At Your Request (Apart from the Crowd 0.5)(26)
Tearing her attention away from a crowd she could see perfectly fine through the merest trace of fog on the window, Permilia settled it on her stepmother, Ida Griswold. “Forgive me, stepmother. That was most inconsiderate of me.” Turning back to the window, Permilia began swiping at the mist with a gloved hand, stopping midswipe when Ida suddenly took to tsking.
“A lady must never use her glove in such a common fashion,” Ida said, her words having Permilia’s hand dropping into her lap. “And”—Ida’s gaze swept over Permilia’s form—“you’ve taken to slouching again. On my word, if you’d simply remember to maintain a proper posture at all times, I’m quite certain you wouldn’t find yourself cast in the troubling role of wallflower season after season.”
Swallowing the sigh she longed to emit, Permilia forced a smile instead. “Contrary to the prevalent thought of the day, I’m not a lady who feels as if my life has been ruined simply because I’ve obtained the somewhat undesirable label of wallflower.”
“Of course your life has been ruined,” Ida countered. “You’re twenty-something years old, have never taken within society, nor have you ever attracted the devotion of a gentleman. Why, even your own stepsister doesn’t care to spend time in your company.”
“I believe that has more to do with the fact that Lucy and I have nothing in common than my tendency to slouch upon occasion.” Permilia switched her gaze to her stepsister, Miss Lucy Webster, who was sitting ramrod straight on the seat opposite her, staunchly ignoring the conversation as she waved to the crowds gathered along the street.
Leaning forward, Permilia looked out the window Lucy sat beside. The crowd on Lucy’s side of the street was obviously enjoying Lucy’s waves, given the cheers they were sending her stepsister’s way. Permilia couldn’t say she blamed them for their enthusiasm.
Lucy had been chosen to perform in one of the many quadrilles Alva Vanderbilt had planned for the evening. And because Lucy was to be in the Mother Goose Quadrille, she was dressed to perfection as Little Bo Peep and looked absolutely delightful. Her honey-colored curls peeked out from under her cap, and her figure was shown to advantage with the low-cut neckline of her gown, her rather bountiful charms accentuated by the diamond necklace she was wearing. That Lucy had perfected a royal wave, moving her hand back and forth exactly so, had the corners of Permilia’s lips curving up.
“It is such a shame that your father is still out of the city and couldn’t attend this ball, dear,” Ida continued. “He would have enjoyed seeing you looking so well turned out tonight.”
Permilia’s lips stopped curving at once as she settled back against the carriage seat. “I may have a propensity to slouch upon occasion, stepmother, and to not adhere to every society rule, but even you must admit that I’m always well turned out. Modesty aside, I do believe I possess a distinct flare for fashion.”
Lucy immediately stopped her waving. Turning a head that sat on a remarkably graceful neck, she pinned Permilia beneath the glare of an emerald-green eye. “How can you make the claim that you’re always well turned out? You purchase your clothing from stores that cater to working women and have less than desirable locations.”
“True,” Permilia said with a nod, the motion setting the large diamond tiara Ida had insisted she wear shifting around on her head. “But there’s absolutely nothing wrong with the fashions I find in those shops. Truth be told, I enjoy shopping in out-of-the-way places, searching for designs that have a unique style. Besides, the owners of those shops need my money far more than the owners of the fashionable shops do. I, for one, am proud of the fact I have an eye for thrift.”
She gestured to the sparkling white gown she was wearing, one that had tiny paste jewels sewn throughout the folds of the fabric, lending the garment an icy appearance. “My snow-queen ensemble was designed by an innovative woman who works in a little shop in a slightly questionable part of the city. And while I did pay Miss Betsy Miller a rather dear amount for my gown, as well as for the fur muff I had her design to complement the gown, the price I paid would have doubled if I’d sought out the services of a more esteemed establishment.”
“Not patronizing the tried-and-true establishments of society is considered beyond peculiar, and that right there is exactly why you haven’t taken with the fashionable set,” Lucy argued. “Your father, my stepfather, is one of the wealthiest gentlemen in the country, which means you have absolutely no reason to be frugal. It’s downright embarrassing when you’re seen lurking around the poorer sections of town, and it lends clear credence to the idea that you’re undeniably odd.”
Permilia lifted her chin. “Simply because one comes from wealth does not mean one should abandon their thrifty principles. Besides, Miss Miller, the woman I hired to create my costume, needed the funds she earned from me because her rent was past due and she was worried about being kicked out on the street.”
Lucy’s mouth gaped. “You had a conversation with this woman?”
“Of course I did. It’s always seemed rather silly to me to be standing around having your measurements taken while not enjoying the company of the woman taking those measurements.”
Permilia lifted her chin another notch. “And before you dissolve into a fit of hysterics—something your expression clearly suggests you’re about to do—know that I have no intention of abandoning my habit of speaking with whomever I choose. Furthermore, I also have no intention of abandoning my frugal ways, even if those ways embarrass you upon occasion.”