At Your Request Quotes

“Miss Wilhelmina Radcliff was reluctantly coming to the unfortunate conclusion that there were absolutely no perks to be had when one obtained the unenviable title of wallflower. Taking”
― Jen Turano, At Your Request

“Squaring her shoulders after Permilia disappeared into the crowd, Wilhelmina began skating in Edgar’s direction. Coming to a stop a few feet away from him, she smiled when he looked up. That smile, unfortunately, turned to a wince a mere second later, when he tried to get to his feet and immediately took to flailing about. Before she could do more than blink, he was sprawled facedown on the ice. Skating up next to him, she bent over. “Are you all right?” “I’m fine—well, except for my bruised pride,” he said, rolling over before he struggled to a sitting position. “One would think that since I’m testing skates with two blades, I’d have an easier time of staying upright. But . . . I’m afraid that has not been the case.” He caught her eye again and smiled.”
― Jen Turano, At Your Request

“She thrust the pink box she was holding into Mr. Rutherford’s hands before she opened up her reticule and pulled out a fistful of coins. Counting them out very precisely, she stopped counting when she reached three dollars, sixty-two cents. Handing Mr. Rutherford the coins, she then took back the pink box, completely ignoring the scowl Mr. Rutherford was now sending her. “This is not the amount of money I quoted you for the skates, Miss . . . ?” “Miss Griswold,” Permilia supplied as she opened up the box and began rummaging through the thin paper that covered her skates. Mr. Rutherford’s brows drew together. “Surely you’re not related to Mr. George Griswold, are you?” “He’s my father,” Permilia returned before she frowned and lifted out what appeared to be some type of printed form, one that had a small pencil attached to it with a maroon ribbon. “What is this?” Mr. Rutherford returned the frown, looking as if he wanted to discuss something besides the form Permilia was now waving his way, but he finally relented—although he did so with a somewhat heavy sigh. “It’s a survey, and I would be ever so grateful if you and Miss Radcliff would take a few moments to fill it out, returning it after you’re done to a member of my staff, many of whom can be found offering hot chocolate for a mere five cents at a stand we’ve erected by the side of the lake. I’m trying to determine which styles of skates my customers prefer, and after I’m armed with that information, I’ll be better prepared to stock my store next year with the best possible products.” “Far be it from me to point out the obvious, Mr. Rutherford, but one has to wonder about your audacity,” Permilia said. “It’s confounding to me that you’re so successful in business, especially since not only are you overcharging your customers for the skates today, you also expect those very customers to extend you a service by taking time out of their day to fill out a survey for you. And then, to top matters off nicely, instead of extending those customers a free cup of hot chocolate for their time and effort, you’re charging them for that as well.” “I’m a businessman, Miss Griswold—as is your father, if I need remind you. I’m sure he’d understand exactly what my strategy is here today, as well as agree with that strategy.” Permilia stuck her nose into the air. “You may very well be right, Mr. Rutherford, but . . .” She thrust the box back into his hands. “Since I’m unwilling to pay more than I’ve already given you for these skates, I’ll take my money back, if you please.” “Don’t be ridiculous,” Mr. Rutherford said, thrusting the box right back at Permilia. “Now, if the two of you will excuse me, I have other customers to attend to.” With that, he sent Wilhelmina a nod, scowled at Permilia, and strode through the snow back to his cash register.”
― Jen Turano, At Your Request

“You named your horse Mr. Merriweather?” Wilhelmina couldn’t resist asking, even with certain danger and death sliding ever closer their way. “I did. I actually wanted to name him Charlie, but he simply refused to answer to that name.” Holding”
― Jen Turano, At Your Request

“My tumble down the society ladder and into the wallflower set is yet another reason why I’m uncomfortable marrying Edgar. I’m afraid he’ll eventually come to the conclusion that I only accepted his offer in order to escape the difficulties of my life.” “I don’t think you’re giving the gentleman enough credit. If you ask me, I think he returned to the city in order to discern whether or not you still held any affection for him—because he obviously still holds a great deal of affection for you.” She gave a short bob of her head. “I could see it in his eyes last night whenever he looked at you. He adores you.” “Which”
― Jen Turano, At Your Request

“The good news about that long ago rejection, though, at least according to Edgar, is that he claims it helped turn him into a man—a role he fills rather nicely.” “He does indeed,” Miss Griswold agreed. Wilhelmina’s smile widened. “Do you know that one of the reasons I turned down his proposal all those years ago was because I didn’t think he was measuring up very well against the older gentlemen who were seeking my favor?” Her smile faded straightaway as the truth of what she’d actually done that night settled into her very soul. “I was so foolish, you see, having my head turned by those other gentlemen, all of whom were certainly more sophisticated than Edgar, but none of whom, in hindsight, were prepared to give me what I truly needed—affection of the most genuine sort, something Edgar had always made available to me from the time we were mere children.” Miss”
― Jen Turano, At Your Request

“Flipping up his collar, he strode down the snow-covered sidewalk, unable to help but wonder if he might actually be fortunate enough to win Wilhelmina’s hand once and for all before this day was through.”
― Jen Turano, At Your Request

“I can only thank the good Lord above,” she began after she turned back to him and Mr. Hodges assumed his usual stoic demeanor, “that your father and brother are away on business at the moment, because, well, I’m sure they’d have quite a bit to say regarding your current circumstance.” She released the tiniest of sighs. “Honestly, Edgar, one would have thought, considering you failed so spectacularly to win Wilhelmina’s hand the first time you proposed to her, that you would have tried a little more diligently to pull off a romantic moment the second time around.” “And one would have thought, considering how put out you’ve been at Wilhelmina over her rejecting my proposal all those years ago, that you would be trying to figure out a way to get me out of marrying her rather than marrying her.” “I’ve always adored Wilhelmina,” Nora said with a rattle of the paper she was still holding. “And while I’m sure I did lend the impression of being put out with her, that was mostly for your benefit, dear.” Edgar’s mouth dropped open. “Do not tell me that you’ve been holding out hope all these years for something like this to happen.” “I must admit that I have, and . . . now it would seem as if that hope was not misplaced if a wedding does indeed occur between the two of you in the foreseeable future.” Reaching for his tea again, Edgar drained the cup and set it aside. “I’m hesitantly optimistic that a wedding may soon take place, especially since I have come to realize that I still love Wilhelmina. I find her to be a most enchanting creature, and I would be a lucky gentleman indeed if she would truly agree to become my wife.” Nora frowned. “I’m afraid I don’t understand why you’re only hesitantly optimistic about marrying Wilhelmina. You’ve mentioned a time or two now that you told Mrs. Travers you were to be married, and while I know you’ve been away from society for quite some time, surely you haven’t forgotten that, as a gentleman, you have no choice but to go through with the wedding. And, as a lady, Wilhelmina can’t refute your declaration, not if she wants to keep her reputation, and . . . she can forget about continuing on as a social secretary if she doesn’t go through with the marriage because she’ll be looked at forevermore as a woman of loose moral values.” She rattled the paper again. “Add in the article Miss Quill published, and I can say with all certainty that there will be a wedding to plan, whether Wilhelmina has doubts or not.” Turning”
― Jen Turano, At Your Request

“What rumors?” Edgar asked slowly. “Ones that center on the idea that you and Wilhelmina were discovered alone together in Mrs. Travers’ conservatory.” Nora caught Edgar’s eye. “The only reason the poor girl’s reputation isn’t in complete tatters is because rumors are also flying about that the two of you are the most romantic couple of the season—childhood sweethearts who were kept apart in your youth but who have finally been reunited.” Edgar set aside his teacup. “How, pray tell, is it even possible that rumors are swirling around the city? As I mentioned before, everyone left the ball before Mrs. Travers would have had an opportunity to do more than bid everyone a good evening. Add in the notion that the conditions outside on the streets today are less than ideal, and I would have thought that any and all rumors would have been put on hold for the foreseeable future.” Nora’s forehead took to furrowing. “Surely you haven’t been away from society so long that you’ve forgotten that there is little, even a blizzard, that can stop a good story from making the rounds.”
― Jen Turano, At Your Request

“She did actually agree to marry you this time, though, didn’t she? I’m afraid that is something you didn’t explain to satisfaction last night.” “When you say agree, do you mean verbally agree?” Edgar asked slowly. Nora took a hefty gulp of her tea, set down the cup, and exchanged a rather meaningful look with Mr. Hodges. “Didn’t I tell you, Mr. Hodges, that I had a feeling Edgar hadn’t settled matters properly with Wilhelmina?” “You did, Mrs. Wanamaker, and once again, it appears you were quite right.” Edgar pretended he hadn’t heard that bit of nonsense. “The only reason Wilhelmina and I didn’t completely settle matters between us was because we were forced to contend with a blizzard.” “What does that have to do with you being unable to settle matters properly with Wilhelmina?” Nora demanded. “I’m getting to that,” Edgar said even as he caught his mother and Mr. Hodges exchange yet another significant glance. “You’re not getting to it very quickly,” his mother muttered. “It’s”
― Jen Turano, At Your Request

“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.”
― Jen Turano, At Your Request

“I’m fairly certain I’ve been defined by society as nothing more than a wallflower these days.” Drawing her closer, he tipped her chin up and met her gaze. “You may be known as a wallflower to society, Wilhelmina, but I’ll always think of you as the most extraordinary woman I’ve ever known.” With that, and before she could do more than let out the tiniest of sighs, he leaned closer to her, his breath warm against her face right before he claimed her lips with his own. Just”
― Jen Turano, At Your Request

“You took issue with him because he paid too much attention to you?” “I did because it was a deliberate attention, although I didn’t realize that at the time. But then, when he ended his courtship of me because he needed to marry a woman of fortune, well . . . everything became crystal clear. In all honesty, I was somewhat relieved to have him out of my life, but then he went and started the most dreadful rumors about me, implying there was something wrong with me. That right there is what set society against me and saw me banished to the wallflower section.” “There’s nothing wrong with you,” Edgar began before he suddenly took to cracking his knuckles. “But tell me, where is Mr. Holland now?” With her spirits lifting the moment she heard him crack his knuckles, Wilhelmina pulled her attention away from the yellow flower and smiled. “It’s very sweet of you to adopt such a protective attitude on my behalf, Edgar. But sad as I am to tell you this, I’m afraid Mr. Holland is no longer in the city. He’s sailing about the world on a yacht his new wife bought for him, a wife who had quite the impressive fortune, and a fortune she was apparently all too willing to share with Mr. Holland if he agreed to marry her.” She shook her head somewhat sadly. “I’m afraid the current Mrs. Holland was under the impression Mr. Holland was a bit of a prize.” “Perhaps by now, she’d appreciate me teaching Mr. Holland some manners then.” “Since she’s not sailing on that yacht around the world with him, Edgar, you probably have a most excellent point, but again, he’s not in New York.” Edgar cracked his knuckles one more time. “Very well, I won’t be able to deal with him just yet. But mark my words, Mr. Holland will be made to pay for his abuse of you. It’s simply a question of when.” Unable to help but wonder how in the world she’d been so ridiculous back in the day to let this very honorable, and incredibly sweet, gentleman get away from her, Wilhelmina forced a smile. “Goodness, Edgar, there’s no need for you to turn all threatening on my behalf. That nasty business with Mr. Holland happened ages ago, and I assure you, I’m quite over it.” “If you were quite over the embarrassment of Mr. Holland’s abandonment, and then your subsequent tumble down the society ladder, you wouldn’t have bothered to try and hide from me earlier.” Not”
― Jen Turano, At Your Request

“So you are intending on getting married?” Edgar frowned. “I’m twenty-eight years old. I certainly can’t make the claim that the thought of marriage hasn’t flashed to mind more and more often as time goes ticking on by at a remarkable faster and faster clip.” Wilhelmina’s brows drew together. “And you have a specific lady in mind to do this settling down with?” With his brows drawing together as well, Edgar took to considering her for a long moment, something interesting taking up residence in his eyes. “I would imagine that I do have a lady in mind, although . . . I’m not certain she returns my interest.” The look in his eyes intensified. “Tell me this, Wilhelmina. . . . Why do you sound so disgruntled by the idea of me settling down?” Swallowing the denial that had been on the very tip of her tongue, Wilhelmina considered the question, realizing a mere second later that she was disgruntled. The reasoning behind that disgruntlement, curiously enough, seemed to revolve around the idea that the very thought of him marrying another woman set her teeth on edge. Drawing in a sharp breath over that revelation, she then completely forgot all about releasing the breath when truth reared up and smacked her firmly over the head. Edgar Wanamaker—no matter that she’d rejected him out of hand and hadn’t set eyes on him for years—was a gentleman she could easily picture herself growing old with, sharing children with, and . . . loving . . . forever. That”
― Jen Turano, At Your Request

“I did ask your mother about you whenever our paths crossed, but . . . she refused to divulge your whereabouts, and truth be told, I believe she has yet to forgive me for rejecting your proposal.” “Of course she hasn’t forgiven you, Wilhelmina. In her mind, you hurt the feelings of her adorable—and need I remind you, charming—son. Which is why she still takes to muttering less-than-pleasant mutters about you under her breath whenever I try to bring you into the conversation.” Edgar gave a sad shake of his head. “She’s especially put out with you over the idea that you proclaimed—in front of witnesses, no less—that the very last thing you’d ever want in life was to be known as Wilhelmina Wanamaker for the rest of your days.” Wilhelmina winced. “I completely forgot about that. Do know that I will apologize to your mother about that nasty business, if she ever condescends to speak to me again, that is.” “As you should, since Mother always proclaimed that Wilhelmina Wanamaker had a very nice ring to it, a proclamation she’s certain you remembered, which has allowed her to believe you were insulting not only me the night of your debut, but her as well.” “Oh . . . dear.” “Oh dear, indeed,” Edgar agreed quite cheerfully. Wilhelmina”
― Jen Turano, At Your Request

“Tugging her arm free of his, she moved over to a stone bench flanked by some exotic-looking red flowers and took a seat. She was not amused when he took a seat right beside her, crowding her in the process. “When did you get so large?” she asked, scooting as casually as she could away from him, not allowing herself to dwell on why his nearness was bothering her. “When I began working in a steel mill.” Wilhelmina”
― Jen Turano, At Your Request

“Didn’t you notice that entire gaggle of young ladies perusing you?” A flash of amusement flickered through Edgar’s eyes. “Why, Willie, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you sounded a touch jealous just now.” “Don’t be ridiculous, and stop calling me Willie.” Instead of looking the least bit contrite, Edgar grinned and took hold of her arm.”
― Jen Turano, At Your Request

“Thank goodness the two of you were able to see me released. Truth be told, I was beginning to think I’d have to return home with a chair stuck to my behind.” “Which would have been a very interesting sight to see,” Miss Griswold said. “However, now that we’ve gotten your dastardly situation under control, I’m afraid I must take my leave of your company as well. I completely forgot that my stepsister, Lucy, is supposed to participate in the quadrille planned for this evening. Since young ladies do seem to be climbing down from their chairs—apparently having come to the conclusion that they won’t be getting mauled by a rampaging mouse anytime soon—I’m sure the quadrille is about to begin.”
― Jen Turano, At Your Request

“I do apologize, Mrs. Travers, for causing you undue distress. I certainly didn’t deliberately set out to get in my current predicament. It simply . . . happened.” “But how did it happen?” Mrs. Travers demanded. “That’s a bit difficult to explain,” Wilhelmina began. She was spared further response, though, when Miss Cadwalader took that moment to join the conversation. “She’s under there because of the mouse,” Miss Cadwalader said in a very loud, very carrying, voice before she took what looked to be some type of cookie from the platter and began nibbling around the edges of it. “A . . . mouse?” Mrs. Travers repeated slowly. Miss Cadwalader stopped nibbling and nodded. “Indeed, and it wasn’t a little mouse, mind you, but an enormous one, with rather large teeth.” She sent what almost seemed to be the smallest of winks Wilhelmina’s way. “Miss Radcliff should be commended for being brave enough to take on such a beast, but as she was attempting to lure the creature away, she got stuck underneath that chair.” Miss Cadwalader heaved a sigh. “Unfortunately the mouse charged straight through the middle of the ballroom floor.” Edgar could only watch in dumbfounded amazement as chaos immediately took over the ball. The chaos started when one of the ladies who’d been inching ever so casually closer to them let out a shriek, lifted up the hem of her skirt, and was soon standing on top of a chair, joined seconds later by additional ladies, their shrieks about mice being on the loose echoing around the ballroom. In the span of a single minute, all the chairs were occupied with ladies holding their hems up as servants began dashing into the room, all of them carrying brooms. Edgar heard Wilhelmina toss “That was brilliant” Miss Cadwalader’s way as Mrs. Travers seemingly forgot all about Wilhelmina being stuck underneath a chair as she hurried off to join the chaos that was interrupting her ball. Miss Cadwalader grinned. “I do have my uses.” Wilhelmina returned the grin. “Indeed you do—even though I have to say that, if I had seen a mouse, I’m hardly the type to throw myself on the floor in an attempt to lure it away.” With”
― Jen Turano, At Your Request

“Her smoothing came to an abrupt end, however, when the lady sitting two chairs down from her suddenly leaned forward, peered at something in the distance, and then bent her head and began scribbling madly on her dance card.”
― Jen Turano, At Your Request

“Did you just say that bustles are expected to get even larger?” Miss Griswold nodded. “I’m afraid so. According to one of my sources—er . . . friends, I mean—quite a few designers are beginning to contemplate a new silhouette for ladies—one that will require bustles to achieve the size of a large birdcage in order to pull off the look designers are convinced will be complimentary to every lady’s figure.” “Who in the world would want to wear a birdcage on their behind?” Miss Cadwalader asked, once again in possession of the platter of treats, treats she immediately began perusing, looking completely delighted. Miss Griswold reached out, snagged a sugar biscuit, popped it into her mouth, and shrugged even as she swallowed. “I’m sure there are very few ladies who’d appreciate such an appendage attached to them, but evidently the gentlemen in charge of our fashions seem to believe that larger behinds are . . .” She stopped talking, shot a look to Edgar, turned pink in the face, and immediately returned her attention to Wilhelmina.”
― Jen Turano, At Your Request

“Wilhelmina had never been a lady possessed of a waifish figure—a situation that had bothered her no small amount, although he had always, especially as he’d gotten older, found her curves to be rather agreeable. He’d never mentioned that to her, of course.”
― Jen Turano, At Your Request

“I’m delighted to make your acquaintance, Miss Griswold,” Edgar said as he sent a bow Miss Griswold’s way. “However, before more pleasantries can be exchanged, I have a matter of the utmost importance to attend to—that matter concerning the lady still trying to make what appears to be a less than stealthy attempt at escape.” He turned and set his sights on Wilhelmina once again. Interestingly enough, while he’d been conversing with the ladies who’d evidently been tasked with hiding Wilhelmina from view—the evidence of that notion being that the two ladies had taken to mumbling apologies to her under their breaths—Wilhelmina had obviously been trying to slip farther under the chair. The result of that nasty business, however, had simply led to her now appearing to be well and truly stuck. Pushing his way through the first row of chairs, he tilted his head and allowed himself the luxury of simply considering Wilhelmina for a long moment. The years they’d been apart hadn’t changed her appearance much, except that she was now a more mature lady—being almost twenty-five instead of the near infant she’d been at seventeen. Her brown hair was swept up in a simple style away from her face, and the hint of pink staining her cheeks lent her a charming air, one that suggested she was getting a bit flustered. That idea had his lips curving straight into a smile as he leaned down and caught her eye. “Honestly, Willie, in all the years we’ve been apart, I never once considered the idea that when I finally returned to New York society, you’d go to such extremes to avoid me.” Wilhelmina’s hazel eyes immediately took to flashing. “I don’t like it when you call me Willie. And who said I’m attempting to avoid you?” The flashing, an immediate reminder of Wilhelmina’s adorable temper, had his smile turning into a grin. “Since these delightful young ladies were trying their very best to distract me from seeing you—and they were doing a remarkably credible job until I caught sight of the top of that chair you’re under moving—I don’t understand why you’re arguing with me.” Wilhelmina released a dramatic sigh. “Oh, very well. You’re right. I was trying to avoid you.” She caught his eye, looked incredibly grumpy for all of five seconds, and then released another sigh before the makings of a grin spread over her face. “Since you’ve clearly caught me in my attempt to escape, and I’ve somehow managed to get stuck while in the process of that attempt, could I possibly persuade you to be a dear and help me out of this particular pickle I’ve landed myself in?” The”
― Jen Turano, At Your Request

“He was fairly certain that the reason behind his forgetfulness had something to do with the fact that he’d been wallowing in a rather large vat of self-pity for years, or at least the first year or two after he’d left town. That wallowing had been a direct result of Wilhelmina—the lady he’d assumed he’d spend the rest of his life with from the time he’d been about ten—turning down his earnest offer of marriage. That rejection had sent him reeling and caused him to try his very best to forget her over the ensuing years. In hindsight, brought about by time and the wisdom that time brings a person, his offer of marriage to her had been beyond ill-advised and beyond ill-timed. It was that very hindsight that had him entering New York society again, but only in order to seek Wilhelmina out and finally try to put matters right between them, something he had no idea if she’d even be willing to entertain, or— “If”
― Jen Turano, At Your Request

“A sharp ringing of a bell suddenly split the air, signaling that the quadrille was soon to begin. Realizing that the ladies shielding her from view were going to have to take their seats, Wilhelmina began backing as quickly as she could underneath the chair behind her, her only thought being to make an escape as quietly as possible. She’d gotten halfway underneath the chair before her bustle, dratted contraption that it was, snagged on the underside of the chair. Before she could get herself free, a loud clearing of a throat sent a sense of dread flowing through her veins. Lifting her head, she refused a sigh when her gaze was caught and held by none other than the gentleman she’d been hoping to avoid. Mr. Edgar Wanamaker.”
― Jen Turano, At Your Request

“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.” She thrust a hand Wilhelmina’s way. “I’m Miss Gertrude Cadwalader, paid companion to Mrs. Davenport. Please do accept my apologies for practically maiming you this evening, although rest assured, it is an unusual event for me to maim a person on a frequent basis.” Taking the offered hand in hers—although she did so rather gingerly since her hand had almost been maimed by Miss Cadwalader—Wilhelmina gave it a shake, a circumstance she still found a little peculiar, but resisted when Miss Cadwalader began trying to tug her to her feet. “How fortunate for Mrs. Davenport that you don’t participate in maiming often,” she began. “But if you don’t mind, I prefer staying down here for the foreseeable future, since I have no desire for Mr. Wanamaker to take notice of me this evening.” “Ah,”
― Jen Turano, At Your Request

“Looking incredibly dashing as he bent his head toward the oh-so-fashionable Miss Kasson was none other than Mr. Edgar Wanamaker—her best friend from childhood, and . . . the very first gentleman to ever offer her a proposal of marriage. 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”
― Jen Turano, At Your Request