After a Fashion (19 page)

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

H
arriet, 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 so
cially 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.”

“Oh, very well, I’ll deal with him,” Harriet said, struggling to her feet and heading out of the kitchen. She stalked down the short hallway, reached the door, pushed aside the bolt that secured it, twisted the lock, and then wrenched it open, her temper steadily rising when she looked at Oliver and found him smiling back at her, although his eyes held a distinct trace of temper.

“What?”

“Is that any way to greet your fiancé?”

“You’re not my fiancé, you’ve only ever been my pretend fiancé, or maybe temporary fiancé would be a better way to put it. But since I’ve decided I can’t be trusted not to harm you if I have to spend any additional time in your company, you need to go away and leave me alone.”

“Don’t you think you’re being a little overly dramatic? I mean—”

Not allowing the annoying man to finish his sentence, Harriet shut the door in his face, locked it, brushed her hands together, turned, and pretended not to hear his demands for her to open up as she headed back toward the kitchen. She knew full well she’d have to open the door again to give him Buford, but . . .

Her steps slowed when a letter, sitting directly on top of a clumsily wrapped package and positioned on a side table, caught her eye. Dread was immediate when she picked up the letter and found her name scrawled in an untidy hand across the front—that particular scrawl far too familiar.

It was from Aunt Jane, but . . . how had it gotten on the table?

She picked up the package and hurried to the kitchen, finding Millie and Lucetta both on their knees, trying to coerce Buford from under the table. She had to clear her throat twice to get them to look at her. She held up the letter and package. “Were
these waiting outside the front door when the two of you came home today?”

Lucetta frowned. “No, they were on the table.”

“Are you sure?”

Lucetta’s frown deepened. “Didn’t you leave them there because you were avoiding dealing with your aunt?”

“Perhaps she’s sent you a birthday present,” Millie said, eyeing the package. “You should open it.”

“My aunt never sends me presents.”

“She gave you that dress of your mother’s last year on your birthday,” Millie argued.

“Only because she wrongly believed if she buttered me up with that offering, I’d be more inclined to join her little confidence-swindling thing she has going on in the city.”

“But at least she didn’t try to take the dress back after you refused her offer,” Millie said weakly.

“There’s no need for you to try so hard to bring out positive aspects about my aunt, Millie. She has nothing whatsoever positive about her, and just because she’s likely related to me, doesn’t mean I have to like her.” Harriet tore off the brown wrapping and considered the box for a second before she finally opened it up. What was nestled inside had alarm flowing freely through her. She plucked out the diamond necklace and held it up.

“That’s . . . hmm . . . really nice,” Millie said as she nodded to Lucetta. “Isn’t it nice?”

“Stunning, but . . . ” She turned to Harriet. “Do you suppose that used to belong to your mother?”

“Highly doubtful, since Aunt Jane has never given any indication she or my mother came from wealth, and . . .” Her words died in her throat as something more concerning than receiving what was most likely a stolen necklace hit her. “I’ll be right back.” She dropped the necklace into the box, spun around,
marched her way back to the door, and pulled it open, barely flinching at the glare Oliver sent her.

“Why didn’t you mention that Buford can open doors?” she demanded.

Oliver’s brows scrunched together. “Buford can’t open doors.”

“Are you quite certain about that?”

“Well, yes, seeing as how he’s a dog, and”—he lifted his hands and turned them from side to side—“he has paws. Why do you ask?”