At Your Request (Apart from the Crowd 0.5)(3)
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.
“Shall we assume you’re hiding from someone?” the young lady pressed.
“Indeed, but . . . don’t look over at the refreshment table. That might draw unwanted notice.”
Unfortunately, that warning immediately had the young lady craning her neck, while the other young lady sat forward, peering over Miss Griswold’s shoulder in an apparent effort to get a better view of the refreshment table.
“Who are you hiding from?” Miss Griswold asked out of the corner of her mouth, having the good sense to keep her attention front and center.
“Mr. Edgar Wanamaker, the gentleman you were inquiring about,” Wilhelmina admitted.
“Mr. Wanamaker’s here?” the young lady with the unfortunate hairstyle repeated as she actually stood up and edged around Wilhelmina, stepping on Wilhelmina’s hand in the process. “Is he the gentleman with the dark hair and . . . goodness . . . very broad shoulders . . . and the one now looking our way? Why, I heard earlier this evening that he’s returned to town with a fortune at his disposal—a fortune that, rumor has it, is certain to turn from respectable to impressive in the not too distant future.”
“You don’t say,” Wilhelmina muttered as she tried to tug her hand out from underneath the lady’s shoe.
“Miss Cadwalader, you’re grinding poor Miss Radcliff’s hand into the floor.”
Looking up, Wilhelmina stopped her tugging as she met the gaze of the other young lady sitting in the second row of the wallflower section, a lady who was looking somewhat appalled by the fact she’d apparently spoken those words out loud. Without saying another word, the lady rose to her feet, shook out the folds of a gown that was several seasons out of date, whispered something regarding not wanting to be involved in any shenanigans, and then dashed straightaway.
“I wasn’t aware Miss Flowerdew was even capable of speech,” the lady still standing on Wilhelmina’s hand said before she suddenly seemed to realize that she was, indeed, grinding Wilhelmina’s hand into the ground. Jumping to the left, she sent Wilhelmina a bit of a strained smile. “Do forgive me, Miss Radcliff. I fear with all the intrigue occurring at the moment, paired with hearing Miss Flowerdew string an entire sentence together, well, I evidently quite lost my head and simply didn’t notice I was standing on you.”