After a Fashion (12 page)

“I thought the Fayette mine was supposed to get all new machinery.”

“We did put the costs for that into the budget, but the profit margins were steadily increasing at the mine without new machinery. I didn’t see the need to replace it just yet. The money we would have used has been put into the market, where it’s yielding a hefty return.”

Rising to his feet, Oliver took a step closer to Silas. “I don’t recall our discussing putting off the buying of that equipment.”

“You didn’t hire me to discuss every little situation. You hired me to make you money. That’s what I’m doing, increasing
your
fortune.”

“And yours as well,” Oliver countered. “We won’t see any profits if we have to rebuild the mine and replace the machinery that burned.”

“The entire mine didn’t collapse, only one shaft.”

“Were there injuries?”

“It was a telegram, Oliver, not a news release. There weren’t many details, except that a few men had gotten trapped, but I think they got them out because there was no mention of any deaths.”

“Men were trapped?”

“It happens. Mining is a dangerous business. It’s to be expected.”

Oliver drew in a long breath and slowly released it. He’d always known that Silas was ruthless, crude, and lacking in
normal emotions, but he’d never realized until just this moment how incredibly heartless the gentleman was. “We’ll have to send someone down to West Virginia to handle this mess.”

“It won’t be me. I hate West Virginia. The people are ignorant, dirty, and there’s absolutely nothing to do down there.”

“I don’t know who else I’d send
except
you, Silas. I’d go myself, but the duke is expected soon, and I wouldn’t have enough time to make it back here to complete our deal. You’ll have to go, and I want you to leave by tomorrow morning at the latest.”

For a moment, Oliver thought Silas was going to refuse, but then the man rolled his eyes.

“Fine, I’ll go, but don’t think I’m happy about it—and we’ll discuss the business of you ordering me around when I get back.” He brushed at his sleeve again. “Since it appears my time in New York is limited, I’m going to take my leave. I’m debating whether or not to go to Mrs. Crawford’s lovely establishment, since I’ve heard she’s recently acquired some new girls, or travel to Canfield’s to do a little gambling. Would either of you care to join me?”

Distaste flowed over Oliver at how easily Silas could announce a mining accident with one breath, and then blithely announce he was off to a brothel or a gambling establishment with another.

Unease suddenly replaced the distaste.

He’d hired Silas to help him achieve his goal of amassing extreme wealth, but he couldn’t help thinking that might have been a mistake. He’d obviously brought onboard a man with little to no moral code, which until that moment hadn’t really bothered him. His troubling thoughts were interrupted when Everett stepped forward.

“While a trip to Canfield’s sounds
delightful
, I’m afraid I’m going to have to pass, old man. I’ve got a disastrous situation at home at the moment, so I can’t be away long, and . . . I don’t think Miss Dixon would approve of me jeopardizing the fortune she seems determined for me to increase.”

“Ah, I’d forgotten you were making a play for Miss Dixon,” Silas said. “She’s another lovely minx. I’ve always enjoyed her deliciously caustic tongue.”

Everett frowned. “Is she caustic?”

“My dear Everett, Miss Dixon causes grown gentlemen and ladies to tremble whenever she enters a room. You’ll be fortunate indeed if you can convince her to meet you at the altar.” Silas turned to Oliver. “What about you, care for a bit of feminine company or a roll of the dice?”

“Brothels have never appealed to me, Silas, and you know I don’t gamble.”

Instead of taking offense at Oliver’s words, Silas chuckled. “I sometimes forget how prudish you can be, Oliver—but to each his own.” Silas sent Oliver a wink, slapped Everett on the back, and strode from the room, closing the door loudly behind him.

Everett shook his head. “I realize Silas is brilliant at making money, Oliver, but I have to tell you, if you don’t get rid of him, and soon, he just might end up ruining your life.”

Oliver found he couldn’t disagree.

7

A
sense of unsettledness mixed with irritation continued to plague Oliver long after parting ways with Silas. He’d gone to Astor House in search of peace, but peace certainly was not what he’d received. Leaning his head against the cool glass of the carriage window, he permitted himself a long, drawn-out sigh.

Miners were suffering, and he was ultimately responsible—it was as simple as that.

For years he’d skirted around ethics in his quest for profitability, but never had that skirting caused physical injury to another person. Granted, he’d thought improvements were under way at the Fayette mine, but that didn’t excuse his negligence in not making certain those improvements had actually started.

It was abundantly clear Silas had taken entirely too much liberty in the matter, but the question of the hour now was how to proceed.

A part of him believed he should cancel his meetings with the Duke of Westmoore and travel to West Virginia with Silas to assess the situation. The other part of him, however—the part that paid Silas an exorbitant salary—believed Silas had played
a major part in creating the disaster, so it was up to him to set matters to rights. That would allow Oliver to continue on with the duke and secure a deal he’d been working on for months.

His contradictory thoughts came to an abrupt end when the carriage shuddered to a stop. Peering out the window, Oliver’s gaze sharpened on the traffic clogging the street. He reached for the door and got out, feeling the distinct urge to immediately jump right back in when he realized he was standing in the midst of the Ladies’ Mile. This particular stretch of New York was filled with department stores, exclusive dress and jewelry shops, and many fine places to dine, but it was also brimming with ladies, all out for an enjoyable day of shopping, many of them unmarried.

It was a distinct possibility he could be mobbed at any second.

“There’s an overturned wagon up ahead, Mr. Addleshaw,” Darren called. “We’re going to be stuck here for a while.”

“I think you may be right.” Oliver sent Darren a nod and took a step toward the carriage, but before he had an opportunity to climb in, a burst of giggling sounded right behind him. Knowing it would be less than gentlemanly to ignore the women responsible for those giggles, he summoned up a smile and turned. To his dismay, he found five young ladies waving back at him—each and every one of them clutching delicate handkerchiefs in their hands, handkerchiefs that suddenly began fluttering to the ground. He bent over and began retrieving various bits of lace when from out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of another lady, one who immediately captured and held his attention.

What was so intriguing about her, he couldn’t actually say. Perhaps it was the fact her face was almost completely obscured by a large, elaborately decorated hat, lending her a rather mysterious air. Or, perhaps it was simply that she wasn’t paying him the least bit of attention, even though the crowd of ladies
gathered around him had grown substantially. The lady spared him not a single glance as she breezed past, lifting the skirt of her ice-blue gown to step around a lingering puddle. Her arm suddenly swung into view, and looped around that arm was a reticule that seemed oddly familiar.

His mouth dropped open when he realized the lady was none other than Miss Harriet Peabody.

Straightening, he handed the beaming woman standing nearest to him the handkerchiefs he’d scooped off the ground, nodding at her rather absently when she let out a breathy word of thanks. Looking over the heads of the crowd that surrounded him, his attention finally settled on the very top of Harriet’s hat, the only thing he could still see of her.

“Miss Peabody,” he called, causing each and every one of the giggling ladies to immediately stop giggling. They turned as one in the direction Harriet was disappearing, and for a brief moment, Oliver swore they all resembled colorful birds of prey, just waiting to devour a weaker bird—or in this case, Harriet.

He pushed aside that ridiculous notion when he realized Harriet was completely out of sight. Sending the gathering of now disgruntled-looking ladies a muttered excuse over his shoulder, he strode into the crowded sidewalk, craning his neck as he tried to bring Harriet into view. He finally caught a glimpse of an outlandish hat.

It was quickly becoming apparent the lady enjoyed wearing unusual creations on her head.

“Miss Peabody,” he called again, louder than before, and couldn’t believe his eyes when the tip of her hat began bobbing faster than ever, leaving him with the distinct impression she’d heard his call but was deliberately trying to get away from him.

Plowing forward, he edged around two servants in formal livery burdened with excessive packages, and tipped his hat to a lady gesturing his way. Temper began churning through him
when he saw Harriet duck into a narrow space that seemed to be some type of alleyway between two shops.

There was now no doubt left in his mind—she
was
trying to make a speedy escape.

Breaking into a run, something he couldn’t remember being forced to do in quite some time, if ever, he reached the alley a moment later, and sure enough, Harriet was racing down the cobblestone path, holding her hat with one hand and her skirt with the other.

“Miss Peabody . . . Harriet!” he bellowed, “I insist you stop at once.”

To his annoyance, she continued dashing away, but then she slowed, turned on her heel, and peered across the distance that separated them. He couldn’t be absolutely certain, given the space between them, but he thought he detected a slight drooping of her shoulders before she suddenly squared them.

“Oliver, well, this is an unexpected surprise,” she called before she began walking his way, although her feet seemed to be dragging. “What in the world are you doing here?”

Oliver drew in a breath of much-needed air and swiped a hand over his perspiring brow. “I might ask you the same question. Do you make it a common practice to dash off through derelict alleys?”

Harriet gave an airy flick of a hand. “Of course I don’t normally spend my time in alleys, but . . . ah, I thought someone of a dastardly nature was following me, hence my decision to take the path less traveled, so to speak.”

“I was the one following you, and I assure you, I don’t possess a dastardly nature.”

“Of course you don’t,” she returned with a nod. “However, I’m not overly familiar with your voice, which is why I wasn’t taking any chances. My reticule is currently stuffed with the funds you so generously gave me, and I’m not willing to allow
someone of a dastardly nature to abscond with those funds.” She drew in a breath, seemed about ready to continue on with her speech, but then dropped her gaze and, strangely enough, smiled.

“Forgive me, but I find nothing amusing about this situation,” he said when she continued perusing him even as her smile widened.

Harriet lifted her head. “I’m almost hesitant to point this out, given that you appear to be rather touchy regarding your wardrobe, but you’re missing some buttons.”

Oliver looked down, and sure enough, all but one of his buttons were gone. “My tailor obviously didn’t realize I’d be forced to participate in strenuous activities, such as running after a lady through the Ladies’ Mile, when he created this for me.”

“If he were any type of tailor at all, he’d keep all activities in mind when making you a garment.”

“While that is a remarkably valid point, I believe we have more important matters to discuss than my tailor’s proficiency or lack thereof. Tell me, do you often find gentlemen of a dastardly sort trailing you about the city?”

“The streets are full of crackpots and are hazardous at the best of times, especially for a lady traveling alone.”

He had the strangest feeling she was dodging the question. “Do you, by chance, have overzealous admirers who plague you?”

Harriet let out a snort. “I don’t have time for admirers. I spend most of my hours working, or at least I used to, when I still retained a position.”

“So you
have
been released from your millinery job?”

“Mrs. Fienman sent a note yesterday, informing me of my dismissal. From what I’ve been told, Mrs. Birmingham was most insistent regarding my termination.”

“I am sorry to hear that, but on the bright side, at least now you should feel more comfortable regarding my offer.”

Her eyes immediately turned stormy. “I wouldn’t have been fired in the first place if you’d been more diligent in getting to know Miss Birmingham before she descended on this city.”

Seeing no advantage whatsoever in agreeing with that piece of logic, he summoned up what he’d been told by numerous ladies was his most charming of smiles. “But then we would never have met.”

Harriet muttered something that sounded very much like “Unbelievable” under her breath, and then began marching down the alley toward the main street, apparently not moved in the least by his charm.