At Your Request (Apart from the Crowd 0.5)(32)
To her dismay, the pillar turned out to be far heavier than she’d anticipated. As her feet began to slip out from underneath her, she called a warning to the guests closest to her, right before she completely lost her balance and slid to the floor. Lifting an arm to cover her face, she squeezed her eyes shut and braced herself for the pain that was certainly soon to come.
Chapter
Three
Pausing in the midst of a conversation he was enjoying with some delightful young ladies, all of whom had obtained their lady-in-waiting costumes from his store, Rutherford & Company, Mr. Asher Rutherford blinked as what could only be described as a catastrophe-in-the-making began to unfold right before his eyes.
A decorative pillar was teetering in a most concerning manner, the teetering sending some of the potted plants adorning the top of it tumbling to the ground.
As the first plant hit the marble floor, guests scattered every which way, but amidst all the scattering, a lady dressed in a shimmering gown of white suddenly darted out from behind a clump of ferns. To his disbelief, she charged right up to the pillar that was now tilting, not teetering, and placed a slim shoulder against it, one that certainly wasn’t strong enough to stop the disaster that was about to happen.
When her feet began sliding against the polished floor of the gymnasium, he immediately found the incentive to move, rushing forward and reaching the pillar right as the lady lost her balance. Meeting the falling pillar with a shoulder of his own, but one that was certainly broader than the lady’s, he shoved with all his might, sending the pillar on a different course, one that didn’t have it grinding anyone into the ground. When it hit the floor, it broke into numerous pieces, the sounds of the pieces tinkling across the marble floor overly loud in a room that had grown remarkably quiet.
Silence settled over the gymnasium as a few leaves from the potted plants drifted through the air, until a lady standing near him—one who was sporting a most unusual hairstyle and wearing, curiously enough, what appeared to be chicken feathers attached to a wide swath of her costume—began clapping enthusiastically as she beamed a bright smile his way, her actions having the entire room bursting into applause.
Being a gentleman who’d never been uncomfortable with attention, Asher smiled and presented the room with a bow. As the applause began to fade away, he directed his attention to the rash young lady who’d certainly had good intentions but had behaved in a manner at distinct odds with her innate feminine nature. That young lady was still lying on the ground, her face almost entirely hidden beneath a gloved hand.
Leaning toward her, he took in the sight of well-coifed red hair that was a most unusual shade, given that it was mixed with a good deal of gold, and . . . it was a shade he’d only seen on one lady before.
His smile dimmed ever so slightly as he realized that the lady stretched out on the floor in front of him was none other than Miss Permilia Griswold, a lady he wasn’t overly familiar with, but who evoked rather unusual emotions in him all the same.
Those emotions ranged from annoyance, exasperation, frustration, and even grudging respect—all of the emotions, curiously enough, having come about during the two times he’d found himself in her company.
The first time he’d spoken to her had been in Central Park, providing skates—at a price, of course—to the many New Yorkers who’d braved the elements in order to enjoy the beauty of a snow-blanketed day. Miss Griswold had arrived at the park in the company of Miss Wilhelmina Radcliff, recent fiancée to his very dear friend, Mr. Edgar Wanamaker. Before he’d been able to do more than greet Miss Radcliff, though, Miss Griswold had begun taking him to task over what she’d felt were inflated skate prices.
Being a gentleman who made it his business to know the worth of every object he sold—and the worth of the service he extended to his customers that went with that object—he’d found himself at a complete loss for words when first presented with Miss Griswold’s argument. He’d rallied quickly, though, when she’d begun haggling with him like a common fishmonger. But before he’d been able to claim a victory—and the exact amount of money he was asking for the skates—Miss Griswold had somehow won the day, handing him the exact amount of money she felt the skates were worth.
Before he’d had the presence of mind to protest, he was watching her stroll away, swinging her ill-gotten gains by their laces and whistling a far too cheery tune.
The second time he’d run across the oh-so-annoying Miss Griswold had been at Edgar Wanamaker and Wilhelmina Radcliff’s engagement ball. Asher had been determined to let bygones be bygones, but when he’d attempted a polite conversation with Miss Griswold—talking about fashion, which he’d always found to be a most innocent topic and one normal ladies seemed to enjoy—Miss Griswold had gotten her back up. She was clearly peeved that he’d had the audacity to question where she’d purchased her delightful gown, assuming that she’d had a renowned designer create it for her.
Sparks had practically flown out of Miss Griswold’s brilliant blue eyes as she’d lifted a well-formed chin. She’d then informed him in a frosty voice that she rarely frequented renowned designers, finding that they charged prices that were far too steep for her.
When he’d made the grave mistake of pointing out that her father was one of the richest men in America and therefore those costs needed not concern her, her cheeks had turned an agreeable shade of pink right before she’d turned on her heel and stomped away from him, returning a mere moment later to make some unexpected remark about the weather. She’d then muttered something about her stepmother and trying to remember all the rules, before she’d turned back around and left his company without another word.