After a Fashion (15 page)

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 cushy 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 clothing.

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?”

“We’ll take all of them,” Oliver said before Harriet could speak.

Apparently, Oliver had lost his mind, much like he’d lost his
buttons, probably right along the Ladies’ Mile somewhere when he’d been chasing her down.

Sending Oliver what she hoped would be construed by the sales ladies surrounding her as a loving smile, Harriet then turned to Edie. “Would it be possible for me to speak with my . . . er . . . fiancé . . . alone?”

“But of course, Miss Peabody,” Edie said, nodding to the other ladies. “Girls, they need the room.”

Just like that, the room emptied, and picking up her skirt, Harriet marched over to stand in front of Oliver. Leaning down, she lowered her voice, not wanting to be overheard but knowing perfectly well that Edie and the rest of the ladies were probably pressing their ears up against the door.

“You were more than generous with the allowance you gave me to purchase clothing, but I have to tell you, I don’t think it was enough to cover all of this.” She straightened and waved a hand to the shoes, hats, and gowns littering the room. “I think we should choose three or four items from the bunch and call it a day.”

“Do you now?” Oliver sent her an odd smile before he rose from the chair and strode to the door. He reached for the knob, pulled the door open, and two of the sales ladies tumbled into the room, landing in a heap at his feet, while the rest of the ladies stood in the doorframe, attempting to look innocent.

Oliver didn’t bat an eye as he helped the ladies up and then smiled at them, causing a few of them to sigh and flutter their lashes. “We’ll take everything here, and I’ll thank you to put it on my account.” He turned to Harriet. “I’m off to wander around the store, but I’ll be back to pick you up in an hour.” With that, Oliver nodded to the ladies and left the room.

9

T
wo hours later, Harriet dipped a spoon into a rapidly melting mound of ice cream, plopped it into her mouth, and couldn’t quite stifle the moan of delight that slipped past her lips. Allowing herself a moment to savor the treat on her tongue, she finally swallowed and moved her spoon toward the bowl to get another bite. She paused when she realized Oliver wasn’t eating his ice cream, but was watching her instead.

“Do you like it?” he asked.

“It’s the most delicious treat I’ve ever had.”

Oliver frowned and leaned across the small table they were sharing at Davis and George’s ice cream parlor. “Haven’t you ever had ice cream?”

“Well, I have now.”

Something that looked remarkably like pity flickered through his eyes. “I’m sorry, Harriet. No one should have to wait until they’re over twenty to experience ice cream.”