After a Fashion (9781441265135)

by Turano, Jen

  To Oliver’s surprise, Mrs. Hart let out a booming laugh, patted Harriet’s cheek again, and turned to Mrs. Palmer. “Doesn’t she have just the keenest sense of humor? I’m Mrs. Hart, by the way, but you may call me Abigail. All of my friends do, and that gentleman over there is Mr. Oliver Addleshaw, but you should probably call him Mr. Addleshaw.” She winked. “These important men of business like to hold on to their dignity.”

  Mrs. Palmer seemed to struggle for a reply, but then Mrs. Hart continued on, acting as if it were a common occurrence for her to converse in the middle of a tenement slum with a lady who was wearing a shapeless gown and sported a smudge of flour on her cheek.

  “I must thank you, Mrs. Palmer, for all you’ve done for my dear Harriet. Why, Reverend Gilmore has frequently declared how helpful you’ve been in keeping a sharp eye on her and making certain she doesn’t get into mischief.”

  Harriet’s nose wrinkled. “You’re acquainted with Reverend Gilmore?”

  “Indeed,” Mrs. Hart said, sending a fond smile Harriet’s way. “I’m a patroness of the church, albeit a silent one. Reverend Gilmore and I have known each other for years. He immediately sought me out this morning and delivered the news about you and Mr. Addleshaw, which . . . is why I’m here.”

  “What news?” Mrs. Palmer asked, her tone rising ever so slightly, probably in the hopes of being heard over Harriet, who’d begun to sputter.

  “Why, that Miss Peabody and Mr. Addleshaw have formed an . . . attachment,” Mrs. Hart said with another one of her beaming smiles. She turned to Oliver. “I took the liberty of sending a telegram to your grandfather. He’s already responded—which I’m not surprised about in the least—and you’ll be delighted to learn he’s coming to town, immediately from the sound of things.”

  Oliver felt the distinct urge to begin sputtering exactly as Harriet was still doing. “My grandfather is coming to town?”

  “Of course, dear. You know how Archibald enjoys being in the thick of things, and you really can’t expect him to ignore something as thrilling as your involvement with Miss Peabody. Why, I bet he’ll be absolutely tickled to death to participate in the upcoming festivities.”

  Harriet turned to him with eyes that had grown huge. “What upcoming festivities?”

  “How would I know? This is the first I’m hearing about Grandfather coming to town, or any festivities, for that matter. And, I have yet to understand how and why Mrs. Hart is involved in our private matters.”

  “Oh, did I forget to mention that?” Mrs. Hart exclaimed as she batted innocent lashes his way. “I’m here to assume the position of chaperone.”

  Oliver narrowed his eyes. “Forgive me, Mrs. Hart, but I was under the impression you’d chosen to withdraw from society.”

  “Choices are made to change, my boy.”

  “And you’ve, for some unfathomable reason, chosen to involve yourself in my affairs?” he asked slowly.

  “I owe Reverend Gilmore a favor, so I certainly couldn’t refuse his request of seeing after Harriet.”

  It was too late—his decision to end matters with Harriet was not going to be a feasible option, and his well-organized life, something he cherished, was rapidly going by the wayside. And strangely enough, it was all due to the machinations of some gentleman by the name of Reverend Gilmore and a society matron no one had seen out and about for years.

  “I don’t need, or want, a chaperone,” Harriet said firmly.

  “Of course you do,” Mrs. Hart countered before she turned to Mrs. Palmer. “Now then, from what I’ve learned, you’re the owner of this charming house where Harriet and her friends reside, and as such, you and I should probably have a little chat regarding future rent. I’ve convinced Miss Longfellow and Miss Plum to come stay with me while I go about the business of chaperoning Harriet, but I would like to take it upon myself to pay their rent in advance for the next couple of months.”

  She smiled even as she shook her head. “Why, between the three ladies, their rooms are filled to bursting with various items, items I believe should stay here until I get the ladies’ lives . . . Well, no need to get into that.” Mrs. Hart slid a sideways glance at Harriet, who seemed to be swelling on the spot, and grabbed hold of Mrs. Palmer’s arm and hustled her over to the brown house.

  “You have to go after that crazy lady and tell her our association has come to an end.”

  Oliver pulled his gaze from the retreating back of Mrs. Hart and frowned at Harriet, who was glaring at him. “I don’t believe that’s an option, Harriet. Mrs. Hart is one of those formidable ladies you don’t want to tangle with if at all possible, and I fear she’s decided to take you in hand.”

  “You can simply tell her that I don’t need anyone to take me in hand, and you can tell her that I’ve broken things off with you.”

  Before Oliver could utter a single protest, Harriet sent a smile to Darren, who was still standing beside him, and then marched off in the direction of the peeling brown house, disappearing a moment later around the corner of the building. No more than a second passed before her head popped back into view. She scanned the surrounding area, seemed to blow out a breath of relief, and then disappeared again.

  He’d forgotten all about the two gentlemen he’d thought were following Harriet. He scanned the assorted people walking on the sidewalk, but the gentlemen he’d seen before were nowhere in sight.

  She’d conveniently neglected to explain the men, but he couldn’t really blame her for that, not when Mrs. Hart and her overabundance of personality had descended on them.

  How was he going to tell Mrs. Hart there was no longer any need for her help in chaperoning, or more worrisome, how was he going to explain this mess to his grandfather?

  “Should I take the boxes from Arnold Constable & Company up to Miss Peabody?” Darren asked, breaking through Oliver’s thoughts.

  In all the chaos of the past hour, he’d neglected to remember that Arnold Constable & Company had efficiently gathered together some of Harriet’s selections and delivered them to the carriage for Harriet’s immediate use. He certainly had no issue with allowing her to keep the items purchased today, but what concerned him more at the moment was what Darren had just said. “What do you mean, up to her?”

  “I assume she lives on one of the upper floors since she went around the corner of the house. Boardinghouses usually have outside stairs leading up to the tenants’ rooms.”

  All the air disappeared from Oliver’s lungs as his gaze traveled over the peeling paint, lingered on the sagging shutters, and he finally came to the realization that he was standing in front of the place Harriet called home.

  How had he neglected to realize that the lovely, vivacious, and yes, annoying, Miss Harriet Peabody lived in one of the meanest slums he’d ever seen?

  Had he been so distracted by the appearance of Mrs. Hart that he hadn’t taken the time to figure it out, or could it be possible that some unconscious part of him had simply not wanted to delve into this alarming bit of reality?

  Drawing in a deep breath, he caught sight of what could only be a rat foraging around in some rubbish strewn against the side of the sad-looking house. The rat scurried into a large hole leading to the basement in the house where Harriet resided.

  Did rats know how to climb, and if so, did Harriet ever have to fend them off as she tried to sleep?

  The mere idea of that caused his temper to stir, replaced quickly with dismay.

  “Mr. Addleshaw, are you feeling all right?”

  Oliver drew in another breath, that action having the unfortunate result of a rather pungent odor sweeping up his nose. He began breathing through his mouth before he managed to nod in Darren’s direction. “I wasn’t aware that Miss Peabody lived in such a deplorable part of the city, but now that I do, I’ll need to rectify that situation.”

  “Begging your pardon, sir, but I got the distinct impression, given that Miss Peabody flung herself from your carriage, that the two of you are not in accord at the mome
nt.”

  “I should probably go straighten that little misunderstanding out.” Oliver extracted the pistol he always carried with him from the waistband of his trousers. “Best keep this with you, Darren, to guard the carriage.”

  Accepting the pistol, Darren frowned. “Are you certain you wouldn’t rather keep the pistol, sir? If you ask me, you’re in more danger from Miss Peabody than I am out here on the street.”

  A grin caught Oliver by surprise even as he shook his head. He watched his driver walk away and climb up on the carriage before he turned and headed toward the boardinghouse, wondering what he should say to Harriet when they came face-to-face.

  They would have to go through with the plan—there was no other option, especially now that he’d seen her home.

  Harriet would have no reason to live with Mrs. Hart unless she played the role of his fiancée, and he knew her well enough, even in the short time they’d been acquainted, to realize she wouldn’t let him just give her money without doing anything to earn it.

  She was too proud, too conscientious, and had too much appreciation for the value of a dollar, but he could not allow her to remain living in squalor. Somehow, he was going to have to convince her to continue on as his fiancée. How he was going to do that, he had no idea, but he needed to move quickly.

  He strode to the side of the house, grunted in disgust at what someone apparently thought passed for stairs, grabbed hold of the rickety railing, and began to climb, having no idea what floor Harriet lived on or if she’d even answer the door once he figured that out.

  11

  Harriet, I think your Mr. Addleshaw is climbing up our stairs,” Millie announced as Harriet was reaching a hand underneath the kitchen table in an attempt to pull a trembling Buford out from under it.

  Snatching back her hand when Buford growled at her, Harriet glanced at Millie who was standing in the doorway of their tiny kitchen. “He’s not my Mr. Addleshaw, and I’d appreciate it if you’d inform him that I’m unavailable to speak with him . . . now or anytime in the future.”

  “Oh dear, something happened, didn’t it?”

  “You could say that.”

  “And . . . ?”

  “There’s no time to explain, especially if he’s on his way up, but I’ll tell you all about it after you get rid of him.”

  Millie bit her lip. “I don’t think Mr. Addleshaw is going to appreciate me trying to get rid of him.”

  “You’re probably right, but just be firm and I’m sure you’ll persevere.”

  “I have no idea what persevere means, and you, of all people, should remember that I’m hardly good at dealing with the socially elite. Besides, I thought you’d decided it was in your best interest to accept his offer.”

  “I’ve changed my mind.”

  “Well, that’s unfortunate, especially since Mrs. Hart seems quite excited to step in and chaperone you around town.” Millie’s brow furrowed. “She’s also excited about bringing you ‘up to snuff’—whatever that means. I couldn’t find a credible definition of that particular expression in any of my dictionaries, but now, since I’m going to have to look up what persevere means, I’ll once again look for the meaning of up to snuff.”

  Harriet grinned. Millie was a lady who was determined to improve herself, and at the moment, she was doing said improvement by memorizing the dictionary. The words that frequently poured out of Millie’s mouth were always a surprise, especially when Millie didn’t have their meanings exactly right. “Up to snuff means that Mrs. Hart wants to pretty me up and hone my manners so that I’ll be acceptable to society.”

  “How delightful.”

  “I’d rather be boiled in oil.”

  “Hmm. . . .”

  “Exactly. So, you’ll need to think of something to say to get Oliver to leave. And . . . tell him I’m returning all of his money to him, except for the amount I spent on Buford’s meal.”

  “You do realize that if you’re determined to end your association with Mr. Addleshaw, you’re going to have to give him back his dog, don’t you? That might prove a little tricky since Buford doesn’t seem to want to come out from under the table.”

  Looking back at Buford, Harriet saw that the poor pooch was trembling harder than ever. “Any thoughts as to what’s wrong with him?”

  “When Lucetta and I got back from paying a visit to Reverend Gilmore about an hour ago, the door was wide open, and we were afraid Buford had run off, but then we found him hiding underneath the table. It’s rather strange.” Millie frowned. “Do you think he somehow opened the door and then remembered he’s afraid of heights and that’s what sent him into hiding?”

  “I think a more pertinent question would be how he could have opened the door in the first place.”

  “Maybe he used his teeth,” Millie suggested right as someone began knocking on the door in question. “I think Mr. Addleshaw’s found you.”

  Harriet blew out a breath. “I was hoping he’d give up after knocking on Lulu’s door down on the third floor. She’s a darling lady—don’t get me wrong—but she is a little . . .”

  “Scary?” Millie finished for her.

  “I think it’s the different colored eyes and the hair that almost reaches the floor.” Harriet scooted down on her stomach and began edging toward Buford, even as he started edging farther away from her. “If you’ll just come out, darling, I’ll give you to your master.”

  “Mr. Addleshaw might have to come in and fetch his dog,” Millie said, her voice muffled since Harriet was now completely under the table. “Buford wouldn’t even come out for Lucetta, and you know how much he adores her.”

  The knocking suddenly intensified, the sound making Harriet’s teeth grind together. “The sooner you cooperate, Buford, the sooner you’ll be reunited with Oliver.”

  A pitiful whimper was Buford’s only response.

  “Does no one but me hear that someone is trying to pound down our door?” Lucetta called from the receiving room.

  “Don’t—” Harriet began as she shot up, the impact from her head hitting the underside of the table, cutting off the rest of her warning. Stars began dancing behind her eyes, and she could only drop back to the floor in a daze while the sound of Lucetta’s bare feet padding down the small hallway mingled with Oliver’s determined knocks.

  The creak of the door came next, and then Oliver’s voice rang out. “I do beg your pardon, but I’m looking for Miss Harriet Peabody. Does she happen to live here?”

  “You’re Mr. Addleshaw.”

  “Indeed, and . . . you’re Miss Lucetta Plum . . . the . . . actress . . . but what have you done to your hair? It’s . . .”

  Whatever else Oliver was saying got lost when the door slammed right before Lucetta’s stomps echoed down the hallway and then her feet came into view.

  “What an unpleasant, hideous man,” Lucetta said with a huff. “Did you hear how he said actress in that snotty tone of voice?” She let out another huff. “I’m afraid I might have been completely off the mark, Harriet, regarding my support of the alliance you’ve formed with that man.”

  Pushing herself up from the floor, Harriet rubbed her head. “Oliver can certainly be unpleasant, but . . .” Her eyes widened as the stars disappeared and she got a good look at Lucetta. “What have you done to your hair?”

  Lucetta raised a hand and touched one of the many braids sticking out on her head. “Oh, I forgot about this. I was reading over my lines for that new play, and, well, you know how I get bored when I do that.”

  “One braid wasn’t enough to push away the boredom?” Millie asked with a grin.

  Lucetta waved the question away. “It’s not like anyone’s around to see me, except for that horrid man on our landing, and I don’t really care what he thinks of me, which obviously isn’t much.” She plopped her hands on her hips. “You must realize you can’t continue forward with this, Harriet. He’s a nightmare.”

  “You’ll be pleased to learn I’ve already come to that very same
conclusion, Lucetta, but I do have to say that Oliver isn’t unpleasant all the time, and really, he’s far from hideous, and . . .”

  Harriet pressed her lips together when Lucetta and Millie suddenly gawked at her with wide eyes. “What?”

  “Good heavens, Harriet, this is a disaster,” Lucetta whispered.

  “What’s a disaster?”

  “You’re . . . attracted to him.”

  “No. I’m. . . . well . . . perhaps a bit, but it’s just because he’s not always grumpy, and I think, deep down inside, very deep down inside, he’s . . . slightly . . . nice.”

  She pointed to Buford still under the table, ignoring the looks of shock Millie and Lucetta were sending her way. “Take Buford, for instance. While I was having ice cream with Oliver, we got to talking about his dog, and I learned he didn’t buy Buford. He found the poor thing starving in an alley, and instead of leaving Buford there to die, he brought him home.”

  “He rescued a dog and bought you ice cream?” Lucetta asked slowly.

  Harriet nodded. “He did, and when he discovered I’d been treated shabbily by Madame Simone when I was trying to buy some dresses, he took me to Arnold Constable & Company and practically bought out the store for me.”

  Lucetta took a step closer. “This is worse than I thought. You like the man.”

  “No, I don’t,” Harriet argued. “Or, maybe I did, until he tried to take me to task for speaking to Ginger and Tawny. Honestly, he was appalled to learn I’m acquainted with two women he was so certain were from the demimonde.” She shrugged. “Granted, Ginger and Tawny used to work in that profession, but they’ve abandoned their old ways and now earn their living by taking in laundry. Since they don’t make much in the way of a wage, it’s hardly their fault they still dress in the clothing they used to be required to wear in their other profession.”

  The sound of pounding started again.

  “He’s not going to just go away,” Millie yelled. “Besides, we still have his dog.”