After a Fashion (34 page)

When Abigail looked as if she were about to begin arguing, he continued, “I was here last night, trying to see Harriet, but your butler informed me you weren’t accepting callers and wouldn’t allow me to step through the door.” He smiled. “So there’s absolutely no reason for you to lecture me, Abigail, and again, it’s still morning.”

Abigail muttered something under her breath before she pulled him into the house and began striding down a long hallway.

“Where are we going?” he asked, breaking into a trot in order to keep up with her.

“I need to speak with you privately.” Abigail made an abrupt turn to the right and plowed forward through a dreary-looking parlor filled with dark furniture. She looked somewhat stealthily over her shoulder before she pulled a book from a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf, which caused the bookshelf to open up to reveal a door. Placing her finger over her lips, she ushered him forward into a cheerful room decorated with green silk on the walls and furniture upholstered in yellow.

“This is my personal parlor,” she explained, gesturing him toward a chair by the window that was now so clean it sparkled. “When my daughter was young, we used to spend hours here, reading and chatting, and . . .” A flash of what looked to be regret flickered through Abigail’s eyes, but then she blinked, and it disappeared right as she took a seat. “So . . . do you have much to discuss with me regarding the duke and his daughter?”

Oliver lowered himself into the chair. “I do have much to discuss, not that it centers around the duke and Lady Victoria, though. I was hoping to talk to Harriet last night, but as I mentioned before, your butler wouldn’t let me.”

“He’s always been rather diligent regarding following orders.”

“You told him to keep me from the house?”

Abigail shrugged. “I didn’t want you to cause Harriet more distress, at least not last night, considering all the embarrassment she suffered at dinner.”

“My intention was not to distress Harriet. Surely you didn’t think I would take her to task for setting the table on fire, did you?”

Abigail waved his question away. “Of course not. I was concerned about what you would tell her regarding Lady Victoria.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Come now, Oliver, it was clear to everyone that Lady Victoria only had eyes for you last night. She’s remarkably beautiful, comes from the aristocracy, and would make you a more-than-suitable spouse.”

Leaning back in the chair, Oliver considered Abigail’s words. Marrying a woman like Lady Victoria would definitely raise his status in society’s eyes, but . . . he’d not been the slightest bit attracted to her and had truly only wanted to get back to Harriet as soon as possible, which . . . His eyes widened as the ramifications of that thought suddenly struck him.

He was attracted to Harriet—there was no escaping from that troubling bit of truth any longer.

But . . . what to do about it?

“Did Lady Victoria allow you to know of her interest?” Abigail asked.

“She knocked me to the floor and tried to kiss me.”

“Oh . . . dear.”

“Then her father walked in and . . . he was less than pleased to discover his daughter sitting on top of me.” Oliver raked a hand through his hair. “It’s questionable at the moment whether or not the duke and I will be proceeding with our business deal.
I distinctly heard him tell his daughter, as I beat a hasty retreat, he wanted to leave New York immediately.”

“But . . . what about Harriet, and . . . what about the ball I’ve just sent out invitations for?”

“I thought you were going to host a small, intimate dinner party.”

“I couldn’t very well have an honest-to-goodness duke going back to England and telling everyone we over here in America are still provincial now, could I?”

“Abigail, forgive me, but I was under the impression that balls take at least a good month to plan and that society expects their three-week notice to such an event.”

“The spontaneous nature of this ball is what’s making everyone so frantic to accept my invitation,” Abigail said with a satisfied smile. “Why, I’ve already heard back from almost one-hundred invitees—all of them coming, of course—and it’s the off season.”

“As I just mentioned, I’m not sure the duke will still be in New York, let alone want to come to your ball—not given what happened last night with his daughter.”

“You’ll have to do your very best to convince him he needs to come.”

“Are you forgetting the little part about where he walked in on his daughter trying to maul me?”

Abigail waved his comment aside. “He’s probably used to her antics. She seemed to be a rather high-strung young lady, which means she most likely gets into mischief on a regular basis.”

“I’m not actually sure I want to spend another evening in her company. She knocked me to the floor and then jumped on top of me.”

“I doubt she’ll try the same thing again.”

“And that’s supposed to reassure me?”

Abigail opened her mouth, but then closed it when two maids
hurried into the room, both carrying feather dusters and rags that gave off a distinct smell of lemon.

Oliver smiled at them and then frowned when they bobbed curtsies and disappeared the way they’d come. “Don’t those maids work for me?”

“Of course they do. I’ve absconded with most of your staff in order to get ready for the ball, including Mr. Blodgett and Mrs. Rollins. I must warn you now, dear, your butler and housekeeper are entirely too capable, and I’m quite certain I’m going to try to lure them away from you.”

“Mrs. Astor has already tried, at least in regard to Mr. Blodgett, but he, thankfully, is quite loyal to me.”

“He’s fallen in love with our dear Lucetta, and if she agrees to stay on with me, that might change Mr. Blodgett’s mind.”

“What do you mean, stay on with you?”

“The ladies certainly can’t return to that hovel they called home, can they? Since the duke has declared his intentions to leave town earlier than expected, your business deal, if it’s still a possibility, will have to conclude within the next day or so, and then your alliance with Harriet will be over, unless . . .”

“Unless what?”

Abigail shrugged. “That’s up for you and Harriet to decide. But, I must warn you now, the reason I was concerned about your tardiness was because I’m afraid she’s devising some type of plan that will graciously allow your supposed engagement to her to be broken with relative ease. Evidently, in Harriet’s mind, that will leave you free to pursue Lady Victoria.”

Oliver rose to his feet. “You really should have allowed me to see her last night.”

Abigail rose as well. “How could I have possibly known that you would have no interest in Lady Victoria? From what Archibald told me, you’re incredibly focused on improving your fortune
and
your social status. Lady Victoria could do both for
you with one tiny crook of her finger.” Abigail lifted her chin. “Her father, from what I’ve been told, is an incredibly wealthy man.”

“I need to find Harriet,” Oliver said, seeing little use in responding to Abigail’s statement. Everything she’d said was indeed the truth, but . . . for some reason he found himself relatively unconcerned with his social status at the moment.

“She’s up in the attic, sorting through my old clothes for some peculiar reason. But, don’t linger too long up there. I’m still short a few footmen and there is some large furniture that needs to be moved around in the third-floor ballroom.”

“You want me to help move furniture?”

“How else will I be able to fit in the orchestra?”

He felt his lips twitch. “You do realize that your ball might not actually have a guest of honor, don’t you?”

“We’ll worry about that when the time comes,” Abigail said before she reached up and patted his cheek. “Now, off you go, but remember . . . third floor . . . furniture.”

“You’re incorrigible,” he returned before he sent her a grin and made his way for the door, pausing to ask a maid dusting the bannister where he could find the stairs leading up to the attic. She told him, and smiling his thanks, he took off up a narrow flight of steps, feeling perspiration dribble down his neck by the time he reached the attic. He walked into a spacious room filled to the brim with abandoned belongings, pleasure mixed with amusement flowing through him when he caught sight of Harriet.

She was sitting on the floor in the middle of the attic, bouncing up and down, which was rather strange, but then she jumped to her feet, looked at a concoction made of metal she’d been sitting on and let out an ear-piercing shriek.

“It worked, would you look at that . . . it sprang back into shape.”

“Is that your bustle?” he asked, stepping farther into the room.

“It
is
my bustle,” she exclaimed as she practically hopped to his side and grinned. “I made a coil and . . . it doesn’t stay collapsed now.”

Her enthusiasm was contagious, and before he actually thought about what he was doing, he moved closer to her, pulled her into a tight hug, and then lifted her off her feet. For a second it seemed as if she hugged him back, but then she stiffened, he immediately set her down, and both of them turned to Lucetta, who was making a
tsk
ing sound under her breath.

“It’s a good thing Abigail, being Harriet’s chaperone, didn’t see you doing that, Oliver.”

“She really makes an abhorrent chaperone,” Millie said, speaking up as she walked around what appeared to be an old freestanding wardrobe with a gown in her hands. She stopped walking and let out a sigh when no one said anything. “Wrong word again?”

Lucetta laughed. “Not at all, that was an excellent use of the word
abhorrent,
Millie. I do believe your hard work with your dictionary is finally paying off.”

Looking completely delighted, Millie moved to an old dress form that was standing off to the side and threw the gown over it, stepping back a moment later as she eyed the dress. “I don’t know, it’s rather . . .”

“Frumpy?” Oliver supplied before he walked over to stand beside Millie. “What’s that for anyway?”

“Harriet’s trying to decide what to wear to Abigail’s ball,” Lucetta explained.

“Isn’t that dress a little . . . dated, and what happened to the gowns from Arnold Constable & Company?”

Lucetta and Millie exchanged rather significant looks before they abruptly walked out of the room.

“What was that about?” he asked.

“Maybe you should take a seat,” Harriet said, moving over to what turned out to be a slightly worn chaise. She dumped a pile of gowns to the floor and gestured for him to sit down next to her.

Taking a seat, he waited while Harriet rearranged the folds of her skirt and then braced himself when she lifted her head and turned rather determined looking.

“I’ve come up with a plan to end our engagement that will allow us to part amicably, but also allow you to pursue Lady Victoria before she leaves to return home.”

Abigail had been right—Harriet
had
been plotting.

“I don’t recall stating that I have an interest in Lady Victoria.”

“Well, when could you have stated much of anything to me, given the fact I set a restaurant on fire and embarrassed you beyond belief?” She blew out a breath, surprising him when she took his hand in hers. “I cannot express to you enough how truly sorry I am for causing such a ruckus.”

“There’s no need to apologize, Harriet. It could have happened to anyone.”

“That’s what everyone keeps trying to tell me, but I know perfectly well that ladies of society rarely set the table linens to flames, nor do they make outlandish comments about turtle dishes that cause everyone to lose their appetite for it.”

Oliver grinned. “I must admit that the mere thought of eating your Sam did put me off terrapin for good, I think.”

Harriet patted his hand and then withdrew hers. “For that, I must apologize. Everyone seems to enjoy that particular luxury and now I’ve ruined it for you forever.”

“I’m fairly certain I’ll survive.”

“Yes, well, moving on to my idea.”

“Must we?”

Harriet frowned. “I know you’re probably concerned about my ability to plan, considering what happened last night, but I
assure you, this plan I’ve come up with will not end in disaster.” She leaned toward him. “What I believe we should do is this—I’m going to dress in a rather dowdy manner, which will draw even more attention to Lady Victoria’s beauty. Then, you and I are going to get in a slight disagreement regarding my . . . bustles or perhaps my dress designing. Then, I’ll dramatically release you from our engagement, saying something to the effect that you stifle my muse and I simply cannot move forward with a gentleman who doesn’t share my vision.”

“Did you get Lucetta to help you with that?”

“How did you know?”

“It smacks of the theatrical.”

“She suggested I throw myself at your feet and beg you to release me from our engagement, but I thought that might be a bit much.”

“Just a bit.”

Harriet arched a brow. “So . . . what do you think?”

Oliver drew her hand back into his and pressed it. “No.”

“What do you mean, no?” Harriet asked as she tried to pull her hand out of his, giving up a moment later when he refused to relinquish his hold.

“I’m not interested in Lady Victoria.”

“How could you not be interested in her? She’s lovely, wealthy, and won’t embarrass you.”

“She embarrassed me quite a bit last night when she tried to kiss me.”

Harriet’s eyes went wide. “She tried to kiss you?”

Oliver felt a wave of satisfaction roll over him when he detected what he thought was a slight trace of disgruntlement in her tone. “And knocked me to the floor in the process where she immediately jumped on top of me.”

“Well, she is young.”

“She’s a spoiled brat, is what she is, and we’ll speak no fur
ther regarding any plan you might have for me to spend time in her company.”

Harriet tapped a finger against her chin. “We can still move forward, though, with the argument part. Word has gotten out around town regarding our engagement, and since our time together is rapidly coming to an end, we might as well use Abigail’s ball to allow society to learn that we’ve decided we won’t suit. That will leave an opening for other young ladies to draw your attention.”