Chapter 18

Eighteen

"Are you certain Elma won't come after me because I didn't present myself at her house bright and early to do something called ‘whitewarshin' a fence'?" Camilla asked, holding on to Owen's arm as they strolled down Market Street, garnering more than their fair share of attention.

"There's no need for you to worry about Aunt Elma," Luella began, stopping to turn on the sidewalk before settling her attention on Camilla. "I rode over to her cabin early this morning and told her you wouldn't be doing her fence today."

"That was awfully brave of you," Camilla pointed out.

"Aunt Elma doesn't scare me, but you'll be pleased to learn I handled the situation somewhat graciously, even after I was forced to take Aunt Elma's rifle away from her after I told her you weren't coming and she grabbed it and tried to head out the door."

"I'm not sure grabbing is ever considered gracious."

"It was in this instance because I gave Aunt Elma's rifle back to her after I explained that your decision to not see to her fence this morning was all my fault."

"Another act of bravery."

"Not when I had control of the rifle at the time." Luella grinned. "Aunt Elma looked fit to be tied for a few seconds until I reminded her that she's been itching to see Ada Mae taken down a few pegs. I then reminded her that the only way that's going to happen is if you're able to turn me into one of those Diamonds of the First Water you mentioned were all the rage in New York."

"You do realize that obtaining Diamond status will require an extreme undertaking on your part, don't you?" Camilla asked.

Luella waved that aside. "Doesn't matter. All that matters is the end result, which, if we're successful, will show Ada Mae Murchendorfer and her cad of a son once and for all that I'm perfectly capable of turning refined."

"You won't balk at fittings, dance instruction, and etiquette lessons that will most assuredly eat up several hours of your days?"

"I'll be exactly like that Miss Adelaide Duveen you took in hand a few months back, the picture-perfect student."

Camilla's lips twitched. "Here's hoping you'll be nothing like Adelaide because she gave new meaning to the word challenging . She loathed fittings and had a difficult time sitting still whenever I brought in someone to arrange her hair."

"Since I didn't fidget at all while Bernadette did my hair this morning, nor did a single whisper of complaint escape my lips while your lady's maid altered a few of my older dresses that you deemed salvageable, I think I've already shown that I'm not going to be a problem." Luella smoothed a hand down the sleeve of an afternoon gown of palest yellow that complemented hair that turned out to be auburn once it had been given a good scrubbing. "Mother would be appalled that you had Bernadette de-bow this particular gown."

"I doubt she'd be appalled if she saw you in it since the tailored and frill-free style agrees with you. However . . ." Camilla frowned. "If we may return to Elma, are you quite certain she's reconciled herself to the fact I won't have time to tend to her fence, or any of the many other menial tasks I think she may have her heart set on me completing?"

"Elma's not reconciled herself to that at all," Luella countered. "She expects you at her house tomorrow morning before daybreak to attend to her fence and told me to tell you that in order to fit everything into your schedule, you'll probably need to rise from your bed a few hours earlier than you normally do."

"Ah, I see," Camilla began, tapping a finger against her chin. "Elma's obviously throwing down a gauntlet, one I'm sure she's going to be surprised to learn I won't hesitate to pick up."

"Why would you do that?" Owen asked.

"Because Elma's evidently of the belief I'll be incapable of successfully completing the tasks, and I don't think I should give her the satisfaction of watching me fail, although..." She wrinkled her nose. "What exactly is involved with whitewarshing a fence, or better yet, what does warshing mean in the first place?"

"It's just a West Virginian way of saying wash ," Owen began. "And whitewashing a fence isn't complicated. It's just sloshing diluted paint on the pickets."

"I can probably handle that."

"I'm sure you can, but I should warn you that Aunt Elma will undoubtedly take to heckling you as she sits on her front porch, critiquing your technique."

"I've never been heckled before," Camilla admitted. "Should make for a more-than-amusing experience, but dare I hope Elma will expect me to heckle her in return?"

"That might have her whipping out her rifle."

Camilla grinned, the sight of her grin leaving Owen's collar feeling uncomfortably snug and his cheeks a little warm.

Truth be told, he'd found himself becoming warm often over the past day and a half, a direct result of catching Camilla grinning time and again as she went about interacting with his family.

There was something downright enticing about her when she grinned, as if she'd let down her prim-and-proper guard and was allowing herself to simply be Camilla, a lady who seemed to enjoy finding herself thrust into a world she hadn't known existed.

Her interest the evening before in sampling all the local dishes Meemaw had made for supper had been obvious, and he'd found himself riveted by her different reactions.

Lima beans, morel mushrooms, river trout, and puffers—or rather, potato pancakes—had been her favorites because she'd eaten every bite of the helpings on her plate, whereas corn pone and rabbit stew had obviously not been to her liking. She'd merely taken one bite of each before she'd ever so casually pushed them to the side of her plate.

He readily admitted he'd been completely taken aback when, after everyone finished dinner by enjoying a piece of rhubarb pie, Camilla insisted on helping clear the table, even though Mr. Timken had assured her that her assistance wasn't needed. Camilla hadn't hesitated to argue with that, stating that since Elma and Beulah had fed all the men hired to guard her, as well as Lottie and Bernadette, there were more than a few dishes, along with all the pots and pans, that needed attending to. Camilla had then refused to let Meemaw or Elma lift a finger to clean, stating quite emphatically that they'd cooked the food, so it was only fair that they took it easy while everyone else pitched in to clean up.

It hadn't escaped his notice that after that pronouncement, Meemaw, with Elma in tow, had disappeared, returning a few minutes later with Meemaw's recipe box in hand.

All in all, it had been a more-than-enjoyable day, one of the most enjoyable parts being when he'd joined Camilla in the kitchen, drying the dishes after she washed them, although she'd gotten more water on herself than on the dishes, suggesting she'd never washed a dish in her life, not that she seemed overly concerned about the drenched state of her gown when they finally finished.

She hadn't even repaired to her room to have Bernadette help her change when everyone moseyed out to the back terrace to have a few glasses of dandelion wine. Nems and Andy Sklenicka even pulled out a fiddle and a banjo, which they put to good use entertaining everyone until the mosquitoes started biting.

"If you really want to fit in around here," Luella said, pulling Owen from his thoughts, "you should start saying you'uns ."

"Younz?" Camilla repeated.

"You ... uns," Luella corrected. "As in ‘are you'uns goin' to be doing the warsh today, or can you meet us at the crick to do some fishin'?'"

"And crick would mean creek?" Camilla asked.

"Indeed."

"I've taken the liberty of writing down some of the local dialect and phrases in a journal," Charles said, strolling up from behind them and stopping beside Luella, Leopold trailing in his wake.

It was a little concerning when Luella's eyes took to flashing. "Why would you write those down?"

Charles blinked. "Shouldn't I?"

"Not if you're intending on going back to New York and using that journal as a source of amusement with your friends to highlight what you evidently see as our backwoods ways."

Charles's eyes widened. "I do most humbly beg your pardon, Miss Chesterfield. I certainly haven't been documenting my observations to make sport of you or the fine people living in this region. I simply wanted to chronicle things I've heard so I can peruse them when I'm at my leisure."

"Why?" Luella asked.

"Because I found myself being the source of Nems and Andy's amusement last night when I asked them to clarify what dem dare meant as they were telling a story." Charles shook his head. "It took them a good five minutes to explain in a way I could understand that it meant them there , or something to that effect, although in my defense, those gentlemen do know how to meander their way around an explanation."

Luella tilted her head. "You're trying to decipher our local dialect so that you're not made fun of again?"

"Since I've experienced my fair share of derision over the years, Miss Chesterfield, I try to avoid setting myself up for more of that if at all possible. In this particular case, having a grasp of the local jargon may at least leave Nems and Andy with the impression I'm not a complete idiot."

"You're worried about what Nems and Andy think of you?" Luella asked slowly.

"Of course I am. They're very nice men and even invited me to go fishing. I'd at least like to have a handle on some of the local vernacular so that we can enjoy conversations instead of me having to ask them to interpret every other word they say."

"Huh," Luella said before she stepped closer to Charles. "I must say that it speaks highly of your character that you're determined to learn our special language down here, but I find it difficult to believe that you've experienced derision over the years, given you're a member of that fancy Four Hundred Camilla told me about."

"A scornful attitude isn't held at bay simply because one possesses wealth and their family holds a status within a specific social setting, Miss Chesterfield," Charles said. "I've never ‘taken' within society, probably because I'm considered somewhat dull, and people who are uninspiring often find themselves bearing the brunt of unpleasant remarks."

"I haven't gotten the impression you're dull in the least," Luella countered. "And, if you haven't noticed, you've been attracting more than your fair share of attention as we've wandered up Market Street." She smiled. "I expect some of the ladies who've been discreetly observing you will muster up the nerve to approach us at some point during our excursion today. I can guarantee once they discover you're a member of New York high society, they won't conclude that a single word that escapes your mouth is humdrum."

Charles's gaze darted to three ladies who were walking toward them, blinking when all of them cast what could only be considered flirtatious smiles his way before they strolled on by. He returned his attention to Luella. "They may be initially impressed, but once they get to know me, they'll decide, quite like all the ladies of the Four Hundred have, that I'm a less-than-riveting conversationalist."

"I'm less than riveting in that regard, as well," Luella admitted with a grin. "In fact, I've been known to bore people to tears when I get on the subject of my favorite plants, especially flowers. To prove that point, know that I could speak for hours about a project I'm in the midst of, one where I'm currently attempting to make a new lily hybrid—not that I've found much success with that yet."

Charles took a step closer to her. "You must tell me all about this hybrid process, Miss Chesterfield, because I wouldn't find that less than riveting in the least since I'm an amateur horticulturist."

Luella raised a hand to her throat. "You are?"

"Indeed, and I'm now waiting with bated breath to learn more about this lily of yours."

Owen felt his mouth drop open when Luella suddenly entwined her arm with Charles's.

"Your breath will not need to be bated for long because I'm more than happy to discuss my lily with you, but before I begin talking your ear off, know that any woman who has ever found you dull must not have been in possession of their senses, as I find you utterly fascinating." With that, Luella tugged Charles into motion and together they continued down Market Street, their heads bent closely together.

It really came as no surprise when Camilla's eyes began to gleam in a far-too-telling fashion.

"Don't even consider it," Owen grumbled, pulling her after his sister and earning an innocent batting of the lashes from Camilla in return.

"Consider what?"

"Matchmaking, or more specifically, matchmaking with Luella in your sights."

She sent him an overly sweet smile. "You know what they say—once a matchmaker, always a matchmaker."

"No."

"Why not?" She nodded to Luella and Charles. "It's been my experience that when a couple shares a common interest, a spark is soon to follow."

"There will be no sparking between Luella and Charles."

"I think there already is."

"There's not, nor will you attempt to get anything between them igniting into something remotely resembling a spark."

"I think that ship has already sailed because—what are the odds that Luella just happens to become introduced to Charles, who just happens to have an interest in horticulture? That's one of those unusual life happenstances that someone like me, a former matchmaker, simply cannot ignore."

"You're going to have to try, although..." Owen stopped in his tracks as a thought struck. "Isn't Charles one of the two men you mentioned you were thinking about unofficially sponsoring?"

Leopold was suddenly right beside him, beaming a smile Camilla's way. "Forgive me for eavesdropping," he began, "but am I to understand that you, Camilla, have been discreetly resuming your matchmaking endeavors and that you have two specific gentlemen in mind already, one of whom may happen to be Charles?"

"Having Charles in my sights shouldn't come as much of a surprise since you know his mother, Petunia, has been relentless in her quest to convince me to help her one and only son find a suitable match," Camilla said.

"Petunia does know her way around an unrelenting campaign," Leopold agreed. "And since that was clearly a yes from you about sponsoring Charles, I now find myself curious about that second gentleman you're considering. Dare I hope, since you know I've been rather forlorn of late, given that Vernon, my very best friend, went off to explore Europe with his new wife, that being your aunt Edna of course, that I'm that second gentleman?"

"I hate seeing you forlorn."

Leopold's smile turned brighter than ever. "I'll take that as a yes as well, and if you're unaware, I already have the perfect lady in mind for me."

"It would be next to impossible for me to be unaware of that since your interest in Beulah has been less than subtle."

"She is a most extraordinary lady," Leopold proclaimed.

"I don't think I'm enjoying the direction this conversation is taking," Owen muttered.

"Nonsense," Leopold argued. "I would think you'd be pleased to learn that a gentleman who's well-suited for your grandmother is now determined to win her over."

"I'm relatively convinced that I'd prefer if you'd simply appreciate how extraordinary she is from afar."

Leopold laughed. "That's some wishful thinking there, son, but know that I have only the most honorable of intentions toward Beulah."

"I'm not sure my meemaw will be so receptive to those intentions."

"She's a complicated sort, there's no question about that," Leopold agreed. "Nevertheless, now that I know I can count on Camilla's assistance, I'm convinced it'll only be a matter of time until I procure Beulah's affections."

"While it does appear as if Camilla is very proficient with this whole matchmaking business," Owen began, "I feel it's only fair to warn you that Meemaw would never consider leaving this valley, especially not for a place like New York."

"I wouldn't dream of taking her away from her home, although I'm sure she wouldn't be opposed to doing a touch of traveling." Leopold leveled another smile on Camilla. "I could take her to Europe and meet up with your aunt and Vernon."

Camilla gave Leopold's arm a pat. "I think you're getting a little ahead of yourself. Why don't we simply work on ascertaining that the two of you truly do share a spark and see where that spark leads?"

"I definitely don't want to hear any more about sparks when it pertains to my grandmother—or my sister, for that matter," Owen said.

Camilla turned and patted his arm. "Of course you don't, which is why we'll now shelve this conversation for later since I've just spotted Thomas Hughes and Company across the street." She nodded to the storefront. "Edward told me that's the best place to purchase quality clothing for gentlemen."

"Says on the door gents furnishing goods ," Leopold said, squinting in the direction of the store.

"Then that's where we'll start with Owen's new wardrobe," Camilla said. "You'll, of course, accompany him, Leopold."

Owen frowned. "I thought we were focusing on Luella today."

"Your sister hardly needs you tagging along to the department stores to help her shop for new gowns," Camilla argued. "And since your time is limited as you do run the largest nail-producing company in the country, I thought we'd split up to optimize our shopping expedition."

"I'm not going to leave you unprotected just so I can find a new suit."

"You'll be ordering more than a suit, all of them custom-made, unless Thomas Hughes and Company happens to have a suit or two on hand that would fit you properly."

"Custom-made?" Owen repeated.

"That's the only way you'll get a satisfactory fit," Camilla said. "And, before you argue that you don't need a new wardrobe, know that as a titan of industry, you'll garner more respect from others if you look the part of a successful man of business. You're currently taking meetings while wearing ill-fitting suits, and not because you can't afford the best, but because you don't want to take the time needed to have them custom-made."

"Not one industry titan has ever remarked on the fit of my jacket."

Camilla shrugged. "Perhaps not, but they've definitely taken notice, even if they've never said anything, and perception is important in business. My father taught me that, so off you trot to the haberdashery, and no, it's not up for debate."

Owen glanced to where Luella and Charles stood in front of Stone and Thomas department store, their heads still bent closely together—too closely together in his humble opinion.

"I'm really not comfortable leaving you without proper protection for any length of time," he finally said, returning his attention to Camilla. "I can always return to the gentlemen's store tomorrow to place an order."

"Absolutely not," Camilla didn't hesitate to argue. "I'm not going to have time tomorrow to return to town, not since Elma wants me to whitewash her fence, and I'll also be immersing myself in etiquette lessons with Luella. That means I won't have a moment to spare to come with you, and not to offend you, but I don't trust your judgment when it comes to picking out new clothing."

She glanced over her shoulder and nodded to Lottie and Mr. Timken, who were taking in the sights as Andy, who was pushing Nems in his wheeled chair, acted as tour guide. "And, before you mention inadequate protection again as a reason to avoid shopping for yourself, I'm quite well-guarded, so off you go. I'm sure you and Leopold will have a lovely time choosing jacket styles and patterns."

Owen glanced at Charles again, who was now whispering in Luella's ear. "Perhaps Charles should come with me instead of Leopold."

"Charles, while an utter darling, isn't what I'd call fashion motivated, whereas Leopold"—she gave a wave in Leopold's direction—"is always dressed in the most sophisticated of styles. He'll make certain you don't come out of Thomas Hughes and Company dressed like an undertaker, a dismal look Charles adopts on a rather frequent basis."

"There's nothing wrong with looking like an undertaker," Owen muttered.

Camilla grinned. "Will you be more receptive to the idea if I make Leopold promise to avoid waxing on about how extraordinary your grandmother is, or trying to convince you to speak to her on his behalf?"

"I doubt he'll be capable of that, seeing how enthralled he seems to be with Meemaw."

"Indeed I am," Leopold said cheerfully. "But I'll tell you what, I'll try to curtail my enthusiasm for your grandmother, at least until after we see you sporting an entirely new wardrobe."

Owen frowned. "What exactly comprises a new wardrobe? Three suits ... five, perhaps?"

"We're looking, at a minimum, at ten suits, plus overcoats, cravats, and shirts. A few walking canes wouldn't be remiss either."

"Absolutely not."

"Think of it this way," Camilla said, her eyes twinkling once again. "Your sister is now determined to get herself accepted by the Wheeling elite, done mostly to avenge your mother. What kind of example would you be for her if you refuse to do what it takes to firmly cement your standing—and in essence, your entire family's standing—in Wheeling society, especially when you must know your mother would appreciate any effort you make? Why, your mother might even decide to return home if she knows Ada Mae hasn't won the battle of ostracizing your family, something you know Luella wants your mother to do."

When put that way, there was no arguing the point, which was exactly why Owen found himself a scant ten minutes later shucking out of his ill-fitting jacket, a salesman almost rubbing his hands in glee as Leopold explained exactly what they needed to accomplish that day.

Unfortunately, as soon as Leopold finished his explanation, he immediately returned to the subject of Meemaw, apparently having forgotten his promise to keep all talk away from how lovely he found her, which resulted in Owen having no choice but to turn his full attention to a fashion catalog that had drawings of the latest styles for gentlemen, something his attention would have never settled on before he'd made the acquaintance of Miss Camilla Pierpont.

Oddly enough, the notion that she was clearly disrupting his life wasn't nearly as bothersome as he once might have imagined it would be.