An Heiress to Remember (The Gilded Age Girls Club #3) - Maya Rodale Page 0,44
an artfully arranged stack of books—How I Learned To Ride the Bicycle by the famous Frances Willard, and a stylish notice promoting private lessons for ladies in the park, free with purchase of a bicycle.
Somewhere an orchestra played.
Everywhere, people mingled, sipping champagne, delighting over every new thing.
There was only one thing to do: drink a second glass of champagne while taking a turn about the store, thoroughly spying on his competition, and then getting the hell out and start plotting ways to compete.
Because this lit a fire inside. This was a challenge. A dare.
Beatrice was gunning for his retail crown and he would have to fight to keep it.
Connor found him, as he was halfway through his tour of the second floor.
“There you are. I knew I would find you here.”
“I’m here in a purely professional capacity.”
“Market research. Competitive analysis. Of course.” Connor nodded seriously with a gleam in his eye suggesting that they both knew better. “I think we can conclude that she is going to give you a run for your money.”
Dalton couldn’t agree out loud, but he did not protest, either. Because everywhere they turned, there was something to catch the eye, or some novel innovation to make him mutter softly under his breath, “Damn.”
They stopped in front of a hair salon.
“Have you ever even heard of a hair salon?” Dalton asked.
He and Connor had paused in front of a section of the store designated as Martha Matilda Harper’s Salon, where apparently women could come to have their hair washed, cut, and styled as per The Harper Method, while seated in those curious chairs he’d seen carried in during the day they fought over employee poaching.
Hair styling was one of those things he understood that ladies did, but he’d never considered the logistics of. It was not within his purview. Perhaps it ought to have been. Maybe if he’d had a wife or daughters he would have an idea of these things.
And all at once a sort of loneliness snuck up on him.
“Do you have any questions I can help you with, gentlemen?”
Dalton turned at the familiar voice. Clara, one of his best salesgirls who had defected.
“Clara Baldwin.”
“Hello, Mr. Dalton. I’m not sure if I’m surprised or dismayed to see you here.”
“Wouldn’t miss the opportunity to spy on the competition. Tell me, Miss Baldwin, what does Goodwin’s have that Dalton’s doesn’t?” Connor asked. “Dalton is too proud to ask but he’s desperate to know.”
“If you must know . . .” She gave a conspiratorial smile and leaned in to confide in them. “Childcare.”
“For sale?”
“She provides childcare to customers and staff alike.”
As a lifelong confirmed bachelor, he had never given a thought to childcare. His clientele all had nannies and people and private boarding schools for that. And if one could not afford such things, one could not afford to shop in his store. Or so he had assumed. It seemed Beatrice knew better.
“And what about that chair?” Connor asked. “It looks like some instrument of torture.”
“Of course. It’s a reclining chair for shampooing. Martha Matilda Harper designed it herself to make it more convenient for ladies to have their hair washed without interfering with their attire, before it is cut and styled. Would you like to try it?”
“Another time, perhaps.”
Dalton and Connor kept strolling along until they came to a set of doors guarded by two women in uniform. Ladies were entering and exiting but the doors remained firmly shut when Dalton and Connor approached.
“My apologies, gentlemen, but this space is for ladies only.”
“Well, now I’m curious,” Dalton drawled. “What is in there?”
“A reading room. For ladies. Only.”
The shopgirl standing guard smiled. It was the smile of someone who was not at all sorry to tell gentlemen that they were not permitted to enter. It was the smile of someone experiencing the heady rush of power for the first time.
Everywhere Dalton turned and looked in this store, he saw the New Woman. From the gowns on display, to the services offered, to the refuge provided. Even the guests at this “debut” party weren’t entirely the usual suspects of the Four Hundred, but a mix of society wives, professional women, and young girls with starry eyes.
Everywhere he looked, Dalton saw his plans for revenge fading into nothing, an impossible dream that had its moment and was now gone forever. It was one thing to buy an outdated store on the cheap and reduce it to rubble for his private satisfaction.