Behind the Scenes Read online

  When he reached the other side of the gymnasium, however, his plan came to a rather abrupt end when he was waylaid by a charming young lady dressed as a lady-in-waiting to Marie Antoinette.

  Being a gentleman who firmly believed manners were what made a man, Asher took the arm of Miss Claudia Lukemeyer, strolling with her across the gymnasium as she chatted about everything under the sun. After they’d been strolling for a good few minutes, she finally broached the purpose for her seeking him out—that purpose being she desired his company as an escort for the dinner that was to be served at two in the morning.

  Since he’d not yet promised to escort a lady in to dine, Asher took a moment to assure Miss Lukemeyer that he’d be honored to dine with her, earning a charming smile from her in response. Then, after adding his name to the dance card dangling from her wrist, promising to partner her in the Ticklish Water Polka, he delivered her directly into the midst of a gathering of her friends, promising her he’d join her in the ballroom when it was time for their scheduled dance.

  Dodging the numerous quadrille dancers who were lining up to go down to the ballroom in order to begin their performances, Asher made it to the middle of the room before his plans for tracking down Miss Griswold were interrupted yet again by another young lady. This young lady, Miss Stillwater, was a long-time acquaintance of his who spent an exorbitant amount of money in his store. The fact that Miss Stillwater was friends with exactly the right people in the city made her a lady impossible for Asher to ignore, even if her attitude was far more acerbic than he enjoyed.

  Taking hold of Asher’s arm with a gloved hand covered in diamond bracelets, Miss Stillwater pulled him over to a group of fashionable New Yorkers, all of whom greeted Asher cheerfully and all of whom launched into a barrage of questions, wanting to know the true story behind the falling pillar and Asher saving a woman from certain death.

  After putting to rest some rather outlandish ideas regarding why the pillar had fallen, the most outlandish of those ideas being a cloak-and-dagger murder plot with some unknown guest as the intended victim, Asher finished his story by assuring everyone that Miss Griswold had not suffered any life-threatening injuries and was fully expecting to enjoy all the festivities the evening had to offer.

  That remark, unfortunately, started a completely different conversation, one that had all of the ladies contemplating exactly what enjoyment a wallflower could have at a society event.

  “I do believe, my friends,” Miss Stillwater drawled, “that we may soon have an answer to that particular question since it does seem as if two wallflowers are even now heading our way.” Her lips curled. “Shall I do the honors and ask them to join us?”

  “That may very well be their intention, since they seem to be walking directly toward us in a determined manner,” another lady said as she took to waving her hand in front of her face, quite as if the mere thought of wallflowers joining them was enough to fluster her.

  As titters ran through the crowd surrounding him, Asher looked around and found that two ladies were, indeed, approaching them, both of whom were certainly not members of the fashionable set, and one of them he recognized as the lady who’d been the first to applaud his saving of Miss Griswold.

  Upon closer inspection, he recognized that lady as Miss Gertrude Cadwalader, a lady who often accompanied Mrs. Davenport, a wealthy society matron, to Rutherford & Company.

  Unwilling to allow the two wallflowers to approach without support while Miss Stillwater and her associates sent looks of amusement their way, Asher stepped forward, earning a hiss of disapproval from Miss Stillwater in the process, one he staunchly ignored. Stepping right up beside Miss Cadwalader, he took hold of her hand and brought her fingers to his lips.

  “Miss Cadwalader, how lovely to see you this evening, and may I say that your costume is most unique. Why, I don’t believe I’ve seen another soul dressed as a chicken.”

  Miss Cadwalader, to his very great surprise, sent him a cheeky grin even as she retrieved her hand. “I’m a peacock, Mr. Rutherford, not a chicken, although I’m not surprised you’re confused. Mrs. Davenport created the costume I’m wearing, but when she ruined all the peacock feathers she’d purchased by applying a wee bit more glue than was recommended, she learned that there were no more peacock feathers to be found in the city. That circumstance forced her to put her incredibly creative imagination to work—and I’m afraid chicken feathers are the result of that imagination.”

  “I’d forgotten Mrs. Davenport fancies herself a bit of a designer” was all Asher could think to say to that.

  Miss Cadwalader’s brow furrowed. “I thought she discussed her designs with you often, as in weekly, when she visits you at your store.”

  Asher’s brow furrowed as well. “Mrs. Davenport may have mentioned her designs a time or two over the past year or so, but . . . we certainly don’t discuss her ideas frequently.”

  Muttering something he didn’t quite catch under her breath, Miss Cadwalader squared her shoulders and sent him a faint smile. “Well, no need to worry about that now, Mr. Rutherford. Truth be told, Miss Flowerdew and I have purposefully sought you out because we need your assistance.” She tucked a broken feather that was drooping on the side of her head back behind her ear before she nodded to the lady accompanying her. “Have you ever been introduced to my friend, Miss Temperance Flowerdew?”

  “I’m afraid I’ve never had the pleasure.” Asher nodded to Miss Flowerdew, a young lady who was wearing a ratty-looking costume, apparently one that had once been worn by a real servant, given the grease stains attached to it. Reaching out a hand with the intention of placing a kiss on a glove that also seemed a bit stained, he stopped midreach when Miss Flowerdew suddenly thrust her hands behind her back even as she dipped into a graceful curtsy. Presenting Miss Flowerdew with a bow instead of trying to take a hand that was no longer available, he couldn’t help but notice that her cheeks were beginning to turn somewhat splotchy. Those splotches had him returning his attention to Miss Cadwalader in the hopes of sparing Miss Flowerdew additional discomfort.

  “You mentioned something about needing my assistance?”

  Miss Cadwalader nodded. “Indeed, although I willingly admit I’m not certain it was wise of me to approach you, given the questioning you’ll most definitely be in for after you return to your friends.” She glanced over his shoulder to the friends in question and gave a shudder.

  Knowing full well his exchange with Miss Cadwalader and Miss Flowerdew was being closely observed by Miss Stillwater, along with the society members with her, Asher didn’t bother to turn but kept his attention squarely centered on Miss Cadwalader, who’d begun to develop splotches quite like the ones Miss Flowerdew was sporting.

  Reaching out, he took hold of her hand and gave it a squeeze. “There’s no need to worry on my behalf, Miss Cadwalader. I assure you, I’m more than capable of dealing with my friends.”

  Sending him a look that held a great deal of skepticism, Miss Cadwalader lifted her chin. “Very well, but do know that I’m only seeking out your assistance because you saved Miss Griswold earlier, which has brought me to the conclusion that you, Mr. Rutherford, are a gentleman a lady can rely on to help if a situation demands an . . . intervention, if you will.”

  “Someone needs an intervention?”

  “Indeed, and not just any someone, but Miss Griswold again. She’s been cornered on the far side of the gymnasium by a man dressed as what I’m going to assume is some obscure literary figure, given the sheaf of papers he’s clutching, along with a pen, although I have no idea what literary figure he’s supposed to be.

  “Because Miss Griswold is not comfortable mingling or conversing with gentlemen of society—a circumstance that I blame her stepmother for, what with all the rule nonsense that woman is constantly throwing her stepdaughter’s way, along with a good dose of criticism—I’m afraid being cornered is not a situation Miss Griswold knows how to handle well.” She gave a sad shake of her head. “There�
�s no telling what might happen if someone—as in you—doesn’t intervene. At the very least, I would bet half of the chicken feathers that adorn my costume that Miss Griswold will inadvertently insult this unknown gentleman, causing her all sorts of trouble with that gentleman and with her stepmother in the process.”

  “Shall I assume time is of the essence, then?” he asked, extending Miss Cadwalader his arm. She immediately accepted the arm and nodded. He turned to offer his other arm to Miss Flowerdew but thought better of it when she began edging ever so discreetly away from him.

  Having apparently decided that the whole time-is-of-the-essence statement he’d made had definite merit to it, Miss Cadwalader pulled him into motion and across the ballroom floor at a pace that earned them a few raised brows, and left her a little winded if he wasn’t much mistaken.

  Finding himself on the opposite side of the gymnasium within a remarkably short period of time, he came to a stop a few feet away from where a gentleman had, indeed, cornered Miss Griswold.

  Temper he hadn’t been expecting slid over him when he took note of the clear trace of panic in Miss Griswold’s eyes. His temper increased when he realized that the gentleman, a man he wasn’t acquainted with, was crowding Miss Griswold so effectively that her back was actually pressed up against the wall behind her.

  Dropping his hold on Miss Cadwalader’s arm, he strode forward, edging his way directly between Miss Griswold and her obvious tormentor. Taking hold of her arm, he pulled her away from the wall and past the man he didn’t bother to acknowledge.

  “Are you all right?” he asked, steering her over to a corner that was devoid of guests, lending them some much-needed space.

  “I’m fine, Mr. Rutherford, just a little ruffled. I’m not used to such determined attention, you see.”

  “He didn’t harm you in any way, did he?”

  Her lips curved. “I’m not a lady who would allow a gentleman to physically harm me. And I’m perfectly capable of fending off unwanted advances, having learned how to defend myself through the diligent tutelage of numerous guards my father employed over the years. I simply thought that employing those defense strategies in the midst of a ball might be frowned upon by our esteemed hostess, Mrs. Vanderbilt.”

  “You were taught how to defend yourself?”

  “Indeed I was, although I do prefer using a pistol to my fists.” She smiled. “Pistols are far more effective, especially since one has only to brandish one to avoid most skirmishes.”

  He sent her what he knew had to be a weak attempt at a smile. “I suppose I should be thankful, then, that we’re in the midst of a ball and you have no pistol available to you, otherwise Mrs. Vanderbilt’s guests may have just witnessed a shooting.”

  “Why would you believe I don’t have a pistol with me at the moment?”

  Even though he was beyond curious as to where the lady had stashed a pistol, especially since it didn’t appear one was in her fur muff, given that it wasn’t an overly large muff and was currently stuffed with dance cards, Asher deemed it prudent to return to the conversation regarding the mysterious man who’d insinuated himself far too arrogantly into Miss Griswold’s company. “Did you happen to catch that gentleman’s name?”

  “He told me he was Mr. Rice, but”—Miss Griswold shook her head—“I got the most curious feeling he was lying about that.”

  “Too right he was,” Miss Cadwalader said as she rejoined them, stopping directly by Miss Griswold’s side. “That man is none other than a reporter from the New-York Tribune.”

  Miss Griswold blinked. “A . . . reporter?”

  “Shocking, I know,” Miss Cadwalader began. “Miss Flowerdew and I just happened upon my employer, Mrs. Davenport, who was in a dither because she recognized the man monopolizing you. She then disclosed to me that he’s a renowned reporter, sent out on missions that require a bit of stealth.”

  Miss Griswold’s brows drew together. “How in the world would Mrs. Davenport have access to that type of information?”

  Miss Cadwalader shrugged. “I’m not actually certain, although Mrs. Davenport has proven herself to be rather adept at knowing things of a slightly interesting nature. Because of that, I have no qualms believing that man is exactly the reporter Mrs. Davenport proclaimed him to be.”

  Looking around, Asher found the man they were discussing now edging up to a gathering of chatting ladies. “I do believe you’re right, Miss Cadwalader, especially since, now that you’ve pointed out the man’s occupation, I think he may very well have been the reporter the Tribune sent to Rutherford & Company to cover a story about the new tea shop I’m in the process of opening.”

  “But what is a reporter doing here at the Vanderbilt ball?” Miss Griswold pressed.

  “Mrs. Vanderbilt invited him, and he’s not the only one,” Miss Flowerdew said, speaking up for the first time.

  Asher, along with Miss Griswold and Miss Cadwalader, turned to Miss Flowerdew, who was now looking as if she might be regretting drawing attention to herself, given the two bright spots of color that were staining her cheeks again.

  “There are numerous reporters here tonight?” Miss Cadwalader asked.

  “I’m afraid so,” Miss Flowerdew said. “That right there is why I was cautioned by my cousin—who was cautioned by the well-respected society matron who introduced my family into New York society—that I needed to be on my best behavior tonight in order to spare my cousin’s family any undue embarrassment.”

  Miss Griswold stepped right up next to Miss Flowerdew. “Why would your cousin caution you about that?”

  “My cousin is very careful with the family reputation,” Miss Flowerdew began. “And rumor has it that the reporters who might be mingling around this ball are doing so in order to sniff out stories of a . . . scandalous nature.”

  “Good heavens,” Miss Cadwalader whispered, turning a rather sickly shade of green. “It’s no wonder Mrs. Davenport was in a dither if she learned that information as well. Honestly, if there truly are numerous reporters running amok, well, it could prove disastrous for . . .”

  She stopped talking and nodded all around. “If you’ll excuse me, I really do need to go have a chat with Mrs. Davenport before the ball officially starts and everyone gets distracted by all the dancing.”

  With that, she turned and hurried away, Miss Flowerdew following her a second later.

  “What in the world do you think that was about?” Asher asked Miss Griswold, the only lady left in his company.

  “I’m sure I have no idea. But if you’ll excuse me, Mr. Rutherford, I do believe the quadrille dancers are now beginning to make their way to the first floor, which means the ball is about to officially begin. My stepsister is to perform in the Mother Goose Quadrille, and I would hate to disappoint her by missing it.” With a curtsy, Miss Griswold began to head past him, sending him a quirk of an eyebrow when he reached out and stopped her progress by taking hold of her arm.

  “You haven’t allowed me to secure a dance with you yet,” he said, remembering the reason he’d been determined to seek her out again in the first place. “I noticed that Mrs. Vanderbilt is offering a Go-As-You-Please Quadrille after the special quadrilles have been performed, and I’d be honored if you’d agree to dance the first general dance with me this evening.”

  “While I appreciate the gesture, Mr. Rutherford, do know that there’s absolutely no need to offer to partner me.”

  Moving closer to her, Asher lowered his voice. “Are you unfamiliar with the steps of the Go-As-You-Please Quadrille?”

  To his surprise, Miss Griswold sent him an honest-to-goodness rolling of her eyes. “Come now, Mr. Rutherford, surely you must know that asking a lady if she’s deficient as a dancer is not proper in the least. But to answer your question, I’m somewhat familiar with the steps. If you must know, I was trying to give you a means to escape your obviously kind but somewhat rash offer, since I’m certain there are numerous ladies you’d much prefer to dance with.”

  �
��Why would you assume I don’t prefer to dance with you?”

  “I’m a wallflower, Mr. Rutherford. That means society finds me peculiar, an attitude you’ve witnessed firsthand since I recently charged directly out of your company with barely a by-your-leave. I know full well that fashionable society ladies don’t charge away, and you, my dear sir, are known to associate with only the most fashionable of ladies.”

  She looked out over the crowd before releasing just the tiniest sigh. “However, since you have honored me with your offer, and I’ve been told it’s considered churlish for a lady to refuse a dance, just one of the items my stepmother enjoys lecturing me about on a far too . . .” Her voice trailed away as her eyes widened before she . . . smiled.

  It wasn’t a sweet smile, nor was it a flirtatious one, but a smile more along the lines of a calculating one, something that had him taking a step away from her.

  Miss Griswold didn’t seem to notice as she stuck a hand in the muff, pulled out a dance card, looked it over, stuffed it back into the muff, and pulled out another one. Giving it a quick glance, she nodded and thrust it in his direction—but then drew it straight out of his reach before he had an opportunity to take it from her.

  “Before you sign your name to this card, you and I need to come to an understanding, or rather, you need to agree to a condition before I can agree to dance with you.”

  “You have a condition in order to accept a dance with me?”

  Miss Griswold nodded. “It’s not a difficult condition, and it’s not one you should reject out of hand, something your expression clearly suggests you’re considering.” She drew in a breath and quickly released it. “My stepmother, Mrs. Griswold, is becoming . . . annoying in regard to my lack of gentlemanly attention. So if you could find it in that heart of yours to agree to stroll ever so casually in front of her as we make our way to the dance floor, allowing her to see me in your company, I’d be ever so grateful. And if we could abandon the formality between us and begin to address each other by our given names, especially as we saunter slowly by my stepmother, I would be forever in your debt.”