An Heiress to Remember (The Gilded Age Girls Club #3) - Maya Rodale Page 0,20

policy or one of his guiding principles. She wasn’t a complete novice. Until recently, she had also been precisely their ideal customer: a respectable, wealthy woman with nothing to do all day but visit shops and spend her husband’s money out of spite.

Besides, it’s not like it was surgery.

This was just shopping.

Which was a silly and frivolous thing ladies did to amuse themselves that generated serious and respectable fortunes for men. Yet somehow women were still unqualified for the business of retail.

Beatrice felt herself losing their attention. She would have to hurry now. She did her best impression of the dowager duchess who, despite being a tiny, ancient woman, managed to inspire terror in all whom she met.

“Going forward, I should like to approve all orders,” Beatrice declared.

The grumble of male voices intensified.

“What do you know about buying?” some man with slicked-back hair asked hotly.

“I don’t see evidence that you know much about it, either,” Beatrice replied hotly, without thinking, as she was wont to do.

The man’s face reddened with humiliation. He went quiet. His eyes flashed and she felt something like fear quaking through her veins. Yet she had to continue; what option did she have but to continue now?

“I should also like to see a display of bicycles. For women.”

This was greeted with laughter.

“But our clientele is old.”

“But our clientele are women.”

“Frances Willard was fifty-three when she learned to ride a bike,” Beatrice pointed out, mentioning the famous suffragist who wrote a bestselling book of her experiences learning to ride. “Bicycling is now all the rage among the younger set. We can sell the bicycles, accessories, the new styles of cycling attire for men and women, Ms. Willard’s book. We can offer lessons in the park . . .”

There was some laughter. And some kindly men took to explaining why all of that would never work, why she was misguided, why she ought to leave the running of the business to them. There were some facts and figures that she could not counter. She hadn’t proof and experience to support her arguments, just a feeling that other women might be interested in the same things as she, like the feeling of freedom that came from riding one of those steeds of steel.

The employees did not listen to her.

It didn’t matter that she had her name above the door.

She was quite certain, fairly certain, that her assessments and plans were sound and that she knew how to appeal to lady shoppers. Perhaps she started too soon, perhaps she ought to have prepared more. Perhaps she never should have embarked on this at all.

Doubts rose up, sticking in her throat.

These men with their mutterings and grumblings and wandering off made her feel like she was back at the castle, inquiring if her husband would be home for a holiday and being told it was none of her business.

The meeting disbanded.

Beatrice promptly went to cry in the ladies’ room.

Chapter Ten

The next day

Nevertheless, she persisted.

Beatrice attended to matters at the store, poring over account books and correspondence, touring every department each day and inserting herself into conversations and decisions, and making a valiant effort to do her job. At every turn, she found it a challenge.

Thank God for Margaret. The salesgirl had been kept occupied with running errands and menial tasks for department heads, and as such she had learned everything about how the store was run. She had ideas how to do it better. Apparently Beatrice was the first and only person who wanted to listen.

As the days went by, Beatrice had the sneaking suspicion that it would be an impossible task to restore Goodwin’s to its former glory—and that former glory wouldn’t even cut it anymore.

Something drastic and modern and new had to be done to save it from bankruptcy and falling into Dalton’s clutches. But what?

But beyond that, Beatrice was at a loss. She spent sleepless nights tossing and turning and considering how to change the appearance of the store, the merchandise they sold, the way it was displayed. How to convey her vision and inspire the staff, so set in their ways, to make the necessary changes, when they would not even listen to her.

She held the reins—but felt like she didn’t know how to drive or where to go.

But the fact remained that she held the reins.

So make no mistake, she would have to do something—and soon. One didn’t pack off their brother to the sanitarium for no reason. There was a board of directors to answer