After a Fashion (9781441265135)

by Turano, Jen

  Her queasiness increased. This was it—the die was cast. She’d been found out. How, she couldn’t really say, but she knew she was about to be ejected from yet another store, no matter that Oliver was standing by her side, practically propping her up now that her legs seemed to be giving out on her.

  “You need to calm down,” he said, placing a hand against the small of her back to steady her.

  “That lady is staring at me,” Harriet whispered.

  Oliver squinted in the direction Harriet was looking, smiled at the lady and gentleman, who both smiled back, and then returned his attention to her. “Of course she’s staring at you. You’re wearing a very fashionable dress, paired with an unusual hat—but one that, I imagine, will soon be the hat to have in New York City. You’re also beautiful, and . . . you’re with me.”

  The ringing in her ears disappeared. “Beautiful?”

  Oliver arched a brow. “Fishing for a compliment?”

  “For some unfathomable reason, I find myself in desperate need of one right about now.”

  “Well then, I’ll have to see what I can do about getting you more than one.”

  Bracing herself for whatever outlandish thing would soon come out of Oliver’s mouth, Harriet wrinkled her nose when he simply smiled. But then she was distracted by the disturbing sight of the man in the formal suit making his way directly for them. Fresh terror kept her rooted to the spot—the only movement she seemed capable of making was to peek at Oliver out of the corner of her eye.

  To her annoyance, even though Oliver clearly saw the man approaching them, he certainly didn’t seem to realize the gravity of their situation. He was standing there, calm as could be—for all appearances a gentleman who was simply out for a bit of shopping, not a gentleman who was inappropriately escorting a hat girl through one of the most elite department stores of the day.

  “Mr. Addleshaw,” the gentleman exclaimed, “this is a pleasant surprise. We haven’t seen you here in months, nor have I seen your mother.”

  “Mr. Lamansky, always a pleasure to see you as well,” Oliver returned. “I’m afraid I’ve been out of town of late, and my parents are visiting India at the moment.” He turned and gestured to Harriet. “May I introduce to you Miss—”

  “Ah, you must be Miss Birmingham,” Mr. Lamansky interrupted before Oliver had a chance to finish the introduction. Mr. Lamansky’s smile dimmed for a second before he hitched it back into place. “I’ve heard wonderful things about you since you’ve arrived in our city. Tell me, how do you find the shopping?”

  Before Harriet could get so much as a single sputter past her lips, Oliver took a firm hold of her arm. “This lady,” he began, “is not Miss Birmingham, but Miss Peabody.”

  Mr. Lamansky’s eyes went wide. “Oh, forgive me. I assumed she was your fiancée. I must admit I imparted the wrong information to Mrs. Gould when she begged me to come ask you who designed Miss, ah, Peabody’s dress.” He sent her an expectant arch of a brow.

  “Er . . . ” was all Harriet could think to respond.

  “This is one of Miss Peabody’s own designs,” Oliver said, coming to her rescue when she continued struggling for words.

  The look Mr. Lamansky sent her had Harriet wishing a large hole would open up right in front of her feet, or better yet, that a train would suddenly go rushing through the store, at which time she’d fling herself in front of it and be done with this nonsense once and for all.

  “Begging your pardon, Mr. Addleshaw,” Mr. Lamansky said in a lowered voice as he stepped closer to Oliver. “Do you think it wise to bring Miss Peabody, a dress designer by the sound of things, into this particular store? Surely you must realize that my customers are bound to take note of her, and I’m certain they’ll make mention of it to Miss Birmingham.”

  Oliver’s hand tightened on her arm, and with that tightening, she felt him stiffen. His eyes turned hard, the vein began throbbing on his forehead, and he looked downright menacing, even with all but one of the buttons missing on his jacket and his hair untidy from chasing her through the streets.

  Why hadn’t she suggested he fix his hair?

  A bubble of hysterical laughter caught in her throat, and she struggled to hold it in, but the urge to laugh disappeared completely when Oliver began to speak.

  “I fear there are numerous misconceptions floating around the city,” he drawled, the measured tone of his voice causing Mr. Lamansky’s face to pale. “First of all, I’m not engaged to Miss Birmingham, no matter the rumors you might have heard.”

  “Not . . . engaged . . . ?”

  “No, not to Miss Birmingham, but I am engaged.” He turned to Harriet and sent her a smile that was so surprisingly sweet she felt the unusual urge to dissolve into a puddle of blubbering incoherency right at his feet—until she remembered the pesky little notion that Oliver seemed to have an entire arsenal of smiles at his disposal, which he apparently brought out as needed. “Allow me to start again.” He inclined his head at Mr. Lamansky. “I would like to introduce you to my fiancée, Miss Peabody. Miss Peabody, this is Mr. Lamansky, one of the managers here. I’m quite certain he’s going to do everything within his power to provide you with a shopping experience you’ll never forget.”

  “Your . . . fiancée?” Mr. Lamansky whispered.

  “Exactly right, Mr. Lamansky, and do feel free to tell Mrs. Gould that my fiancée designed her dress. In fact, tell her Miss Peabody is soon to open up her own design shop here in town. You may assure her we’ll send her the shop’s location once it’s officially open.”

  “Your fiancée is going to run a shop?”

  Oliver let out a chuckle. “My Harriet is quite the independent lady. Why, the only way I could convince her to marry me was to agree to allow her to continue on with her pursuit of becoming one of the most sought-after designers in New York.”

  Harriet’s mouth dropped open. She had no intention of opening a shop that catered to the elite, so . . . why would he say that . . . and . . . why in the world would he have proclaimed to this gentleman that she was his fiancée? She was only supposed to be posing as his social companion, and now, well, this was certainly going to open up a whole can of worms.

  Unfortunately, Oliver didn’t seem to understand the ramifications of what he’d just so blithely announced. Instead of panic clouding his eyes, there was a strange gleam of intensity, but what that intensity meant . . .

  “I’m going to be backing my fiancée’s venture, and I must say, she’s incredibly talented. I fully expect her shop to become a place where all the ladies go to seek out original designs.”

  In the blink of an eye, everything became crystal clear. Oliver was a businessman forever on the lookout for opportunities that might be profitable or pique his interest. He’d apparently, during the midst of the nonsense unfolding around them, decided he wanted to partner with her on her plan to open up a shop. The problem with that decision, however, was that she had no desire to wait on the wealthy. She wanted to help ladies who were much like herself—ladies who had limited funds but still possessed a keen sense of style.

  “Now then,” Oliver said briskly, “we’re here today to secure a new wardrobe for my darling, and I’m hopeful she’ll be able to find everything she desires under this one roof. She’s been much too busy of late to design clothing for herself, which is why I suggested we come here to secure everything she needs.” He sent Harriet a look she assumed was supposed to be one of indulgence, but she couldn’t help but notice a distinct trace of amusement lurking in his eyes.

  She blinked and then blinked again. She hadn’t expected that Oliver Addleshaw might have a sense of humor.

  Mr. Lamansky cleared his throat. “Did you say an entirely new wardrobe?”

  “I’m not certain I used the word entirely, but I do believe that might be exactly what my fiancée needs.”

  Before Harriet had a moment to breathe, let alone think, she was ushered into one of Arnold Constable & Company’s private rooms and helped into a cus
hy chair. Handing her tea in a bone china cup, Mr. Lamansky smiled a very satisfied smile.

  “I’ll send in ladies to assist you immediately,” he said before extending her a short bow and quitting the room.

  The second the door shut behind the man, Harriet set aside her tea and turned to Oliver, who was lowering himself into a chair right beside her. “What have you done?”

  Oliver picked up his cup, took a sip, grimaced, and set it right back down. “Have I ever told you I loathe tea?”

  “I don’t believe that has ever come up in the few conversations we’ve had, but honestly, Oliver, what were you thinking telling Mr. Lamansky I’m your fiancée? That wasn’t part of our deal.”

  “I didn’t appreciate the man’s attitude toward you.”

  His response took her by complete surprise and had tears stinging her eyes. There’d never been a time in her life when a gentleman had come to her defense, and she was suddenly thankful she was sitting down. Otherwise, she was fairly sure she’d be unable to stand, given that her entire body felt somewhat like jelly. She swiped a hand over her eyes and, when she was certain she wasn’t about to turn into a watering pot, looked back at Oliver. “I do appreciate you putting that man in his place, but surely you realize this latest turn of insanity is going to cause both of us no small amount of difficulty.”

  Oliver shrugged. “Telling him we are engaged was a means to an end, and you have to admit it was better than what I first thought about doing, which was pummeling the man.”

  “Pummeling might have been the lesser of the two evils. We’d surely have been shown the door, but we wouldn’t now be engaged.”

  “Harriet,” Oliver began slowly, “you do realize that we’re not truly engaged, don’t you?”

  Rolling her eyes, Harriet picked up her tea and took a sip. “There’s no need to get nervous, Oliver. Of course I know we’re not truly engaged. What we are is worse—we’re liars.”

  “Shall I assume you have a problem with that?”

  “I don’t like to lie, nor do I believe God approves of people who do, and this—our pretend engagement—feels pretty much like a spectacular lie to me.”

  Oliver frowned. “I find myself somewhat confused with your reasoning. How was it that agreeing to pose as my companion wasn’t a lie, while posing as my fiancée is one?”

  Harriet regarded Oliver over the rim of her cup. “It’s funny you should bring that up, because I was actually discussing that very idea with my friends last night. It was bothering me somewhat dreadfully, but then Miss Longfellow, one of my roommates, pointed out that she has occasionally taken positions as a paid companion. She received compensation for that role, and even though those positions never worked out well for her, they were completely respectable positions for a lady to take. So, you see, there was absolutely nothing in the least shady about me agreeing to be your paid companion.”

  “Forgive me for bringing this up, but paid companions are normally hired by ladies in their dotage, something I’m clearly not.”

  “True, but it’s the same principle. You’ve hired me to be a companion, even if not exactly in the same role as most paid companions take on. Now, however, with your declaration that I’m your fiancée, you are asking me to live a lie, plain and simple, because we’re not engaged.”

  Oliver tilted his head. “Would it make you feel better if I got down on bended knee and asked you to be my pretend fiancée?”

  An image of Oliver on bended knee immediately sprang to mind. Something warm and mushy began to travel through her, until she staunchly pushed the mushiness aside. No good could possibly come from dwelling on fantasies, and it wasn’t as if Oliver had offered to really propose to her, given the whole pretend business. Besides, she was quite certain she didn’t even like the gentleman, so . . . what could possibly have brought about the whole mushy feeling?

  “Harriet, is something the matter?”

  Taking another sip of tea to allow herself time to collect her composure, Harriet swallowed and quirked a brow. “Of course nothing’s the matter—except that you’ve just announced our engagement to a man I’m fairly sure is even now spreading the word.”

  “And you’re still bothered by the idea we’re perpetuating a lie?”

  “We are perpetuating a lie.”

  “I disagree. As you mentioned before, I’ve hired you to play a part, whether companion or fiancée, and that’s how you need to look at it. You should think of yourself as an actress, someone who assumes different roles with every new script. You don’t believe actresses are perpetuating a lie every time they take to the stage, do you?”

  “Of course not, and speaking of actresses, don’t you think it would have made matters less complicated if you’d just hired one of them?”

  “Actresses are hardly respectable.”

  “Neither are ladies who make hats for a living—at least not in your world.”

  “You no longer make hats for a living.”

  “As I think I mentioned before, you’re very annoying.”

  “And you really should remember it’s not advisable to insult your employer.”

  Harriet brightened. “That’s exactly the reason we can use to dissolve this pretend engagement. You can tell Mr. Lamansky that you and I have had a terrible row, brought about because I have the unfortunate habit of insulting you.”

  “You’re reaching now, Harriet, and no, I won’t be doing any such thing. You and I have an agreement, one that will benefit both of us.”

  Throwing up her hands in defeat, Harriet blew out a breath. “Fine, you win. I suppose I’ll just have to appease my conscience with the idea that I can now add actress to the list of positions I’ve held.”

  “You don’t have to sound so sulky about it.”

  Waving the comment aside, Harriet frowned. “Why did you tell Mr. Lamansky that I’m opening up my own shop? And why did you tell him to tell that Mrs. Gould you were going to send her my direction once my shop was ready to do business?”

  Oliver settled back in his chair and pulled the edges of his open jacket over his trim stomach. “Mrs. Gould is the wife of Mr. Jay Gould, and he’s incredibly wealthy. He owns over ten thousand miles of railroad lines, and rumor has it he’s recently started investing heavily in the El. If you can garner the attention of someone like Mrs. Gould, you’ll have more orders than you’ll be able to fill.” His smile faded. “We might need to develop a plan for you to bring on other seamstresses and figure out how much you can pay them based on projected profits.”

  Harriet’s head suddenly felt as if it might explode. “While that’s an interesting idea, I have to tell you that I have no plans to . . .” A soft knock on the door interrupted Harriet’s speech. She watched as the door opened and five ladies, all dressed in pristine white blouses with navy skirts, waltzed into the room, their arms filled with what looked to be magazines.

  “Ah, perfect timing,” Oliver said as he got to his feet. He sent the ladies a smile and walked to the other side of the room. Taking a seat in a chair situated under a window, he plucked a newspaper from a basket at his feet and snapped it open. “Do try and enjoy yourself, darling,” he said right before he disappeared behind the paper.

  “Don’t you want a say in what I select?” she asked.

  Oliver peered at her from over the top of the paper. “I’m sure you know exactly what you want, and . . . your sense of fashion is probably keener than mine.”

  Harriet watched him disappear again, feeling a touch off-balance. He was a very complicated man, one she didn’t understand in the least. Dragging her attention away from him when the ladies began introducing themselves to her, Harriet soon found herself buried under fashion plates and fabric swatches. Before she knew it, clothing was being hauled into the room at a rapid rate, followed by shoes, gloves, hats, undergarments, and reticules.

  To her amazement, once she began trying everything on, the ladies fawned over each outfit, extending her outrageous compliments with every change of clot
hing.

  Oliver, it seemed, had known exactly what he was promising when he’d told her he would see about getting her more than one compliment.

  “Ah, that is simply delightful on you,” a lady she thought was named Edie gushed when Harriet stepped out from behind a silk curtain and shook out the folds of a lovely yellow gown. “Mr. Addleshaw, doesn’t Miss Peabody look enchanting in this particular shade of yellow?”

  Oliver lowered the paper, his gaze traveled over her, and then something rather warm flickered through his eyes. “She does indeed.”

  His perusal left her flustered. Harriet felt heat travel from her toes, up her torso, to finally settle on her face. She’d never been a lady who blushed much, but ever since she’d met Oliver, she was doing so quite regularly. “Thank you,” she managed to mumble.

  Oliver gestured to another gown. “I’d like to see that one on her next.”

  Harriet glanced at the gown he was gesturing to and frowned. “That one seems rather formal.”

  “Which means it’ll be perfect for you to wear to the opera.”

  “I wasn’t aware we were going to the opera.”

  Oliver smiled. “Well, we are, and that means you’ll need something new and pretty to wear.” He nodded to Edie. “I do so enjoy indulging my fiancée.”

  It took everything Harriet had in her to not roll her eyes. She was rapidly coming to the belief that Oliver was finding this situation vastly amusing, but she was beginning to think he was getting a touch carried away with the role he’d embraced. Before she could put her foot down once and for all, though, Edie smiled in obvious delight.

  “How lovely to witness a gentleman so very fond of his fiancée and so eager to lavish presents on her,” Edie exclaimed. “We here at Arnold Constable & Company are only too happy to oblige you with that lavishing.” She clapped her hands. “Girls, we need to get Miss Peabody into this blue gown, and . . . yes, I think the gold one we have hanging in the designer salon that just arrived from Paris will be perfect with her hair.” She nodded to Harriet. “I will get some of the garments that don’t need alterations packaged up for you, if you are ready to decide on which ones you’d like to purchase?”