by Turano, Jen
“Pathetic,” the hat lady said, giving Buford a quick rub before she snatched up the wrapper.
Oliver was about to breathe a sigh of relief, believing Miss Birmingham was soon to be reunited with at least a bit of clothing—even though the wrapper was tattered and torn—when to his absolute horror, she suddenly did the unthinkable and hurled herself on top of the hat lady.
For the first time in his life, Oliver had no idea what to do.
How was he to intercede, especially since there was so much of Miss Birmingham’s skin exposed?
It was hardly permissible to grab hold of a lady’s . . . limbs.
“Miss Birmingham, let go of me,” the hat lady yelled. “I’m trying to help you.”
Miss Birmingham ignored the lady’s words as she went about the business of ripping the hat right off the woman’s head, before she grabbed hold of a hunk of inky black hair and pulled it.
Yells and grunts soon filled the air, but expelled by whom, Oliver couldn’t actually say. Looking to Mrs. Birmingham, who was standing frozen in horror a few feet away, he moved forward rather reluctantly but shuffled to a stop when the hat lady broke free of Miss Birmingham’s hold. She bent down and somehow managed to fling Miss Birmingham over her shoulder before he could so much as move another muscle. She immediately headed toward a carriage stuffed with boxes, lurching a little to the right when Miss Birmingham began thrashing around like a fish out of water. “Stop that,” the hat lady ordered as she regained her balance and plowed forward.
“Timothy, make me some room,” she called, and a man Oliver hadn’t noticed nodded and began throwing boxes from the carriage over his head.
“Be careful with those, you idiot,” Miss Birmingham shrieked right before the hat lady reached the carriage and unceremoniously tossed Miss Birmingham inside, slamming the door shut a second later, effectively cutting off the rest of Miss Birmingham’s tirade.
“There,” the hat lady said, dusting her hands together. “That should hold her for a moment.” She nodded to Oliver. “She’s all yours.”
Oliver glanced at the carriage and found Miss Birmingham, strangely enough, not trying to escape but rummaging through the boxes. “What do you suggest I do with her, Miss . . . er . . . ?”
“Miss Peabody, and as for what you should do with her, well, that’s really not my place to say. You might consider looking into the Long Island Home Hotel for Nervous Invalids. I’ve heard tell it’s a wonderful facility and might be exactly what Miss Birmingham needs to get control of her—” Miss Peabody’s lips snapped shut, as if she’d suddenly realized the inappropriate nature of her words.
Oliver grinned. “While that’s an interesting suggestion to be sure, Miss Peabody, I highly doubt Mr. or Mrs. Birmingham would want to deposit their daughter in a sanitarium. That means I’m back to the quandary of what I should do with her in the here and now.”
Miss Peabody lifted her chin before she marched over to where Miss Birmingham’s wrapper was lying on the ground and snatched it up. She returned to his side and handed it to him. “I would have to imagine the most urgent order of business would be to get Miss Birmingham back into this, and then you’ll need to get her into the house.”
The last thing Oliver wanted was to have Miss Birmingham in his house again, because, quite frankly, he wasn’t certain she’d ever leave it, at least not willingly, no matter that she’d made the claim she wanted nothing more to do with him.
He was Oliver Addleshaw after all, and once Miss Birmingham remembered that, he was fairly certain she’d miraculously turn back into the sweet and demure young lady he’d thought he’d invited to spend time with him in New York.
Ladies had been trying for years to capture his attention, doing outlandish things in order to win his favor, which is why he’d finally resorted to creating a list a few years back. He’d hoped that by writing down exact characteristics he demanded in a lady, he’d avoid situations of an unpleasant nature.
It was rapidly becoming clear that even though he’d written things like pleasing appearance and demeanor, ladylike behavior at all times, and socially acceptable birth, his list was not helping him in the least in selecting an appropriate lady, even one he only needed to briefly spend time with as he negotiated a business deal.
He obviously needed to come up with another plan, and now that Miss Birmingham was not going to be around to help him with the Duke of Westmoore, he was going to have to come up with that plan somewhat quickly.
Miss Peabody waved her hand in front of his face. “I do so hate to interrupt what must be a riveting conversation you’re holding in your head,” she exclaimed, “but if you’ve neglected to notice, Miss Birmingham is trying to get out of the carriage. If you’ve forgotten, she’s not exactly modestly dressed.” She lowered her voice. “Your servants are pressed against the windows, sir, and I doubt it will help the young lady’s reputation if people get an eyeful of her in her current state of dishabille.”
Unable to help but wonder how a hat lady came to use a word like dishabille, Oliver opened his mouth, but before he could question her, the sound of fists beating against the carriage door drew his attention and had him moving up to the carriage. Miss Birmingham glared back at him, her features a little blurry from the fog covering the window. The fog thickened when she began yelling at him through the glass.
“Miss Birmingham,” he called through the door, “you will cease your tirade immediately.”
“Or what?” she yelled back.
Several ideas immediately popped to mind, none of them remotely achievable, but before he could summon up a suitable response, Miss Peabody let out a small yelp and lurched out of his sight just as her spot was taken by none other than Mrs. Birmingham.
Settling his gaze on the older woman, he noticed that her face was mottled with rage, but that rage, strangely enough, was not directed at her daughter but at Miss Peabody, who was slowly inching away from them.
“Explain yourself!” Mrs. Birmingham demanded. “What possible reason could you have for laying your filthy hands on my daughter?”
Miss Peabody lifted a gloved hand, considered it briefly, and then looked Mrs. Birmingham directly in the eye. “Since your daughter was outside dressed only in her unmentionables, I thought it might be prudent to get her out of the open before she suffered irreparable harm to her reputation.”
Mrs. Birmingham drew herself up. “It is not the place for someone like you to contemplate my daughter’s reputation. You mark my words, girl, Mrs. Fienman will hear about your unacceptable behavior before this day is through. I guarantee you that after I’ve had my say, you’ll no longer be in possession of a position.”
Miss Peabody’s shoulders sagged ever so slightly, but then she lifted her chin. “It is certainly your right to speak to Mrs. Fienman. You evidently believe I abused your daughter, although by the knot I currently have forming on my head, it’s debatable who was actually abused.”
Miss Peabody began to fiddle with the clasp of a reticule looped around her wrist. She extracted a piece of paper from it and extended it to Mrs. Birmingham. “Since you’ve stated you intend to seek out Mrs. Fienman today, allow me to present you with the bill for the hats your daughter ordered. Mrs. Fienman will appreciate prompt payment. In fact, she expects nothing less.”
A small bit of admiration stole through Oliver as he regarded Miss Peabody. There were not many ladies he knew who would brave additional wrath from an irate mother in order to attempt to collect on a bill, but Miss Peabody seemed to have no qualms about what she was doing.
His admiration was immediately replaced with anger when Mrs. Birmingham reached out and slapped Miss Peabody’s hand. The bill fluttered to the ground and landed in the midst of a puddle of water.
Oliver stepped forward, intent on rescuing the bill, but Miss Peabody beat him to it. She snagged the paper, gave it a vigorous shake, and then, as calm as you please, thrust it once again in Mrs. Birmingham’s direction.
Mrs. Birmingham
seemed to swell on the spot. “Put that away. I’ve no intention of paying that bill, especially not after your reprehensible behavior toward my Lily.”
Miss Peabody’s hand didn’t waver. “My ‘reprehensible behavior’ has nothing whatsoever to do with this bill.”
“Your impertinence is astonishing, and because of it, your employer won’t see a penny from me. In fact, I do believe I’m going to demand Mrs. Fienman hold you responsible for the full amount of the bill.”
Miss Peabody looked at the bill and began muttering what sounded like numbers under her breath even as her face began to pale. Oliver heard her whisper, “That would take about three years of my wages,” before she squared her shoulders and nodded. “Fine, do that.”
The very idea that the young lady was even contemplating accepting Mrs. Birmingham’s outlandish suggestion had protective instincts Oliver hadn’t been aware he possessed roaring to life. He stepped closer to Miss Peabody and held out his hand. “You may give the bill to me, Miss Peabody. I’ll take responsibility for it.”
Something warm and unexpected shot through him when Miss Peabody turned and smiled a lovely smile in his direction—one that, strangely enough, seemed to steal the very breath from him.
He felt her press the bill into his hand, her touch leaving him frighteningly devoid of air, but then Mrs. Birmingham rudely shoved her way between them.
His lungs immediately began working again, as annoyance replaced the odd feeling of a moment before.
“That will be quite enough of that,” Mrs. Birmingham said, shaking her finger at Miss Peabody. “The behavior of you shop girls is truly appalling, which is why I’m going to demand you remove yourself from my presence at once.”
Instead of complying with that demand, Miss Peabody lifted her chin. “I would love nothing more than to ‘remove’ myself, but your daughter is currently residing in my employer’s carriage. Until you decide how to get her out of there, I’m afraid my ability to leave is severely limited.”
Mrs. Birmingham stopped wagging her finger and turned to Oliver, surprising him when she smiled. “Mr. Addleshaw, would you be a dear and summon a servant to fetch Lily something decent to wear? Her gowns, as you know, are currently in what used to be your office. I’m certain after she’s properly dressed and we find ourselves some tea, we’ll be able to look at matters with the right perspective.”
The only response Oliver seemed capable of making was allowing his mouth to gape open. Surely the woman couldn’t still believe there was the slightest chance he’d want to spend additional time with her daughter, could she? It was rapidly becoming apparent that he might actually have to inquire at the Long Island Home Hotel for Nervous Invalids as to whether or not they truly did have any available beds, preferably two—one for Miss Birmingham and one for her mother, because—
“I’m not getting out of this carriage, Mother,” Miss Birmingham said as she rolled down the window and tried to stick her head out, her attempt thwarted when the new hat she’d put on wouldn’t fit through. Drawing back, she yanked the hat off and then pushed her head back through the window. “I have no wish to become parted from my hats because I wouldn’t put it past Mr. Addleshaw to hold them from me simply out of spite. We’ll just take this carriage to the Grand Central Hotel.” She sent Oliver a glare. “That’s the hotel we were intending to stay at, until I foolishly decided I’d be more comfortable in your home.”
“You’re not suitably dressed at the moment, dear, to travel to the hotel,” Mrs. Birmingham pointed out.
“My current state of undress is another reason for not getting out of this carriage,” Miss Birmingham said with a sniff. “I’m sure that rabid dog is still on the loose, and I have no doubt he’ll go for my unmentionables next time I’m in his sights.”
Mrs. Birmingham looked as if she longed to argue with her daughter but then spun around and pointed a bony finger at Miss Peabody. “You, girl, go fetch an overcoat from the butler for my daughter, and make sure you use the back door.”
Oliver watched Miss Peabody hurry away before he turned to Mrs. Birmingham. “Don’t you think you’re being a little hard on her?”
“Absolutely not, but I don’t care to talk about that dreadful woman at the moment.” She stepped closer and patted Oliver’s arm. “What time may I expect you to call on us today at the hotel so we may discuss matters further?”
“I wasn’t aware there was anything left to discuss.”
“Of course there is. Even though you and Lily are currently at odds, I’m sure that, once we sit down and talk this situation through, you’ll come to the conclusion Lily is perfect for you.” She patted his arm again. “I’ve always been of the belief summer is a lovely time for weddings, which means we’ll have to start planning immediately, since it’s June.” She nodded to the carriage. “Lily will make a most beautiful summer bride.”
Miss Birmingham stuck her head back out the window. “I’m not marrying him, Mother. He’s impossible.”
“All gentlemen are impossible at times, dear,” Mrs. Birmingham returned. “But if you’ll only remember how generous Mr. Addleshaw has been, I’m sure your attitude will change.”
Oliver frowned. “I’ve been generous?”
Mrs. Birmingham, surprisingly enough, giggled. “But of course you have, my dear man. Why, it was quite generous of you to encourage Lily to secure herself a new wardrobe, and from Madame Simone no less, and agree to pick up the full cost for that wardrobe.” She batted her lashes at him. “Before I forget, I left Madame Simone’s bill on the very corner of your desk.”
Oliver turned and arched a brow at Miss Birmingham. To his amazement, she didn’t look chagrined in the least but actually had the nerve to smile back at him.
“You did mention that you expected me to be fashionably turned out while we went about the business of entertaining your duke. Surely you didn’t think I was going to be responsible for the bill to see that happen, did you?”
Oliver felt his teeth grind together. “I would have been more than happy to purchase a few new items for you, Miss Birmingham. However, you should have spoken with me before you ordered an entirely new wardrobe.”
“And here is yet another reason why I won’t be marrying you. I have no intention of spending the rest of my life with a man who is mean, stingy, and . . . did I mention mean?” She looked to her mother. “It’s time for us to leave.”
“I have the coat,” Miss Peabody called as she rushed across the courtyard, coming to a stop a few feet away from Mrs. Birmingham, probably because the woman was glaring at her again. She held out the coat and didn’t even flinch when Mrs. Birmingham stalked her way and snatched it out of her hand.
Marching back to the carriage, Mrs. Birmingham wrenched opened the door, shoved the coat at her daughter, and threw a few hatboxes out. She held out her hand, sent Oliver a telling look, and then smiled ever so sweetly at him when he helped her into the carriage. Once she got settled, her smile disappeared right before she snapped her fingers in Miss Peabody’s direction. “Make yourself useful and get those boxes up on top of the carriage.”
“There’s no need for that,” Oliver said, summoning the young man who was standing off to the side of the carriage. “May I assume you’re the driver?”
“I’m Timothy, sir, and yes, I’m Mrs. Fienman’s driver.”
Oliver drew out his billfold, extracted a few bills, and handed them to Timothy. “I would appreciate it if you’d see these two ladies safely delivered to the Grand Central Hotel for me.”
“But what about Miss Peabody? If I put those boxes on the top, she won’t have a place to sit.”
“I’ll send her along in one of my carriages.”
Mrs. Birmingham sniffed, loudly. “That’s completely unacceptable, Mr. Addleshaw. She’s a mere hat girl. Besides, after the abhorrent assault on my daughter, I would imagine a long walk home is just what she needs. It’ll give her time to . . .”
Her mouth snapped shut when Oliver sent a not s
o subtle nod at Miss Birmingham, a lady who’d behaved far more abhorrently than Miss Peabody. The carriage door closed a second later, and a few minutes after that, after loading the extra hatboxes on the roof, Timothy pulled the carriage away.
“Well, that was pleasant,” Miss Peabody proclaimed.
“Pleasant is hardly the word I’d use to describe what just happened.”
“True, but I thought it would be rude of me to say what I really thought about the situation, and . . .” Miss Peabody’s words trailed off when Buford suddenly slunk into view, his ears drooping.
To Oliver’s dismay, his dog had a lady’s hat clamped between his teeth, one that resembled the hat Miss Peabody had been wearing before Miss Birmingham snatched it off her head. Buford skulked up to Miss Peabody, leaned against the fabric of her skirt, and dropped the hat at her feet.
Smiling, she gave him a scratch behind the ears before she picked up the hat. “I don’t think I’ll be wearing this again.” Tucking it into the crook of her arm, she caught his eye. “While it was generous of you to offer me a way home, Mr. Addleshaw, I’m quite fond of walking, so I won’t need to take you up on your generosity.”
“It’s about to rain.”
“Then I suppose I should get on my way.” She took a step back. “It was interesting meeting you, and I wish you well in your future encounters with the Birmingham family.”
“As bad luck would have it, Mr. Birmingham and I are actually scheduled to meet here at my home later today. Originally, we were supposed to discuss matters of business, but now I’m afraid we’ll need to delve into the personal. I’m hopeful he won’t be too disappointed to learn I have no intention of moving forward with his daughter, although I expect her behavior won’t affect our business plans.”
“If I were you, I’d reconsider having anything to do with the Birmingham family, even matters of a business nature.” She sent him a nod and then began walking away without another word.
For some inexplicable reason, the very idea that she didn’t seem to want to linger in his company intrigued him. He started after her. “Miss Peabody, wait.”
