“Unfortunately, he was behaving exactly how a gentleman behaves when one needs to marry an heiress, yet discovers that the heiress he had his eye on is no longer flush with funds,” Wilhelmina began. “While his behavior was beyond reprehensible, I assumed society would quickly conclude why he was behaving in such a reprehensible manner, and would subsequently readjust their thinking toward me.”
“Society isn’t known to be reasonable about these matters,” Miss Griswold said. “And society ladies are always incredibly keen to see a rival lady suffer a fall from grace. That right there is probably why no one paid much mind to the idea Mr. Holland is a fortune hunter who clearly lacks any sense of honor.”
Wilhelmina’s enjoyment in the evening suddenly took to improving. “How refreshing to speak with a lady with such a straightforward manner. But enough about my dreary situation. Weren’t you inquiring about the identity of someone?”
“I was indeed.” Miss Griswold raised a gloved hand and gestured toward some guests gathered around a refreshment table. “I’m curious about the identity of that gentleman over there. The one standing by Miss Kasson.”
Wilhelmina leaned to the left and peered through the crowd. “Oh, that’s Mr. Asher Rutherford, owner of the new department store that recently opened off of Broadway.”
“Not Mr. Rutherford. I know who he is. I was speaking about the gentleman right next to him, the one with the charming smile.”
Rising to her feet in order to get a better view, Wilhelmina craned her neck and then lost the ability to breathe when she got her first good glimpse of the gentleman Miss Griswold was inquiring about.
Looking incredibly dashing as he bent his head toward the oh-so-fashionable Miss Kasson was none other than Mr. Edgar Wanamaker—her best friend from childhood, and . . . the very first gentleman to ever offer her a proposal of marriage.
She and Edgar had met when they’d been little more than infants, that circumstance brought about because their parents owned adjacent summer cottages on Long Island. Wilhelmina had spent every childhood summer with Edgar by her side, enjoying the sandy beaches and chilly water of the Atlantic from the moment the sun rose in the morning until it set in the evening.
Even when Edgar had been away at school, being a few years older than Wilhelmina, they’d spent every possible minute they could with each other during the holidays.
He’d even made certain to be in the city the night of her debut ball, waiting for her at the bottom of her family’s Park Avenue mansion as she’d descended the grand staircase on her father’s arm. As she’d stepped to the highly polished parquet floor, she’d caught his gaze, the intensity of that gaze causing her heart to fill with fondness for her oldest and dearest friend.
That fondness, however, had disappeared a few hours later when Edgar had gone and ruined everything by asking her to marry him.
She’d been all of seventeen years old the night of her debut—seventeen years old with the world spread out at her feet. Add in the notion that the whispers stirring around the ballroom were claiming she was destined to be a diamond of the first water, and the last thing she’d wanted that particular evening was a marriage proposal extended to her from her very best friend.
Edgar, no matter the affection she held for him, was only a second son. Paired with the pesky fact he’d had no idea as to what he’d wanted to do with the rest of his life—except, evidently, to marry her—and she’d been less than impressed by his offer.
What she had been impressed with that night, though, was the idea that she’d had very influential gentlemen vying for her attention from the moment her beaded slippers had touched the ballroom floor. Because of that, a second son had not seemed very appealing to her—no matter that Edgar had been her dearest friend forever.
To say she regretted the cavalier manner in which she’d treated Edgar that night was an understatement. She’d wanted more than anything to make matters right between them, especially after she’d matured a bit and realized she’d been a complete ninny where he’d been concerned. However, because Edgar had made himself scarce ever since she’d rejected his offer, she’d never been given the opportunity to beg his pardon.
Dismay suddenly flowed over her as the thought sprang to mind that the very last place she wanted to finally speak with Edgar again was in the midst of a ball, especially a ball where she was sitting in the wallflower section.
Without allowing herself a moment to contemplate the matter further, she surged into motion, scooting around the first row of chairs and plopping to the floor directly behind Miss Griswold and right in between two young ladies, neither of whom Wilhelmina had ever been introduced to.
“Pretend I’m not here,” she whispered to a young lady sporting a most unfortunate hairstyle, who looked down at her as if she’d lost her mind.
The young lady blinked right before she smiled. “That might be a little difficult, Miss Radcliff, especially since you’re sitting on my feet.”
“Goodness, am I really?” Wilhelmina asked, scooting off the feet in question even as she pushed aside a bit of ivory chiffon that made up the young lady’s skirt.