Eloise rose to her feet, her eyes gleaming in a rather unusual manner. “Since you were at the Merriweather castle, and everyone knows that Ottilie Merriweather is old money—as in old New York money—may I dare hope that this redhaired lady is a relative or friend of Miss Merriweather, come to visit from New York, and also hope that she was accompanied by a ferret because those creatures have become all the rage within the most fashionable set, or rather, the New York Four Hundred?”
Dead silence settled around the room for the briefest of seconds until Coraline crossed her arms over her chest and released a bit of a grunt. “If you’re about to suggest that you get a ferret for your next birthday because you think that’ll secure you invitations to the most prominent houses after you make your debut, you should just stick with asking that the whole house be painted to match the door instead.” She smiled. “A red house will assuredly make you smile anytime you return home. Waltzing around the city with a ferret, on the other hand, would leave you in a perpetual grouchy state since ferret ownership isn’t going to impress any of Chicago’s most prominent society matrons.”
Eloise’s nose shot straight into the air. “My favorite color has recently changed to yellow, but know that if ferrets are all the rage within that oh-so-glamorous Four Hundred, me being one of the first to adopt one will certainly see me invited into the fold of Chicago’s socially elite.”
Tilda cleared her throat. “I hate to be the bearer of disappointing news, but I don’t think acquiring a ferret, even if they are all the rage in New York City, will be enough to have the matriarchs of Chicago’s high society issuing any Whittenbecker an invitation to their events.”
“Why not?” Eloise demanded.
“We’re too newly rich to hobnob with old Chicago money.”
“Marshall Field started making his money right around the time Father did, after the fire of ’71, and he and his family enjoy all the exclusive society events,” Eloise argued.
“That’s because Mr. Field owns a department store that all the ladies enjoy frequenting, whereas we own a construction company,” Tilda said. “And before you say something about how construction companies are perfectly respectable, you have to remember that the majority of construction companies in Chicago possess dubious reputations—as in, they’re run by members of Chicago’s criminal underworld.”
“But we’re not members of the criminal underworld,” Eloise countered.
“Of course we’re not, darling,” Wilhelmine said before she took a sip of her coffee and immediately set aside the cup, giving the distinct impression she wasn’t satisfied with the coffee that had come out of the kitchen today. “Your father is an upstanding gentleman who would never dabble in criminal activities, but that hasn’t stopped rumors from swirling around the upper crust of Chicago suggesting otherwise.”
“What rumors?”
A sigh was Wilhelmine’s first response before she rose to her feet and intercepted Charity, who was returning with a cup of tea for Tilda. She took the cup from the maid, probably in the hopes Charity wouldn’t trip and spill hot tea everywhere, handed it to Tilda, and then squared her shoulders.
“I always hoped I wouldn’t have to divulge what I’m about to divulge to all of you, but in the interest of avoiding a repeatoccurrence of what happened when Tilda made her debut, know that I did try to get us included within the upper echelons of Chicago society, but failed miserably.” Wilhelmine began wandering around the room, finally pausing beside the floor-to-ceiling windows. “It was very humbling to suffer a public dressing down in the middle of the Palmer House dining room, but that’s exactly what happened to me.”
Her eyes went distant. “There I was, dressed in what I thought was a most delightful outfit, dripping in diamonds and determined to introduce myself to an entire table filled with prominent society ladies.” She pushed aside the curtain and peered out the window. “I was certain those ladies would welcome me into their midst after learning I was the wife of Franklin Whittenbecker, one of the most sought-after builders in Chicago, and then feel ever so honored once I extended them invitations to Tilda’s debut dinner. Sadly, that’s not what they did.”
“What did they do?” Eloise asked.
“Nothing pleasant,” Wilhelmine said before she turned from the window and began fiddling with one of the bracelets encircling her wrist. “I found myself being looked at as if I were something unpleasant one finds on the bottom of one’s shoe the moment I stopped by their table. And then, I’ll never forget this, Mrs. Getchell released a titter before she leveled ice-cold eyes on me and informed me that diamonds should never be worn in the afternoon. That was then followed up by Mrs. Peck stating that the Palmer House didn’t enjoy serving women—and yes, I did note that she didn’t call me a lady—whose husbands were involved in less-than-legitimate business endeavors. That right there is how I know without a shadow of a doubt that the majority of socially well-connected people in Chicago believe we’re criminally connected.”
“Didn’t you explain to them that they were wrong?” Coraline asked.
“Since I was relatively certain they might have been right about the diamonds because no one at that table was wearing anything remotely sparkly, I wasn’t going to argue with anything they said.” Wilhelmine gave a bit of a shudder. “I gathered what little dignity I had remaining and bolted out the door, licking my wounded pride all the way home.”
She squared her shoulders. “But enough of my sad tale of complete and utter humiliation. It’s past time we return to a far more important matter, which is to delve further into Rhenick’s harrowing day, or more specifically, exactly who the woman is who’s responsible for all that harrowing business in the first place.”
Thirteen
Before Rhenick could launch into the most troubling particulars of what could certainly be considered the oddest day of his life, Charity lumbered into the room again, precariously balancing a platter of fruit and cheese in her hands, one she unceremoniously dumped on the first table she encountered. A gesture to the platter was her way of suggesting everyone help themselves, and after bobbing what was supposed to be a curtsy, she lumbered out of the room again, calling over her shoulder something about fetching some plates and utensils.
“I say everyone should just grab a piece or two of cheese without the benefit of a plate because who knows if or when Charity will ever return,” Wilhelmine said, earning grins all around before everyone moved to the table and began helping themselves to chunks of cheese.
Once everyone was resettled on their respective chairs or settees, with Coraline somehow managing to relieve Grace of her more comfortable spot, Rhenick finally returned to the events of his day, making a short account of everything leading up to his first sight of Miss Drusilla Merriweather.
Wilhelmine paused with a piece of cheese halfway to her mouth and frowned. “Good heavens, Rhenick, it’s no wonderyou’ve described your experience as harrowing. If I’m not mistaken, Miss Drusilla Merriweather undoubtedly suffered an attack of the vapors after she found herself almost shot, and I would guess it was quite a dramatic attack at that. After witnessing the poor lady in a most distraught state, you, being you, and because you have quite the experience with distraught members of the feminine persuasion, obviously felt compelled to step in and comfort Miss Merriweather. However, considering the shock she’d suffered, I’m going to say she was inconsolable, and probably needed an entire vial of smelling salts before her state of hysteria began to diminish.”
Rhenick swallowed the piece of cheese he’d just popped into his mouth and shook his head. “Miss Merriweather wasn’t hysterical at all. In fact, she was completely composed, an attitude I found quite extraordinary, given her circumstances.”
“Did he just use the wordextraordinary?” Grace asked, earning a nod from Eloise.
“He did—a telling remark if there ever was one—but what he hasn’t told us about yet is anything to do with her appearance.” Eloise caught Rhenick’s eye. “May we assume Drusilla Merriweather possesses extraordinary looks that, of course, compliment her extraordinary level of composure?”
His lips curved. “She is a most beautiful lady with blue eyes that I would say are more aquamarine over an ordinary blue, and her hair is brown, although...” He gave his jaw a rub. “The wordbrowndoesn’t exactly do her hair justice, as it’s more of a chocolate color, but not the darkest of chocolate, or perhaps it’s not chocolate at all but more along the lines of the color of acorns, but only after a rain shower, the rain having left them all shiny looking, and...” His words trailed to nothing when he realized that his sisters were staring at him with their mouths agape.
“What?” he asked.
“You do realize that you’ve just taken to descending intopoetic prose, don’t you?” Eloise finally asked as the rest of his sisters, along with his mother, simply continued to stare at him, quite as if they were at a loss for words—an unusual circumstance, to be sure.
