by Turano, Jen
“I wasn’t trying to insult her by refusing to consider her as a nanny,” Everett said quickly. “I was simply trying to protect the children I’ve been plagued . . . or rather blessed with, or at the very least, keep them alive.”
“Your wards might benefit from a nanny with Miss Longfellow’s qualifications, but it’s not my place to try to convince you of that,” Reverend Gilmore replied before he turned back to Oliver. “Since you have new guests to entertain, I’ll take my leave, but I’m sure we’ll meet again soon for another delightful chat, or at least to give you an opportunity to show me all of those paintings you have hanging about your house.”
“No need to leave on my account,” Archibald said. “I’m not staying long. Abigail sent me over to give Oliver some new details regarding the dinner party we’re intending to hold once the duke arrives in town. After that, I’m back to her house to give Harriet one last lesson in cutlery placement before she goes off to Delmonico’s tonight.” He nodded to Oliver. “You are still intending to take her there, aren’t you?”
“I am, although I will admit it temporarily slipped my mind.” He narrowed his eyes. “Delmonico’s aside, though, what was that about a dinner party you and Abigail are going to host for the duke?”
“Oh, nothing for you to worry about. We thought it would be easier for Harriet to help you entertain the duke in familiar surroundings, but Abigail did want you to know she’s started writing out a few invitations, so . . .”
“I’ll have to go along with it whether I’m willing or not?” Oliver finished for him.
“Exactly.” Archibald smiled. “Tell me though, what was so distracting that you forgot about your plans with Harriet? She’s certainly not a lady many gentlemen forget.”
Alarm bells began going off in Oliver’s head. “Grandfather, forgive me, but . . . you and Abigail haven’t taken to . . . plotting, have you?”
“Didn’t I promise after the disastrous results of bringing you into contact with that lovely, or so I thought, young lady from Georgia, that I was giving up my plotting days?” Archibald countered.
Oliver narrowed his eyes. “Miss Savannah, or whatever her name truly is, was three plots ago.”
“Really?” Archibald asked. “Well, getting back to the dinner party . . .”
“We weren’t talking about the dinner party, we were talking about plotting.”
“Oh look, Mr. Blodgett’s bringing us a feast from the looks of that laden tray he’s pushing,” Archibald exclaimed, turning from Oliver as Reverend Gilmore moved to help Mr. Blodgett negotiate the heavy cart over to a low table surrounded by settees and wing-back chairs.
“This was very kind of you, Mr. Blodgett,” Archibald said, “but I have to ask, since Abigail has Oliver’s chef, who put together such a delightful spread?”
“Mrs. Rollins,” Mr. Blodgett replied. “It was originally meant for Mr. Ruff, but since he stormed out of here in a huff before the meal he demanded could be served, I figured we shouldn’t let Mrs. Rollins’s efforts go to waste.”
“Mr. Ruff left in a huff?” Everett asked as Mr. Blodgett set about the business of serving up food.
Oliver nodded. “He made a huge mess of things down in West Virginia, and because of that mess, I told him we needed to part ways.”
Archibald sat down on the settee, placing his plate of food on a nearby table. “How did he take that?”
“As one would expect. He threatened me and told me he’d see me ruined.”
Reverend Gilmore moved to take a seat beside Archibald, balancing the plate of food Mr. Blodgett had insisted he take on his lap. “Forgive me, but this Mr. Ruff wouldn’t happen to be Mr. Silas Ruff, would he?”
“One and the same,” Archibald admitted. “Are you familiar with him, Reverend Gilmore?”
“I am.” Reverend Gilmore looked to Oliver. “I have to say that this puts a whole different twist on your situation, Mr. Addleshaw. From what I know of Silas Ruff, he’s a ruthless and vindictive gentleman. He won’t take his dismissal lightly, which means he’s a distinct threat to you, and that means he’s a threat to Harriet.”
“Silas might be ruthless, Reverend Gilmore, but I don’t think he’d stoop so low as to hurt a lady.”
“I’m more afraid he’ll use her to hurt you,” Reverend Gilmore said softly. “He’ll strike where he thinks you’ll be most vulnerable. Harriet, given her current situation, is very vulnerable indeed, and if Mr. Ruff takes the time to find out about her and then delves into her history, I’m afraid what he might uncover could hurt you both.”
“Are you suggesting Harriet may have some skeletons rattling around her closet that would be best left not rattled?”
“Harriet’s skeletons are not mine to share, Mr. Addleshaw. She, along with everyone else in the world, has crosses she’s been given to bear, but she certainly doesn’t need more crosses given to her at this particular time.” He released a breath. “I’m afraid, in the interest of keeping her truly safe, it might be for the best if you and she parted ways before any damage can be done.”
“But then she’ll have no choice but to go back to the slums,” Oliver pointed out.
“I think we can trust Mrs. Hart to make certain that doesn’t happen,” Archibald said, although his tone held a distinct trace of disappointment.
“Harriet won’t accept charity,” Oliver argued. “And what everyone seems to be forgetting is that I’m one of the most powerful gentlemen in the country. Yes, Silas is ruthless, and he’s angry, but I’m angry as well, and I certainly can’t see how abandoning my plan is going to keep Harriet safe.”
“Besides, since so many people know about her now, there’s really nothing left to do but go forward with things,” Everett added.
Oliver frowned. “What do you mean, ‘so many people know about her now’?”
“Ah, well, as to that,” Everett began, “that’s actually why I’m here.”
Oliver’s head immediately began to throb again. “Go on.”
Everett blew out a breath. “Miss Dixon and I went shopping today, at Arnold Constable & Company, and the manager there just couldn’t tell Miss Dixon fast enough all about your Harriet and how the two of you are engaged.”
Oliver frowned. “Miss Dixon was already aware of Harriet, since the four of us are supposed to go out to dinner tonight.”
Everett nodded. “True, but I never told her about the whole engagement business, mostly because I had no idea what to say, but . . . after the manager told Miss Dixon about the engagement, we just happened to encounter about twenty people she knew at the store, and of course she told all of them about your engagement, and then . . .” Everett’s voice trailed off, and he began to study the cut of his sleeve.
“And then what?”
Everett looked up. “This is going to come as a bit of a shock, but we ran into none other than the Duke of Westmoore, who just happened to arrive in the city earlier than expected.”
“The duke’s in town?”
“I’m afraid he is, and . . . Miss Dixon told the duke we were planning on going to Delmonico’s tonight, along with you and Harriet.” Everett’s expression turned a little pained. “You’ll be happy to learn that Miss Dixon then extended the duke and his family an invitation to join us this evening and he was only too happy to accept. So you see, it’s hardly advisable now to discontinue your plan with Harriet, but we can always hope that you’re right and keeping her by your side will, indeed, keep her safe.”
14
Squinting against the bright afternoon sun, Harriet considered the address painted across the awning of the shop she was standing in front of. Looking down at the card in her hand, she frowned and turned to Lucetta. “Oliver must have written down the wrong address, since it’s clear this location is currently occupied.”
“We should have known something was wrong when we ended up on the Ladies’ Mile,” Lucetta said before she adjusted the huge hat she’d placed over a wig of dowdy brown. “It’s a truly enviable spa
ce, but . . . why are you looking at me like that?”
Harriet grinned. “I still don’t understand why you insisted on traveling out and about in disguise, especially since you had to raid Abigail’s attic to find something to wear. That dress you chose has to be at least thirty years out of date, and I’m quite certain you’re drawing more attention wearing it than if you’d simply come out as yourself.”
“I’m on holiday from the theater at the moment, which means I have no desire for anyone to recognize me.” Lucetta smiled. “Besides, Millie’s wearing a costume, and I certainly didn’t want her to feel odd about that circumstance.”
Harriet looked to the left and settled her attention on Millie, who was dressed as the perfect lady’s maid in a skirt of navy, white shirt, and pristine apron. She was trying to tug an obviously reluctant Buford, who didn’t seem too keen to be on the end of a brightly colored piece of rope. By the time Millie finally dragged him up beside Harriet, she had a decidedly grumpy look about her.
“I don’t think Buford likes this fancy collar and leash you made for him,” Millie said with a huff. “The pink and purple is obviously embarrassing him, which is causing him to be a touch capitalistic.”
“He’s an advocate of capitalism?” Lucetta asked slowly.
Millie let out another huff. “I knew I shouldn’t have tried a big word when I don’t have my dictionary handy. Now it’s going to drive me mad trying to figure out what I meant to say.”
“Cantankerous, perhaps?” Lucetta suggested.
“What does that mean?”
“Grouchy,” Harriet supplied before giving Buford a good scratch, earning a tail wag in the process. “And I told you I’d take care of Buford, but you, being annoyingly stubborn, refused my offer.”
“Society ladies don’t walk their own dogs unless they’re in Newport,” Millie said. “Since I’m your maid, it’s my job, but . . . why did you and Lucetta stop in front of this shop?”
“According to the directions Oliver gave me, this is supposed to be my new space, but he clearly wrote down the wrong address.” Harriet shrugged. “It’s probably for the best this space is occupied, given that I’m sure the rent is outrageous. I will need to pinch pennies for the first couple of years, even given the money Oliver’s paying me.”
“Speaking of Oliver,” Lucetta began, “I have to admit, unwillingly of course, that he’s really not what I expected.”
“You didn’t expect him to be a seriously flawed gentleman with a propensity for arrogance?”
“Of course I did,” Lucetta said with a snort. “All society gentlemen are arrogant, but most of them aren’t . . . thoughtful.”
“You think Oliver’s thoughtful?”
“Occasionally, yes. He didn’t have to search out premises for your shop.”
“He gave us the wrong address for that shop.”
“True, but there is shop space out there somewhere that he has found for you, and that’s rather sweet, don’t you think?”
“I’d prefer not to think of Oliver at all.”
“Now you’re being cantankerous.”
“Since we seem to be at the wrong place, and since Buford is certain to take my arm off soon with his tugs, shall we go back to Abigail’s house?” Millie asked.
Harriet shook her head. “We can’t go back just yet because I told Abigail we’d be gone a few hours. Truth be told, she seemed downright tickled to have us out of the house for a bit.”
Millie bit her lip. “But aren’t you a little concerned that Jane might find us out here in the open?”
“The main threat we were facing from Jane stemmed from that necklace she sent me,” Harriet said. “Since I gave the necklace to Reverend Gilmore, and he has discreetly handed it over to the police on the chance someone has reported it missing, Jane currently has no hold over us.”
“She might not have a hold on you, Harriet,” Millie argued, “but you have to know she’s figured out we’ve moved, and that she’s probably learned where we’re living now.”
“True, but she also knows, being as cunning as she is, that it wouldn’t be in her best interest to try anything while we’re under the protection of members of high society,” Harriet argued right back. “She certainly wouldn’t dare try anything while we’re in the midst of the Ladies’ Mile. Since I did assure Abigail we’d be gone for a few hours, and again, she seemed tickled about that, I’m going to suggest we stroll around and enjoy ourselves.”
“Abigail was only tickled to get us out of the house because she and Archibald had their heads together all morning but kept getting interrupted when one of us would enter whatever room they’d taken to skulking in,” Lucetta said. “Without us underfoot, they’ll have plenty of time to plot.”
“That certainly explains why she didn’t insist on accompanying us.” Harriet grinned. “If you ask me, she and Archibald are beginning to enjoy each other’s company quite a bit.”
Lucetta returned the grin. “Now that you mention it, you’re right. And . . . we should do our own plotting and come up with a plan that just might see them embracing a touch of romance, especially since they’re currently trying to figure out how to get you and Oliver together for . . .” Lucetta snapped her mouth shut and batted far-too-innocent lashes Harriet’s way.
“What do you mean, getting Oliver and I together?”
The batting stopped in a flash. “Oh, very well, but I have to tell you that I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, which is how I managed to come across the information I’m about to impart. Abigail and Archibald didn’t know I’d fallen asleep on the chaise in front of the fireplace when they snuck into the library in order to have a private chat.” Lucetta’s lips curled. “They were certainly surprised to discover me there, and after they’d divulged quite a bit of their scheme.”
“Why didn’t you let them know you were there from the beginning?” Millie asked.
“Well, ah . . . I was just waking up, you see, and—” Her eyes widened and she looked around. “Did either of you just hear someone scream?”
For a second, Harriet thought Lucetta was simply trying to distract Millie, but then a woman’s scream really did sound from the very shop they were standing in front of. Turning, she watched as the door sprang open and three ladies rushed out, the sound of additional screams following them out to the sidewalk.
“My gracious,” one of the ladies said as she hurried past. “Poor Mrs. Henderson.”
“Perhaps we should have stayed to help her,” another one of the ladies said.
“That’s Mr. Bambini in there,” the third lady exclaimed. “He owns most of this street, and my husband rents from him. I can’t get involved in that nasty business.”
The ladies’ retreating backs soon disappeared, but then the door opened again and the sound of a dog barking drifted out to the sidewalk. Buford evidently heard it, and before Harriet could catch him, he lunged forward, ripping the leash out of Millie’s hand. He raced through the open door, knocking over the lady who’d frozen right in front of that door the moment she caught sight of the huge dog barreling her way. Harriet rushed to her aid, and after getting the woman back on her feet, muttered a quick apology before taking off after Buford. She made it all of five feet into the store before she skidded to a halt when the tinkles of breaking glass sounded around her.
She stood stock-still for a moment when she realized Buford was loose in a china shop but found the incentive to move when additional shrieking began, more glass shattered, and Buford began to howl. Harriet hitched up her skirts and darted down the aisle, wincing when shards of something that had probably been expensive crunched under her feet. She hurried around a display of delicate-looking plates, caught a teacup tipping precariously close to the edge, set it back a safe distance, and continued forward, slowing to a stop and releasing a groan at the sight that met her eyes.
A lady wearing a white shirtwaist paired with a dark skirt, and who had puffy, red-rimmed eyes, was standing next to an intimidating-looking
gentleman with brown hair, huge shoulders, and a curled mustache that took up a good deal of space on his face. They were staring off to the right, neither one of them speaking, and when Harriet turned her attention to where they were staring, she understood why they seemed incapable of uttering any sounds.
Buford was under a small table, the only parts of him visible being his nose peeking out from one side and his tail from the other. A tiny wisp of a dog was positioned right in front of Buford’s nose. The little beast was growling deep in its throat, which seemed to be causing Buford to tremble, because everything on top of the dainty table he was under was shaking.
“Don’t just stand there,” the lady snapped. “Get your dog.”
“He’s not exactly mine,” Harriet muttered before she stepped forward, crouched down, and then blinked when the tiny pooch switched its attention to her and began making cute little doggy noises. “How adorable are you?” she asked before she looked under the table and met Buford’s terrified gaze. “It’s not going to hurt you, Buford. It’s friendly. You need to come out from under there right this minute.”
If anything, Buford’s shaking increased. Harriet scooped up the tiny dog, got to her feet, and held the dog out to the lady. “If you could just hold this for a moment, it might help me get Buford out from under the table.”
The lady took the dog, leaving Harriet to crouch in front of Buford again. “Oliver’s going to have to have a heart-to-heart with you, Buford, about this whole cowardly giant business. You’re a fierce beast—at least you look like one—and it’s past time you remember that.”
The gentleman with the large mustache stepped up next to her and leaned over. “Excuse me, but did you mention a gentleman by the name of Oliver?”
“I did.”
