At Your Request (Apart from the Crowd 0.5)(13)
Just when her entire body began tingling in a most delicious fashion, a blast of cold air swirled around them, the unexpectedness of it having her pulling her lips from Edgar’s.
Swiveling around on the bench, every tingle she’d been feeling disappeared as dread settled over her when she caught sight of Mrs. Travers marching her way.
To Wilhelmina’s concern, the lady was not alone but was accompanied by two ladies, both of whom were dusted with snow and one of whom turned out to be Miss Permilia Griswold.
Miss Griswold, Wilhelmina couldn’t help but notice, was in the process of sending looks of extreme annoyance to the other young lady, that annoyance, for some odd reason, calming a bit of the dread that had taken to sinking into Wilhelmina’s very bones.
Coming to a stop a few feet away from where Wilhelmina was sitting, Mrs. Travers lifted her chin and folded her arms over her chest.
“I was hoping Miss Lucy Webster,” Mrs. Travers began, nodding to the young lady standing beside her, a young lady Wilhelmina realized must be Miss Griswold’s stepsister, “was mistaken when she sought me out and whispered that she’d seen you disappear with Mr. Wanamaker, but . . . clearly that is not the case. So . . . explain yourself, Miss Radcliff.”
“Ah . . . well, you see . . .”
“I’ll take it from here, darling,” Edgar said, moving a step away from the bench he’d risen from the moment Mrs. Travers had marched into the room. Presenting Mrs. Travers with a bow, he straightened. “Allow me to assure you, Mrs. Travers, that there is absolutely nothing untoward transpiring at the moment. In fact, it is my great pleasure to disclose to you that, right in the midst of your delightful ball, Miss Wilhelmina Radcliff has finally agreed to become . . . my wife.”
Chapter
Five
“Ah, darling, how wonderful that you’ve finally decided to grace me with your delightful presence. One would have thought you might have considered seeking me out earlier, what with all the questions you left me with after our little talk we shared late last night.”
Handing his heavy greatcoat to Mr. Hodges, the family butler, Edgar lifted his head and set his sights on his mother, Nora Wanamaker.
Curiously enough, he found her sitting smack-dab in the middle of the entranceway with a shawl wrapped around her shoulders. The chair she was sitting in was one that normally resided in the drawing room, as was the small table that was right beside the chair, and the fact that her slipper-clad feet were resting on a small pouf of a footstool had him struggling to swallow a laugh.
“I do beg your pardon, Mother,” he began, wiping his feet on the entranceway mat before walking in her direction. “I’m afraid the weather is beyond dreadful today, so it took me longer than expected to take care of business around the city this morning. However, foul weather aside, you haven’t been sitting here long, have you?” he asked, leaning down to place a kiss on his mother’s upturned cheek.
After he straightened, Nora immediately took to consulting a small watch pinned to the underside of her sleeve. “I’ve been waiting here for exactly two hours and forty-seven minutes.”
“Why in the world wouldn’t you have simply waited for me in the drawing room, where I’m sure there’s a roaring fire in the fireplace and a lovely view of the snow-covered trees from the windows?”
“And chance missing you again?” Nora folded her hands primly in her lap. “I think not. After returning home from the ball, you, my dear boy, were unsatisfactorily vague about where matters stood with Wilhelmina. Because of that, I’m sorry to say that I eventually came to the conclusion that you might very well try your hand at avoidance tactics—your goal with that being, of course, to avoid me.”
A scraping noise distracted Edgar from the slightly concerning conversation he was sharing with his mother. Turning, he discovered Mr. Hodges dragging a chair—one that matched the chair his mother was sitting in—across the entranceway. Angling it exactly so, Mr. Hodges gestured Edgar toward it.
Not caring to disappoint the butler who’d taken to moping his brow with a handkerchief—the exertion from the dragging apparently having been a bit much for the man—Edgar settled into the chair and accepted the cup of tea his mother poured for him from a silver pot resting on her small table. Taking a sip, he regarded his mother and Mr. Hodges, refusing to sigh when they took to watching him in what could only be described as an anticipatory way.
“What do you think?” Nora asked when he lowered the cup.
“About your suspicious nature, or . . . something else?”
“The tea, dear,” she said with a sniff. “I don’t possess a suspicious nature.”
“Of course you don’t, especially given the unusual occurrence of you taking up a position in the entranceway.”
He thought he heard his mother mutter something about “Daunting circumstances call for unusual methods” before she tugged the shawl more snuggly around herself. “The entranceway suits me this morning.” She lifted her nose in the air. “But returning to the tea . . . ?”
Taking another sip of tea, he smiled. “It’s excellent as I’m certain you already know.”
Nora picked up her own cup and saluted him with it. “Your friend Mr. Asher Rutherford sent the tea to me the other day, seeking my opinion about the blend before he makes a firm decision on whether or not to stock it in his charming shop.” Her eyes turned rather distant. “Asher is such a dear, sweet boy, one whom I have to imagine never gives his mother a second of trouble.”