by Turano, Jen
“I’m . . . sure I have no idea,” Lucetta muttered.
“The only reason the oyster fork has to be placed on top of that spoon is because some society lady decided it would be a clever way to separate the snobs from the masses.”
Looking up, Harriet caught sight of Oliver, in the company of a distinguished-looking gentleman with brown hair, stepping into the dining room. Annoyance was swift, but it wasn’t his appearance that annoyed her—more that her pulse had begun racing the moment she laid eyes on him.
They had a business arrangement, nothing more, and Harriet knew her attraction to the man would not serve her well in the end. The last thing she wanted to endure was a broken heart, which meant she was going to have to push her attraction aside and strive to maintain a strictly business relationship with him. Rising to her feet, her annoyance increased when she discovered her traitorous knees had gone all wobbly. “Oliver, this is a surprise. What are you doing here?”
Oliver’s long legs ate up the distance that separated them, and before she knew it, he was standing right next to her. “I thought I’d stop by and see how my fiancée was fairing. Any luck with that charming look I asked you to perfect?”
The wobbling immediately stopped. “You asked me to practice an adoring look, not a charming one.”
“By the scowl you’re currently directing my way, I’m assuming you haven’t been practicing very diligently.”
“Is this really something we should be discussing while in the presence of that gentleman standing by the door?” she muttered.
Oliver blinked and turned, gesturing to the man to join them. “I do beg your pardon, Everett. I fear Harriet’s scowls have caused me to misplace my manners.” He waited until the gentleman reached his side and then began a round of introductions. “Harriet, this is Mr. Everett Mulberry, a friend of mine since childhood. Everett, this is Miss Harriet Peabody. And to relieve your anxiety, Harriet, he knows everything about our situation.”
Mr. Everett Mulberry presented Harriet with a bow before he straightened and turned to Lucetta and Millie, who were watching him warily. His eyes widened as his gaze settled on Lucetta. “You’re Miss Lucetta Plum, but . . . oh my, don’t you look . . . delightful?”
Lucetta nodded rather regally, an impressive feat considering her hair looked as if it’d had an unfortunate experience with a meat grinder. “Thank you, Mr. Mulberry, and as you can see, I wasn’t expecting to receive guests, which is why I’m now going to excuse myself and go hide in my room.” She turned and disappeared through the door.
Everett watched her leave. “That certainly wasn’t a sight I ever expected to see.”
“Just make sure you don’t mention it at any of your clubs,” Abigail ordered. “I’ve heard tell Miss Plum attracts admirers, and I don’t want those admirers tracking her down here.”
To Harriet’s surprise, Everett laughed. “Honestly, Mrs. Hart, who would I tell? It’s not like anyone would believe me if I told them I’d seen Lucetta Plum, dressed in trousers, no shoes, and hair that was . . . Well, what can one really say about that hair?”
“Excellent,” Abigail proclaimed before she gestured to Millie. “Now then, moving on to my other ward, allow me to present to you, Mr. Mulberry, Miss Millie Longfellow.”
To Harriet’s concern, Millie didn’t so much as move a muscle, although that might have been because she’d stuck the dictionary back on her head. When her friend remained mute as well as motionless, Harriet realized the sight of the very handsome and debonair Mr. Mulberry had apparently affected Millie in a very unusual way. Harriet hurried to stand beside Abigail, who was watching Millie with a considering look on her face.
“Your other ward? Don’t you think Lucetta, Millie, and I might be a little old to be called your wards?” was all Harriet could think to ask to break the strained silence now settled over the room.
Abigail switched her attention to Harriet. “Nonsense, it’s the perfect solution to the dilemma of how I should best present you. And”—she smiled at Everett—“I have you to thank for my clever idea of making the ladies my wards, although I didn’t think of it until you strolled into the room. Tell me, how are the brats?”
Everett blinked. “How in the world did you learn about my brats?”
“Just because I’ve not ventured forth much in the past few years doesn’t mean I don’t still have ears in the most influential of places.” Abigail tilted her head. “Although, a word of advice, it might be for the best to choose a different form of endearment for the children now in your care. You’ll have a difficult time of it making matches for the girls in the future if society takes to calling them brats.”
“I never thought about that,” Everett muttered.
“Then I’m thrilled I was able to lend you some of my expert advice, as I’ve been lending it to my wards. Why, with my support, I wouldn’t be surprised in the least if these ladies soon find themselves in high demand.”
“I don’t want to be in high demand,” Millie proclaimed, suddenly finding her voice as she took a step forward, which immediately sent the dictionary tumbling to the ground. She didn’t bother to pick it up as she set her sights on Abigail. “The only thing I want to be is a nanny to a family who really needs me.”
Before Harriet could so much as blink, Everett had joined Millie and was gazing at her as if he found her to be the most delightful woman in the world. “You’re a nanny?”
Millie took a step back. “Ah, yes, I am, well, not at the moment you see, because . . .”
“Absolutely not!” Abigail barked, causing everyone to jump and stare her way. “Honestly, Everett, do not even think about coercing Millie into working for you. You’ve gone through at least a dozen nannies since you took charge of those children, and sweet little Millie wouldn’t stand a chance against them. Besides, she’s agreed to stand in as a lady’s maid for Harriet.”
“I don’t actually need a lady’s maid,” Harriet pointed out.
Millie crossed her arms over her chest. “I would make a perfectly credulous maid.”
Silence met Millie’s remark. Oliver’s brow wrinkled, Everett looked confused, and Abigail simply appeared resigned.
“What?” Millie demanded.
“You might want to check your dictionary again,” Harriet said, causing Millie to release a snort even as she picked up her dictionary and began to flip through the pages, finally stopping as she ran a finger down the page. Her lips moved, but no sound escaped before she finally lifted her head.
“I meant credible maid, and I would be credible because I’ve been a maid before, right after I was released from the orphanage.”
“You really were a lady’s maid?” Harriet asked.
“Well, not exactly, but I did work upstairs tending to Mrs. Templeton’s rooms, so I was around all that feminine nonsense, before . . . ”
Harriet felt an immediate urge to groan. “May I ask how long you were employed by Mrs. Templeton?”
“There’s no need for that tone of voice, Harriet. I held on to that position for quite some time. But because I know this will be your next question, I was let go after an unfortunate incident with a warming pan. Although, as to that particular incident, it really could have happened to anyone. Those pans have hot coals in them, and it has to be a frequent occurrence for beds to catch fire.”
“Perhaps it would be for the best if we simply forget I have any children in my care,” Everett said firmly.
Millie narrowed her eyes, looking incredibly fierce for a lady who normally resembled a character straight out of a fairy tale. “I have never caused any of the children in my care to be harmed. I mean, yes, there was that almost-drowning incident, but that was caused because of a small misunderstanding on my part. I’d always been told that swimming was a natural thing, that one really didn’t need to be taught how to do it.” She shook her head. “Turns out I was wrong.”
Everett’s face turned pale. “You almost drowned a child?”
“Good heave
ns, no. I threw little Billy into the water, and he popped right back up and paddled to shore, but immediately after I released him I had second thoughts and went in after him.” She shuddered. “I sank like a rock and Billy’s father was forced to rescue me. I was dismissed from my position and not given the funds owed me. Something to do with me causing the family undue fright.” Millie began swinging her arms back and forth as she rocked on her heels. “It was quite distressing.”
Everett began slowly edging away from Millie. “Forgive me, Miss Longfellow, but I’ve just remembered a pressing engagement that I really shouldn’t ignore.” Turning he walked back to Oliver. “I’ll just wait for you in the carriage.”
Everett vanished out the door a second later and silence settled around the dining room, until Abigail let out a huff. “It really is amazing how quickly you ladies are able to clear a room. First Archibald and now poor Mr. Mulberry.”
“My grandfather was here?” Oliver asked.
“He still is here, dear, although he’s made himself scarce due to Miss Plum’s unfortunate choice of garments today.” Abigail moved closer to Oliver. “Which reminds me, your grandfather has been kind enough to provide us with the use of your chef. I’ll need you—along with Mr. Mulberry, if you can get him to return—to come back here around seven.”
“My grandfather brought my chef over here?”
Abigail smiled. “Archibald’s been such a dear, helping me get Harriet ready. Why, it was ingenious, his idea to serve an actual formal meal. I’m hopeful our lesson tonight will go far in preparing everyone for the dinner Archibald and I have decided to hold for the duke.”
“What dinner?” Harriet asked—apprehension stealing through her when Abigail didn’t bother to answer but simply sent her a smile before she turned back to Oliver.
“There is no need to dress formally, dear. Reverend Gilmore has also agreed to attend our little meal, and I wouldn’t want that lovely gentleman to feel out of place. Since he’s so dedicated to helping the poor, he spends his money on those in need, which means he doesn’t have funds, or any desire, I might add, for formal clothes. And that is why I intend to keep our attire simple tonight.” She eyed him for a moment. “Why . . . surprisingly enough, that jacket you have on is very nice and will be quite suitable for you to wear this evening.”
Harriet took a second to look Oliver over. Since she’d come to the recent conclusion she needed to keep matters strictly businesslike between them, she’d been avoiding looking at him, but now that she did, she found her mouth turning a little dry.
His broad shoulders were currently encased in a jacket made of fine wool, that wool cut to perfection and tapered expertly to showcase his trim waist. His trousers were creased with a smart line and cut in a manner that allowed him ease of movement, yet highlighted the strength of his legs.
“I made a visit to my tailor before I came here,” Oliver said, pulling her abruptly from her perusal.
Her face began to warm when she caught his eye and realized he’d caught her in the act of gawking at him. Clearing her throat, she struggled to come up with something to say. “May I assume you and your tailor came to some type of agreement regarding the fit of your clothing?”
“I don’t know if we came to any type of agreement,” Oliver said before he sent a nod to Abigail. “But, you were right, Mrs. Hart, in regard to my tailor being upset with me. When I confronted Mr. Clay, my tailor, today about my ill-fitting clothes, he barely blinked an eye before he owned up to tailoring them poorly on purpose.”
“And the reasoning behind that bit of skullduggery would be?” Abigail asked.
Oliver’s lips thinned. “It turns out Mr. Clay has a son, Mr. Franklin Clay, who works at a factory I secured about a year ago. His father, my tailor, Mr. Henry Clay, holds it against me that his son was not promoted into management once I became involved. Quite honestly, I never agreed to push the promotion through. I might have nodded my head once when Mr. Clay brought up the topic while he was taking some measurements to fit me for a new jacket, but I certainly didn’t promise the man anything.”
All thoughts of perfectly tailored jackets showing off Oliver’s fit form disappeared in a split second, replaced with the strange ringing noise she’d experienced at Arnold Constable & Company. “You didn’t make certain Mr. Franklin Clay received a promotion?”
“I rarely concern myself with the day-to-day operations of the many businesses I invest in,” Oliver said. “If memory serves me correctly, Mr. Ruff was responsible for sorting things out with that particular factory. I believe he brought in some of his men to assume management positions there.”
“That was hardly fair,” Harriet said, moving closer to him as her finger, seemingly on its own accord, poked Oliver in the chest. She drew back her hand after she’d poked him and plunked it on her hip so that she wouldn’t be tempted to poke him again. “There were probably men who’d worked at that factory for years, and yet you allowed men who most likely didn’t have the same amount of experience take over the coveted positions.”
“It’s business, Harriet, which I’m quite certain you wouldn’t understand.”
“It’s bad business, and I assure you, I understand more than you think. Did it never occur to you that if you promoted men who’d been loyal to the factory, morale would increase, as would your profits?”
“My profits are just fine.”
“Are you so consumed with making money that you truly believe it was fine for you to slight the son of a man you’ve known for years?”
“Mr. Clay is just my tailor, or I should say, was my tailor. After learning he purposefully dressed me in clothing that was less than perfect, I’ve severed all ties with him. I’m now using Everett’s tailor, who whipped this jacket out from storage and fit and altered it as I waited.”
“You’ve discontinued using your old tailor?”
“Do you honestly believe I should have continued giving him my business?”
“You disrespected his son.”
“He should have simply told me he was angry with me instead of charging me for clothing that was ill-fitting and convincing me that I was roaming around town dressed in the latest styles.”
“It’s hardly Mr. Clay’s fault you’re an idiot. Any normal person would have realized from the lack of the ability to breathe, or even move comfortably, that something was the matter ages ago.”
“He was perpetuating a fraud.”
Harriet saw red. “So are we, in case you’ve forgotten. Is it your belief that only those of high society are permitted to engage in fraud, while those poor souls who are simply trying to right an obvious wrong are punished for them?”
“I did not come here to argue with you,” Oliver practically shouted.
“Oh, why did you come?”
“To inform you that I’m taking you to Delmonico’s tomorrow night. We’re dining with Everett and his Miss Dixon.”
“Why in the world would we do that?” Harriet railed. “I’ve barely learned half of this table setting, and you told me you wouldn’t need me to be at your beck and call until later next week, when the duke is expected, and . . . I have nothing suitable to wear to dinner. I’ve yet to get a delivery from Arnold Constable & Company and was only able to take home a few day dresses they had available for me.”
“I thought you might like Delmonico’s because they serve an excellent steak and you told me you enjoy steak. I’ve already stopped at Arnold Constable & Company, and one of the dinner dresses you ordered is being completed as we speak and will be delivered to you tomorrow morning.”
Some of her anger seeped away.
Oliver was clearly a ruthless and unlikeable businessman, and yet, at times, he could be completely sweet, charming, and far too considerate.
He’d remembered she liked steak, and remembered she’d have nothing suitable to wear. It was more than likely he’d applied a bit of pressure to get her dress finished so quickly, but . . . he’d done so because he apparently wanted t
o give her a nice evening out.
It was enough to make her head spin.
“ . . . and besides wanting to tell you about dinner,” Oliver continued, causing Harriet to realize she’d missed a portion of his rant, “I’ve also secured premises for your shop and thought you might like to learn the address.” He reached into his pocket, pulled out a small card, tossed it on the table, and turned and stormed toward the door. Pausing for just a second, he looked over his shoulder at Abigail. “I’m afraid I won’t be available for your dinner tonight, Mrs. Hart, but do give my regards to my grandfather.” With that, he stalked out of the room, leaving an uncomfortable silence in his wake.
“Oh dear, this is unfortunate,” Abigail muttered right before she began moving out of the room. “If you’ll excuse me, I find I have a distinct need to confer with Archibald.”
Millie caught Harriet’s eye. “Why do I have a sneaking suspicion more plotting is about to commence?”
Even though anger was still pulsing through her, Harriet felt her lips twitch. “That was an excellent use of the word commence, Millie, but I must admit that I do believe you’re right about the plotting, which means my life is certain to become more complicated than it already is.”
13
It was now Oliver’s staunch belief that ladies—more specifically, Miss Harriet Peabody—had been put on the earth in order to create havoc with his well-organized life.
She’d had the audacity to reprimand him the day before at Mrs. Hart’s house—something he found somewhat confusing, especially since he was doing her a service.
Didn’t she realize that?
Shoving aside a stack of business papers he’d brought home from his city office that, oddly enough, couldn’t hold his attention, Oliver leaned back in his chair and looked out the window.
It was all Harriet’s fault, this inability to concentrate on work and his suffering from an almost constant feeling of disgruntlement. Quite honestly, he was coming to the rapid conclusion that the wool he would acquire from the duke, if all went according to plan, wasn’t looking nearly as appealing anymore. If it weren’t for the fact he couldn’t abide the thought of Harriet returning to that miserable little place she called home, he’d call the whole thing off immediately.
