by Turano, Jen
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Then why aren’t you buried under packages?”
“I assure you, it’s not for lack of trying,” she grumbled even as she began edging down the sidewalk, as if she’d once again discovered an urge to dash off.
Not wanting to have to chase her down again, Oliver took a firm grip of her arm and held on tightly as they walked through the crowd. “Do you want to tell me what happened?”
“Not particularly.”
“I’m afraid I must insist. Did I not provide you with enough money to purchase whatever fashions caught your eye?”
Harriet stopped walking, forcing him to stop as well. “You gave me more than enough money, which I hope was intentional.”
“Of course it was intentional. I told you to get a few fashionable items, and I certainly didn’t expect you to dip into your own money to pay for them.”
“Thank goodness,” Harriet said before she bit her lip. “Although, I do have to tell you, I used a small bit of that money to buy Buford a steak—well, three steaks, since your dog seems to have a voracious appetite. Oh, and I bought another two steaks for the yippers.”
“I have no idea what ‘yippers’ could possibly be, but you’re feeding Buford steak?”
“I told you I’ve never had a pet before, but I do know that dogs enjoy meat. Since it just so happens I was at Mort’s last night, a dining establishment that grills a most excellent steak, with my friends, celebrating my, err . . .”
“Newfound fortune?” Oliver finished for her when she seemed reluctant to continue.
“Not exactly.”
“Your dismissal from Mrs. Fienman’s shop?”
“Losing one’s position is never cause for celebration, no matter that you’re giving me funds to see me through for quite some time.” She let out a huff. “If you must know, yesterday was my birthday.”
“You neglected to tell me yesterday was your birthday.”
“There was much that was neglected to be said, given Mr. Birmingham’s untimely appearance.”
“Good point, but we have time to discuss matters now. May I inquire as to what birthday you celebrated?”
“It’s hardly proper to ask a lady her age.”
“Normally I would agree with you, but since you’re going to be seen on my arm, it’s most likely a question others are going to ask. It might bring up unwelcome speculation if I can’t answer properly.”
“I’m twenty-two.”
“Are you really? I thought you were closer to my age, and I’m thirty-one, which just goes . . .”
The next thing Oliver knew, he was standing by himself, Harriet having shaken out of his hold and taken off down the sidewalk again.
Apparently the events of the past day or so were catching up with him, because it was completely unlike him to make such a huge faux pas.
No lady, be she society or of the working class, wanted to hear that a gentleman thought her to be older than her years. However, there was just something about Harriet—an air of confidence, he supposed—that made her seem older than twenty-two.
He shook himself out of his thoughts when he realized the exasperating lady was rapidly getting away from him and hurried to catch up with her. “Harriet, wait up. I didn’t mean to insult you.” He reached her side but didn’t take her arm again when she sent him a glare.
“I don’t believe, Mr. Addleshaw, it would be in either of our best interests to continue forward with this idiotic association we seem to have landed ourselves in. I don’t have a desire to find myself in jail, but if I’m forced to continue spending time with you . . . I fear I might be compelled to do something to you that will certainly land me there.”
“Have you forgotten you’re currently without another position?”
Harriet stopped moving. “You’re incredibly annoying. Has anyone ever told you that?”
Before he could reply to that piece of nonsense, she lifted her chin. “But, annoying or not, you do make a most excellent argument. I am without a position, which, I must add, is somewhat your fault, so I’m going to have to force myself to go through with this plan of yours. I’ll reluctantly take your money for my cooperation, but don’t think for a minute I’m going to be happy about it.”
A surprising flash of relief stole over him, causing him to smile, something he quickly stopped doing when she crossed her arms over her chest and began looking grumpy again.
“Your smiling is definitely contributing to my lack of happiness,” she muttered.
Swallowing a laugh, because he knew she certainly wouldn’t appreciate that, he summoned up a look he hoped would pass for somber. “No smiling, I can do that, and I won’t bring up age again, but . . . I do need to understand what difficulty you ran into while shopping. I’ve never met a young lady whose mood wasn’t improved by visiting the shops.”
“One would think shopping would, indeed, improve my spirits, but sadly enough, that hasn’t been the case today.”
“I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
“And I don’t really feel like explaining my sad day to you.”
“Why not?”
“Because . . . I’m embarrassed—which is one of several reasons why I pretended not to hear you when you first called out to me. I knew it was you, but . . .” She dropped her head and began scuffing her foot against the sidewalk.
She looked so dejected yet oddly adorable at the same time that Oliver suddenly found himself standing right before her, lifting her chin up with his finger. “What happened, Harriet?”
Her eyes turned a deep shade of violet. “Oh, very well, I’ll tell you. But I’m afraid you’re going to be very disappointed to learn how greatly I failed at the first task you gave me.” She released a huff. “I decided to go to Madame Simone’s shop, since Miss Birmingham had spoken so enthusiastically about the place. I will admit I wasn’t exactly certain I’d be able to buy much there, given the very dear prices Madame Simone charges for her designs. But it was a place to start, and I never dreamed everything would go so horribly wrong.”
“And . . . ?” Oliver prompted when Harriet stopped speaking and didn’t look like she particularly wanted to continue with her tale.
“Madame Simone took issue with my gown.”
Oliver looked her up and down. “Your gown is delightful, and you look no different from any of the other ladies strolling around the shops today. Quite honestly, I think you put most of them to shame.”
A lovely shade of pink stole across Harriet’s face. “Thank you, Oliver. That’s very kind of you to say, and I do think this gown is delightful, but . . .” She bit her lip. “It turns out that this particular gown was once owned by one of Madame Simone’s best customers, the Mrs. Astor. One of the snotty ladies working the front room of the salon recognized it straight away and called for Madame Simone. She breezed into the room, gave me a single glance, and then announced to everyone milling about that they were in the company of a thief. She immediately came to the conclusion that I was nothing more than a maid for the Astor family, and a maid who apparently had a propensity for being a bit light-fingered with her employer’s belongings.” Harriet shuddered. “I tried to protest, but she wouldn’t listen to a word I said and instead summoned the authorities.”
“Dare I ask what happened next?”
“Well, obviously I got away, but only because the doorman Madame Simone ordered to hold me clearly wasn’t expecting me to stomp on his foot and dash out the door.” She looked over her shoulder. “For all I know, there could be policemen searching the street for me as we speak.”
“You have nothing to be worried about, Harriet. You’re with me now.”
Harriet turned skeptical eyes on him. “Madame Simone was really upset. She seems to be incredibly protective of her designs, even though the gown I’m wearing bears no resemblance whatsoever to the one she made. It was just poor luck that this material came from a single bolt of fabric, that fabric destined for Mrs. Astor and Mrs. Astor o
nly.”
“How did you come into possession of a gown that originally belonged to Caroline Astor?”
Frost clouded Harriet’s eyes. “I didn’t steal it.”
“I never said you did.”
“Your tone implies otherwise.”
A sliver of chagrin took him by surprise. “I apologize, and you’re right. I did consider the idea that you might have obtained the gown through dishonest means, but tell me, how did it come about that you’re wearing a gown that once belonged to the leader of society?”
“Mrs. Astor abandoned this gown when she donated it to the castoff bin at my church. Reverend Gilmore has given me leave to take some of those castoffs because I have a need for them, whereas most of the poor don’t have a use for such fancy pieces.” She wrinkled her nose. “Speaking of Reverend Gilmore, I do feel I should warn you that he’s intent on seeking you out in the not-so-distant future.”
“While the idea that a reverend wants to seek me out is a little unsettling, I find I’m more curious about the cast-off clothing. Why do you take it?”
Harriet shrugged. “I salvage the material and remake the gowns into different styles.”
“You do this for your personal use?”
“Well, no, except for this gown I’m wearing today and a few others I’ve been experimenting with.” She lowered her voice. “I’m hoping to open up my own shop, you see. There are hundreds of working ladies who occasionally need a special dress but can’t afford to visit the department stores or fancy designer shops. I can provide them with what they need at a reasonable cost.”
“That’s the real reason behind your agreement to our deal, isn’t it.”
“I must admit that it is. Your money will allow me to proceed with my plan without starving to death in the process.”
Oliver’s thoughts immediately turned to business. “What a fascinating idea, and . . . completely brilliant, I might add.”
Harriet blinked. “Do you really think so?”
“Of course. Your costs are almost nonexistent, since you get your material for free. The most expensive part of your idea would be labor, which you do yourself. The money I’ve given you can be used to rent a storefront and . . . Yes, it’s brilliant.”
“You won’t steal my idea, will you?”
“No, of course not, but I wouldn’t be opposed to discussing it with you further at a later date. I know many gentlemen who own buildings in the city, and I’m sure I’d be able to help you negotiate a fair deal on rent.”
Harriet regarded him a little warily. “Hmm . . . Well, that’s very kind and . . . unexpected of you, but isn’t anything we need to worry about right now. My most pressing problem is what I’m going to wear when I come to work for you, because I’m not going back to any of those shops.”
“Madame Simone’s behavior was beyond unacceptable. I just sent her an incredible amount of money to pay Miss Birmingham’s bill, and finding out she and her staff treated you so shabbily today has annoyed me no small amount.” He nodded. “We’re going back there right this minute. You may rest assured that Madame Simone and her snooty helper will be extending you their most profuse apologies.”
Clear horror settled in Harriet’s eyes. “That’s a dreadful idea. How about if I return the money you gave me—except what I used to pay for the steaks, of course—and then sew as fast as I can and try to pull together a few pieces that I think you’ll find acceptable?”
“I don’t expect you to work yourself to the bone in order to produce an acceptable wardrobe.”
“Well, I’m not going back to Madame Simone’s. There’s only so much humiliation I’m willing to suffer in a single day.”
Oliver watched her for a moment, unable to help but recognize that underneath her air of bravado was a hint of vulnerability. It affected him in a most peculiar way and had him stepping closer to her. He took her arm and tugged her into motion. “Fine, we won’t visit Madame Simone’s, or any of the other small shops, but we will secure you a new wardrobe.”
“I don’t need a new wardrobe, just a few pieces to see me through the short time we’re going to spend out and about.”
He tightened his fingers around her arm. “Would it be possible for you to just be quiet and go along with me? I assure you, your shopping experience will be quite different while you’re in my company. I would think you’d try to relax that guard of yours and simply attempt to enjoy yourself. Most ladies I know love to shop.”
“Most ladies you know aren’t hat girls who get booted out into the street or threatened with arrest.”
Seeing no advantage to addressing that disturbing bit of truth, he looked around and smiled. There it was, only a block away—a department store that was certain to have everything Harriet needed. He began walking faster.
“If you haven’t noticed, you’re beginning to drag me,” Harriet complained. “And why are we walking? Isn’t your carriage around here somewhere?”
“I almost forgot about my carriage.” He turned them around and began heading the other way. “I’ll tell Darren where we’ll be, and then we’ll begin our shopping adventure.”
It took a good five minutes to reach his carriage because Harriet kept dragging her feet. He glanced up at Darren as he let go of Harriet’s arm, having no choice in the matter because she’d begun to wrestle her way out of his hold. “Miss Peabody and I are going to visit Arnold Constable & Company, Darren. I expect it’ll take a good few hours to get Miss Peabody all she needs, and I would hate for you to miss your lunch. Why don’t you park the carriage in front of the store and go get yourself something to eat?”
Instead of nodding in agreement, Darren shook his head and grinned. “Forgive me, Mr. Addleshaw, but I don’t think Miss Peabody is exactly keen about going to Arnold Constable & Company.”
“Why would you say that?”
“She’s dashing away in the opposite direction.”
Oliver turned, and sure enough, Harriet was quickly disappearing into the crowd, her huge hat once again bobbing in the breeze.
She was exasperating, annoying, and continuously causing him to move at a pace he was unaccustomed to moving as he kept having to dash after her.
“Just meet me at Arnold Constable’s,” he called to Darren as he began to jostle his way through the crowded sidewalk. He increased his pace but then smiled when a swish of an ice-blue skirt through a doorway captured his attention. Strolling a moment later into a small shop that sold unmentionables, he set his sights on Harriet, who was already at the very back of the shop, pretending an interest in what appeared to be bustles. He stalked over to join her.
“You’re trying my patience.”
“I could say the same of you,” she retorted without lifting her gaze. “Did I mention that I’m attempting to create a new bustle, one that would fold up when a lady sits down and then spring back to position once she stands up?”
“No, you didn’t, and that has nothing to do with . . . A collapsible bustle, did you say?”
“Indeed, but so far I haven’t been able to develop a spring that will actually work.”
Even though he was highly intrigued with the idea, he pushed it aside and sent her what he could only hope was a formidable glare. To his annoyance, it didn’t have any effect on her whatsoever, probably because she still wasn’t looking at him.
“Why did you run away?” he asked.
“I can’t go to Arnold Constable & Company.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s too . . . too . . . everything.”
“It’s one of the leading department stores in New York.”
“Exactly. That store caters to the elite. Why, I’ve heard the Vanderbilt family shops there, and the Astor family, and the list goes on and on. Your mother probably shops there.”
“She does, frequently at that, which is how I know they’ll have everything you need, all under one roof. Quite frankly, I’m a little confused as to why you didn’t start at department stores in the first p
lace.”
“Because, again, they draw in elite crowds.”
“Madame Simone is one of the leading designers in the city, and yet you went to her shop.”
“I thought I would be less conspicuous there, since there wouldn’t be as many ladies roaming around.”
“You think entirely too much,” he said before he took hold of her arm again, and with quite a bit of prodding on his part, finally got her out of the unmentionables shop and back on the sidewalk.
“I’ll embarrass you,” she finally whispered.
“You won’t,” he said softly. “You’re now, for all intents and purposes, a lady I hold in deepest affection. Once you show up at Arnold Constable & Company on my arm, you’ll be treated like a princess, but you need to trust me.”
She stopped moving, but since he wasn’t willing to stand for another hour on the sidewalk, he prodded her forward, not speaking until they reached the department store—where he found he couldn’t actually make her walk up the steps.
For a wisp of a lady, she really was incredibly strong—and . . . stubborn.
“I can’t do it.”
“You can do it. Just think about that shop you want to open and know that this is just something you have to do to attain your goal.”
Harriet opened her mouth, looked as if she wanted to argue, but then pressed her lips together right before she nodded. “Very well, but do remember that this was your idea.” She tightened her fingers around his arm and, with her feet dragging only a little, allowed him to escort her through the front door.
8
Terror seized hold of Harriet and wouldn’t let go as Oliver escorted her across the marble floor. He led her deeper into the bowels of Arnold Constable & Company, and with every step they took, her terror increased. Her mouth felt incredibly dry, her heart was racing, and when she looked up and saw not one but several glass chandeliers swaying from the ceiling, her stomach immediately turned queasy.
A strange ringing sounded in her ears when she glanced around the room and discovered a well-dressed lady staring in her direction, the scarf the woman had evidently been considering for purchase dangling forgotten in her hand. The lady caught Harriet’s eye and sent her a nod, right before she imperiously summoned a gentleman wearing a dark suit to her side with the deliberate movement of a gloved hand. Harriet watched as the gentleman hurried over to the woman and bent his head as she began to whisper furiously in his ear.
