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 grin sent him directly back to his youth, where he’d witnessed that particular grin on an almost daily basis, at least during their carefree summer days. Wilhelmina had always been one to appreciate a good laugh or an amusing situation, and over the past few years, he’d almost managed to forget her appealing sense of humor.
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 we could accelerate this whole getting-me-unstuck business, Edgar, I would be forever grateful,” Wilhelmina suddenly said, pulling him straight back to the situation at hand. “Especially since we’re beginning to draw attention.”
Looking over his shoulder, he discovered that was, indeed, the case. Quite a few guests seemed to be edging their way. Turning back to Wilhelmina, he squatted down right next to her. “Do you think the fabric of your skirt snagged on a nail?”
“I’m afraid I’m no longer that type of stuck, Edgar. It’s more a case of my, um, parts, not exactly fitting in the small amount of space I tried to squish them into.”
It took everything in him to swallow the laugh he longed to release.
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. A circumstance he’d been thankful for after she’d broken his heart by rejecting him out of—
“And besides being firmly wedged between the legs of this chair, I think that, what with all the wiggling I’ve done since I got stuck, my bustle has now become firmly lodged against the seat.”
Having never been presented with this specific dilemma before, Edgar couldn’t help but feel a touch relieved when Miss Permilia Griswold stepped forward. Tapping her chin with a gloved finger—one that, curiously enough, seemed to be stained with a bit of ink—she tilted her head, then tilted it the other way, before she frowned.
“I’m afraid we’re going to have to resort to brute force to release Miss Radcliff from her unfortunate predicament,” Miss Griswold said before she turned an unexpectedly bright smile Wilhelmina’s way. “The silver lining of this situation, though, can certainly be seen in the fact that bustles have not yet reached the size they’re being predicted to reach.”
“I’m not certain I see that as a silver lining, but...” Wilhelmina’s eyes widened. “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. “Bustles aside, though, we do need to address your predicament, and I’m afraid to say that the only way we’re going to be able to free you is by tugging that chair straight off of you.” She moved closer and took hold of the back of the chair. “I’m sure this won’t hurt too much.” Before Wilhelmina could voice even the tiniest of protests, Miss Griswold began tugging on the chair, emitting occasional grunts as she tugged.
“What in the world are you doing, Miss Griswold?” someone demanded from behind them.
Turning, Edgar discovered that Mrs. Travers, their hostess for the evening, had joined them. And unfortunately, she was looking less than pleased.
Miss Griswold let go of the chair, wiped a hand across a brow that seemed to have taken to perspiring, and blew out a breath. “Miss Radcliff is stuck, Mrs. Travers. I’m simply trying to see her released.”
Mrs. Travers immediately switched her attention to Wilhelmina. “One would think, given that your presence here tonight is as my social secretary, not as a guest, that you would have taken greater care with the manner in which you comport yourself, Miss Radcliff.”
Wilhelmina lifted her chin in a surprisingly regal manner for a woman stuck underneath a chair. “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.”
“Buthowdid 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.
