“You want to know my boot size?” she asked somewhat weakly, even as she stuck a boot out from underneath the hem of her skirt to peruse it.
“Ah, that looks to be around a size six. So . . .” Mr. Rutherford turned from her, pulled out a glossy pink box, opened the lid, checked the skates inside, then turned and handed her the box. “These should fit just fine.”
Wilhelmina tried to give the box back to the gentleman, but he stuck his hands behind his back and simply wouldn’t take it.
“I’m not comfortable accepting these,” she said.
He smiled another charming smile. “Nonsense, there’s absolutely no reason for you to be uncomfortable about accepting a pair of skates from me. Especially since”—his smile, impossible as it seemed, turned even more charming—“Edgar already compensated me for those on the chance that you’d show up here at the park without a pair of skates. He wanted to make certain that you’d be able to enjoy a day on the ice.”
Wilhelmina’s eyes immediately filled with pesky tears once again, their appearance having Mr. Rutherford whipping a handkerchief from his pocket and pressing it into her hand. Snuffling into it, she managed to get out a word of thanks as Mr. Rutherford took to beaming back at her.
“I’m delighted to discover that Edgar has found himself such a sensitive young lady,” Mr. Rutherford said after Wilhelmina finished her snuffling. “And being a sensitive sort, I’m sure you’re anxious to seek Edgar out so the two of you might share a special moment over his considerate gesture. You’ll be able to make immediate use of the skates he provided for you since he’s currently to be found out on the ice, testing a new style of skates for me.”
Wilhelmina blinked. “I’ve never known Edgar to be what anyone could call proficient on the ice.”
“Which is why I’ve given him skates that sport two blades instead of one—a style that should see him finding more enjoyment in the whole skating business, since he shouldn’t spend as much time losing his balance.”
“I wouldn’t be so certain about that.”
Mr. Rutherford tilted his head and seemed to consider that for a long moment. “You might have a point. But do know that I didn’t send him off on the ice all by himself. He’s in the company of Mr. Harrison Sinclair, a gentleman possessed of a brawny figure and enough muscles to get Edgar pulled off the ice if he does have some difficulties with his skating.”
“I’m afraid I’m not familiar with a Mr. Sinclair. Is he new to the city?”
Curiously enough, Mr. Rutherford suddenly took to looking rather shifty. “Do forgive me, Miss Radcliff. I neglected to remember that the subject of Mr. Sinclair is a somewhat delicate one, especially since I’m not exactly certain what Edgar wants you to know about that particular man just yet.”
Chapter
Seven
Having no idea what she could possibly say to that, Wilhelmina found herself spared any response at all when Permilia suddenly appeared by her side. She was clutching one of the pink boxes to her chest but seemed to forget all about that box as she launched herself into the midst of Wilhelmina’s conversation.
“Honestly, Mr. Rutherford, don’t you realize that by speaking to Miss Radcliff in such a cryptic fashion, you’ve piqued her curiosity and probably left her believing the very worst about Mr. Sinclair.”
Permilia turned to Wilhelmina. “Mr. Sinclair, from what I’ve been told, is a shipping magnate who has increased the family fortune exponentially over the past decade. He rarely travels in the highest realms of society, though, given that his fortune is not the three-generations-old that Mrs. Astor claims makes one acceptable.”
Wilhelmina wrinkled her nose. “Is Mr. Sinclair known for shady business dealings?”
“Of course not,” Permilia returned. “He’s from a well-respected family—although I don’t believe they’re originally from New York—and his family members, besides being wealthy, are known to possess remarkably good looks. But that has nothing to do with the subject at hand.” She set her sights on Mr. Rutherford. “What business would Mr. Wanamaker possibly have with a shipping magnate?”
Mr. Rutherford crossed his arms over his chest. “As I said before, Edgar’s business with Mr. Sinclair is his business, and I’m not at liberty to divulge the particulars to you.”
“Fine,” Permilia began with a lift of her chin. “We’ll go track him down and get our answers straight from the source.” She thrust the pink box she was holding into Mr. Rutherford’s hands before she opened up her reticule and pulled out a fistful of coins. Counting them out very precisely, she stopped counting when she reached three dollars, sixty-two cents. Handing Mr. Rutherford the coins, she then took back the pink box, completely ignoring the scowl Mr. Rutherford was now sending her.
“This is not the amount of money I quoted you for the skates, Miss . . . ?”
“Miss Griswold,” Permilia supplied as she opened up the box and began rummaging through the thin paper that covered her skates.