Ida immediately began mumbling under her breath, something about a hopeless cause and she was at her wit’s end. When her mumbles finally trailed off, she set a determined eye on Permilia. “What was the conversation about the second time you spoke with Mr. Rutherford?”
“I must admit I find the idea that your friends are tattling on me fairly disturbing, but the only other time I can actually recall speaking with Mr. Rutherford was at Wilhelmina’s engagement ball. It was not a conversation that had much meat to it. In fact, if memory serves, I believe we spent some time discussing the weather—a subject that you’ve stressed is a perfectly acceptable topic for polite conversation.”
“You could have brought my name into your conversation,” Lucy chimed in. “Mr. Rutherford is certainly a gentleman I’d welcome receiving a proposal from.”
Permilia opened her mouth but was spared a response to that nonsense when the carriage began to slow to a stop.
Ida leaned forward, looked out the window, and drew back. “Smiles at the ready, my dears. We’ve reached Mrs. William K. Vanderbilt’s new home at last. Given that there appears to an entire swarm of curiosity seekers waiting to greet us—and take note of what we’re wearing, no doubt—we certainly shouldn’t disappoint them.”
Lucy raised a hand and adjusted her diamond necklace, situating the diamond pendant to better draw attention to her charms right before she lifted her head. “I’ll do my very best not to disappoint them, Mother.” With that, she slid across the seat right as the door opened. Taking the hand a groom extended her, Lucy hitched a charming smile into place and stepped out of the carriage in a flurry of satin and lace.
Holding up a hand that sufficiently stopped Permilia from scooting toward the door, Ida turned a stern eye on her. “I don’t mean to come across as a nag, dear, but do try to be friendly to the gentlemen tonight, especially Mr. Rutherford, if you happen to cross his path. Although, from the sound of it, you may have burned that particular bridge.”
“I have no interest in Mr. Rutherford, and besides, it sounded to me as if Lucy holds him in great esteem. It would hardly improve our sisterly relationship—or stepsisterly relationship, to be more exact—if I pursued a gentleman she desires.”
“A lady never pursues a gentleman,” Ida countered, her words at complete odds with the advice she’d just given Permilia. “As for Lucy and Mr. Rutherford . . . well, he has chosen to dirty his hands in trade, probably horrifying his dear mother in the process. Because of that—and because of the promise I made to my first husband before he died his tragic death concerning Lucy and her future prospects—she will only marry a gentleman who has no scandal tarnishing his name, one who truly upholds the Knickerbocker beliefs Lucy’s father held in such high regard.”
“Does Lucy know about that promise you made to your first husband?”
Ida looked a bit disconcerted before she lifted her chin. “As I was saying before we got distracted from the subject at hand, your father is very anxious to see you well settled, and this is the last society event of the season. You won’t have another opportunity to mingle with gentlemen until we travel to our cottage in Newport for the summer, and that’s ages away.”
She waved a hand Permilia’s way. “As I mentioned, you’re looking very well turned out tonight, so do try to take advantage of that, if only for your father’s sake. And remember, a smile can be a powerful weapon when it comes to attracting the attention of a gentleman. I suggest you put that advice to good use tonight, and hopefully, we’ll have good news to tell your father when he returns home at the end of the week.” With that, Ida scooted forward on the seat and stepped from the carriage.
Lingering behind, Permilia absently checked her fur muff, making certain the stash of dance cards she’d obtained—covertly, of course—from a Vanderbilt servant a few days before were still firmly tucked inside, along with numerous small pencils. Withdrawing her hand after she’d established that her supplies were in fine order, she began inching ever so slowly toward the door, not exactly certain she was anxious to face the crème of society who’d been invited to Alva Vanderbilt’s first society ball.
Her inching came to a stop, though, when Ida’s voice suddenly drifted through the open door. “Permilia, you’re trying my patience. Don’t make me come back in there and prod you along.”
Shoving aside the thought that her life had been far less complicated before she’d acquired a stepmother, Permilia headed for the door, knowing there was no help for it but to stumble through the evening as best she could.
Chapter
Two