At Your Request (Apart from the Crowd 0.5)(33)
Their conversation had been more than peculiar, but now, with the memory of how vocal Miss Griswold usually was around him fresh in his mind, Asher bent closer to her, his gaze sharpening on her inert form.
Because Miss Griswold was not emitting a single sound—a concerning situation if there ever was one—alarm immediately replaced the annoyance his memories had evoked.
Realizing he needed to get her out of the crowd circling around them, Asher bent over, scooped Miss Griswold into his arms, and straightening, letting out a grunt when she began flailing about in his arms, quite like a fish out of water. Taken by surprise, his hold on her slackened, and Miss Griswold tumbling right out of his arms and back onto the floor.
Kneeling beside her with an apology on the tip of his tongue, Asher leaned toward her . . . but reared back a mere second later when Miss Griswold pushed herself to a sitting position. The apology he’d been intending to make was all but forgotten as he watched her rub an elbow that would surely sport a bruise come morning before she lifted her chin, caught his eye, and blinked a time or two.
Bracing himself for the wrath to come, he was instead surprised when instead of taking him to task for dropping her so unchivalrously to the ground . . . she smiled at him.
Curiously enough, a smiling Miss Griswold was a lovely sight indeed, her smile having the unexpected result of lodging his breath in his throat, a circumstance that took him by complete—
“What a delightful surprise to discover that you, Mr. Rutherford, are the gentleman who saved me from a most gruesome death” were the first words to come out of Miss Griswold’s now rapidly moving mouth.
The warm sensation he’d begun to feel in regard to her lovely smile disappeared in a flash. “You’re surprised to discover I saved you?”
Miss Griswold gave a nod, the motion sending the large tiara she wore on her head listing to the left. “Indeed, especially since, as I was bracing myself to be crushed in a most horrible fashion, I found the presence of mind to ask for a touch of divine intervention, and . . . the good Lord above apparently sent you racing to my rescue.”
“You asked for a touch of divine intervention?”
She reached up and made short shrift of setting her tiara to rights. “I’m sure you would have done exactly that if you’d been facing a gruesome demise.”
“Perhaps, but . . .” He paused and caught her eye. “I must admit I can’t recall a single time anyone’s ever admitted to asking for divine intervention in the midst of a society event.”
Pursing her lips, she seemed to think about that for a long moment. “I suppose you’re right about that, Mr. Rutherford. But don’t you find it somewhat peculiar that when people gather, say, at church, matters of divine intervention are expected, but when they gather outside of places specifically relegated as places of worship, the topic of God or anything relating to Him seems to become rather uncomfortable?”
“I would imagine that’s because people are cautious, especially members of New York society, about offending those within their social circles. And talk of religion—along with politics, of course—can be a somewhat slippery slope to navigate.”
Miss Griswold’s eyes widened. “Ah, I imagine that’s exactly what my stepmother was trying to warn me about a month or so ago when we were discussing my appalling lack of conversation savviness.”
She leaned forward and lowered her voice. “You may very well find this to be surprising, but I’m apparently woefully deficient when it comes to conversing well with members of polite society. Truth be told, more often than not, I find myself completely tongue-tied whenever in the midst of the more fashionable set, and if I’m not tongue-tied, I seem to always broach a subject that would be best left not broached.”
Asher lowered his voice as well. “May I assume then, especially since I’ve not experienced the whole tongue-tied business when I’ve been in your company, that you don’t find me worthy to be considered a member of the fashionable set?”
“Don’t be absurd, Mr. Rutherford. You own what is certain to become the most fashionable store in the city. If you’re not considered a member of the fashionable set, I don’t know who is.”
With that, Miss Griswold pushed herself to her feet, seemingly unconcerned with the notion that young ladies were expected to allow a gentleman—if one was available, which he certainly was—to assist them to their feet after they’d taken a nasty plummet to the ground.
Deciding Miss Griswold would most certainly not appreciate recommendations of the etiquette sort, especially from him, the gentleman who was responsible for her nasty plummet to the ground the second time, Asher began rising to his feet as well. A second later, he found himself taken aback when Miss Griswold thrust a dainty hand his way, seemingly unconcerned yet again with the idea that ladies never, as in ever, initiated an act that would consist of them hauling a gentleman to his feet.
Not wanting to offend her, and also not wanting to draw more attention than they were already drawing, Asher took the hand and soon found himself standing right beside her.
“Quite frankly . . .” she began when he found his feet, “now that I consider the matter, it is rather curious that I’m able to speak freely with you.” With that, along with a nod, she began dusting him off in a remarkably no-nonsense sort of manner.
The feel of her hands brushing, patting, and smoothing him out took him by such surprise that he found himself at a complete loss for words. He simply stood still as a statue while she continued her dusting, finally finishing her task when she plucked a few leaves from the billowing sleeves of his costume.