of sorry news, but you, my old friend, are currently the fodder for some rather salacious gossip.”

  “How odd for you to broach that matter right at this particular moment since I was just pondering the subject of gossip. Although I was thinking more along the lines of titillating gossip over salacious.”

  Miss Stillwater swatted him with her hand. “There really isn’t much of a difference, darling, but I thought you’d want to know that there are rumors spreading like wildfire that you’ve taken an interest in Miss Penelope Griswold.”

  “It’s Permilia Griswold.”

  She gave an airy wave of her hand. “It’s of little consequence to me what her name is, but what is of consequence to me is you, my friend. What could you have been thinking, spending a good portion of your time this evening with a wallflower, and . . . why in the world did she kick you?”

  “I didn’t realize anyone saw that.”

  “So it’s true?” Miss Stillwater demanded. “She really did kick you? I was hoping the gossips had it wrong.”

  “It was just in jest, Miss Stillwater.”

  A lift of a brow was Miss Stillwater’s only response to that.

  “It was,” he said. “I misunderstood something Miss Griswold said, and she kicked me in a very . . . friendly sort of way.”

  “You’re now claiming a friendship with her?”

  Asher frowned. “Is there a reason you believe I shouldn’t claim a friendship with Miss Griswold?”

  “She’s a wallflower.”

  “And you truly believe that is a sufficient reason to distance myself from her?”

  “If you want to remain part of the fashionable set, yes.”

  For the briefest of seconds, Asher thought about telling her he had no interest in remaining a part of the fashionable set, but sanity returned in the next second.

  His business depended on the generosity of the fashionable set, and he had too much at stake to blithely turn his back on people he’d considered friends for years. Dredging up a smile, he patted Miss Stillwater’s arm and then took hold of that arm and led her out from the ferns.

  “I do thank you for your concern, along with your counsel, of course. And do know that I’ll take every word you said into consideration as I move forward.”

  “Move forward and cease associating with Miss Griswold?” Miss Stillwater pressed.

  Asher kept the smile firmly on his face. “I’m a businessman at heart, Miss Stillwater. I don’t lightly discontinue my association with anyone, especially since such an action is never viewed in a favorable manner. Now then, if you’ll excuse me, I need to be off.”

  Miss Stillwater sucked in a sharp breath. “On my word, you’re fond of the girl.”

  “Since Miss Griswold is more than likely older than you, I believe girl might be a bit condescending, and yes, I am fond of her, as I am of most of my friends.” Removing Miss Stillwater’s arm from his as discreetly as possible, Asher took a step away from her. “I’m sure you and I will speak again soon, but I truly do need to go and find Miss Griswold. As I mentioned, we’ve suffered a misunderstanding that was entirely my fault—which means I, being a gentleman, need to seek her out and make amends.”

  Leaving Miss Stillwater looking more than a smidgen confused, Asher turned and headed for the grand staircase. Moving down the steps as quickly as possible, he slowed to a stop on the second-floor landing when his path was blocked yet again. This time he found himself waylaid by the lady dressed as Joan of Arc, a woman he was fairly certain was one of the reporters Mrs. Vanderbilt had allowed into her ball.

  “If you’re looking for Miss Griswold, she headed down that hallway a few minutes ago,” the lady said, pointing a hand that held a pen in the direction of a dimly lit hallway to Asher’s right.

  “Are you certain about that?”

  She smiled. “Indeed, especially since I was, er, keeping a close eye on her after she left the gymnasium.”

  “Miss Griswold told me you aren’t known to her.”

  “True, but Miss Griswold is now known to me. And I have to say, she’s a most interesting woman to watch, if one bothers to notice her, that is.”

  Asher took a step closer to the lady. “You’re not considering putting Miss Griswold in an article, are you?”

  Innocent eyes blinked back at him. “I’m sure I have no idea what you’re going on about, but . . . if I may make just the tiniest suggestion? I don’t believe guests are supposed to be in the part of the house Miss Griswold is probably visiting as we speak, which means unless you want to see her land in a concerning situation with the Vanderbilt butler, a man who, quite honestly, scares me half to death, I’d go and see about fetching her before she finds herself in trouble.”

  Not allowing Asher an opportunity to ask what she meant about the trouble business, the woman nodded toward the dimly lit hallway right bef
ore she dashed off down the stairs, her chainmail clinking as she dashed.

  Unable to help but wonder how his evening kept becoming more and more curious as it unfolded, Asher headed down the hallway, unease settling over him the farther he traveled with no sign of Permilia.

  Stepping around a corner, he breathed a sigh of relief when he finally caught sight of her heading directly toward him but with her attention focused the other way.

  “Imagine running across you in this particular section of the house,” he said.

  Letting out a yelp, Permilia stopped in her tracks and raised a hand to her throat. “Honestly, Asher, you just took a good ten years off of my life.”

  “Years you would still have at your disposal if you weren’t up to something interesting.”

  She released a snort and began walking again, staunchly ignoring the arm he held out to her as she drew nearer. “I’m not up to anything—well, except for trying to locate my lost shoe. Unfortunately, it was not where I know I lost it, which might, in all honesty, be a cause for some concern.”

  “I thought your shoe broke,” Asher said, falling into step beside her as she continued walking down the hallway.

  “Lucy said my shoe broke. I simply didn’t bother to correct her.”

  “Why didn’t you correct her?”

  Permilia shrugged. “It would have taken a great deal of effort, and it would have drawn unfortunate questions, questions I didn’t believe you’d care to have me address in front of everyone.”

  “Ah, I see we’re back to the whole someone-wants-me-dead business.”

  She blew out a breath. “I’ve heard that denial is often the first response to unpleasant news, but really, Asher, you’re going to have to accept the idea sooner or later. I would recommend sooner since it really did seem as if these men meant business, and business of the murderous type.”

  Asher reached out, took hold of her arm, and pulled her to a stop. “I’m not certain, since it’s just the two of us now, why you’re continuing on with this absurd story you’ve made up.”

  Permilia’s eyes flashed. “Do I strike you as the type of woman who would be prone to making up absurd stories?”

  “Well, no, but you also don’t strike me as a woman who’d be prone to abusing a poor man’s shin, but that didn’t seem to stop you from abusing mine earlier.”

  “As has been duly noted, I’m not wearing any shoes, so it’s highly unlikely I hurt you, but—” she bit her lip—“I will apologize for kicking you. I’ve never been prone to violence before, but . . . something about you just seems to bring it out in me.”

  The corners of his lips began to twitch. “Should I take that as a compliment?”

  “I don’t believe so.”

  “Very well, I’ll be on my guard from this point forward, but I do appreciate the apology, and accept it wholeheartedly.” He cleared his throat. “And in the spirit of the moment, I would like to extend you an apology as well, since it wasn’t well done of me at all to disclose something to your stepmother that you obviously meant to keep strictly between the two of us.”

  Permilia inclined her head. “Apology accepted, and at least you didn’t get around to disclosing what I said about Ida suggesting I try out my feminine wiles on you. That would have no doubt resulted in her swooning right on the spot, after she’d severed the tenuous ties we share as stepmother and stepdaughter, of course.” She blew out a breath. “I’m still not certain why you took what I said about your upcoming murder as being another attempt on my part to have you convince Ida you find me amusing.”

  “How else was I to take it?”

  Her lips thinned. “You should have taken it for what it was meant to be—a warning about a conversation I’d overheard about an imminent threat to your life.”

  Not having the faintest idea how he should respond to that, Asher settled on simply watching her for a long moment, the earnestness he discovered in her eyes doing much to convince him that she truly thought she’d overheard a conversation centered around his murder.

  Resisting the great urge he had to laugh, while finding himself charmed in spite of the absurdity of the situation because she did seem very concerned about his well-being, he took hold of her hand, giving it a good squeeze.

  “Surely you must realize that you simply misunderstood the conversation you overheard,” he began, wincing when Permilia took to looking furious with him again as she tugged her hand back.

  “I misunderstood nothing.”

  Asher leaned toward her. “Come now, Permilia. Don’t you find it somewhat difficult to believe that anyone would want me dead?”

  “Not at this particular moment.”

  He pretended he hadn’t heard her. “What I’m fairly certain happened is this—you walked in on a conversation that you misunderstood to be one revolving around a murder plot, but was clearly nothing of the sort.” He smiled. “If you approach this logically, as I’m sure you’re quite capable of doing, you’ll agree that it makes absolutely no sense for anyone to plan out a murder while in the midst of a ball. Why, balls are notorious for being filled with people, which . . .”

  “I didn’t walk in on the men planning your murder, Asher,” she interrupted. “They happened upon me when I was in a very remote part of this house, trying to track down Mrs. Davenport for Gertrude.”

  “Why would you have needed to track down Mrs. Davenport?”

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “Don’t think you can distract me, Asher. Mrs. Davenport has absolutely nothing to do with the true conversation at hand, which is, if you’ve forgotten, a plot that is currently brewing that centers around the desire to see you good and dead.”

  “Have you always been so dramatic?”

  Turning smartly around, she began marching down the hallway. “I’m not being dramatic.”

  Breaking into a very rapid stride in order to catch up with her, Asher frowned. “Explain, then, how you were able to get away from would-be murderers.”

  “If I’d had a choice in the matter, I would have simply waited until they’d completed their nasty conversation, but . . . Mrs. Davenport and her untimely sneeze put a rapid end to that plan.”

  The corners of his lips began to twitch again. “Of course there would be an untimely sneeze.”

  She stopped in her tracks. “I don’t appreciate you mocking me.”

  “I wasn’t mocking you,” he argued. “It was more along the lines of appreciating your apparent proficiency with weaving a thrilling story.”

  She stuck her nose straight in the air and began marching down the hallway again, not stopping or even looking at him until she reached the end of the hallway. Moving over to the grand staircase, she peered over the banister, perusing the surroundings below her.

  “May I dare hope the men wanting to murder me are lingering about?” he couldn’t resist asking.

  “I didn’t see the men,” she said, not bothering to look his way. “As I mentioned before you began making fun of me, Mrs. Davenport sneezed, which alerted the criminals to our location. In order to make our escape, we had to jump into a dumbwaiter and plummet our way to the kitchen, which is exactly how I ended up losing my shoe.”

  Asher found he was incapable of forming so much as a single word of response to that statement, but luckily, Permilia didn’t seem to expect a response, as she continued on with her wild tale.

  “It fell off my foot, you see, as I was stuffing myself into the dumbwaiter, but when I went back to that room just now, it was gone.” She bit her lip. “I do hope those men didn’t abscond with it, but”—her eyes grew wide—“it would be a definite clue for them to use to track me down.”

  “Why would they want to track you down?”

  “Because they obviously believe I can identify them, of course.” She froze in the act of bending over the banister. “Oh dear, it’s the Vanderbilt servant who saw Mrs. Davenport and me jump out of the dumbwaiter once it reached the kitchen. I’m afraid he didn’t seem to believe the story
Mrs. Davenport made up to explain what we were doing in the dumbwaiter.”

  Trying as hard as he could to swallow the laugh currently bubbling up in his throat, Asher found himself looking directly into Permilia’s eyes when she straightened and turned, apparently done with her perusing.

  “What?” she demanded, and that was all it took for him to lose the slight bit of control he’d had over his amusement.

  Laughter burst out of his mouth and continued for a long moment as everything she’d told him played again and again in his mind, especially the part about stuffing herself into a dumbwaiter, along with Mrs. Davenport, a society matron he couldn’t actually imagine participating in something so . . . ridiculous.

  Clutching his stomach when he began to get a stitch, he drew in a breath of much-needed air and wiped eyes that had begun to water. His last hiccup of amusement turned into something of a yelp, though, when Permilia drew back her leg and kicked him again, this time as if she truly meant it.

  Sobering as best he could, he found her shaking out the folds of her skirt right before she leveled a glare on him.

  “You’re an idiot. But even though you are an idiot, I do hope you’ll consider what I’ve said and proceed forward with at least a modicum of caution. I would so hate to read in those articles you apparently believe are not for ladies that you’ve met with a nasty demise.”

  Spinning around, she dashed straightaway, vanishing down the steps before he had the presence of mind to stop her.

  Chapter

  Eleven

  “I’ve never been one to frequently share my opinions with others, Asher, finding that most people truly don’t appreciate those opinions in the end. However, since you are one of my very closest friends, I fear it is my duty to tell you where you went horribly, horribly wrong two nights ago at the Vanderbilt ball.”

  Asher pulled back on the reins and brought his horse, Vagabond, out of his canter and into a walk. Turning in the saddle, he directed his attention toward a man he truly did consider a good friend, Mr. Harrison Sinclair.

  As was the case more often than not, it took a great deal of effort on Asher’s part to refrain from wincing as his gaze traveled over the man riding beside him.