After a Fashion (37 page)

Refusing to rise to that bait, he summoned up a smile right as Miss Dixon began to rail at Everett.

“My goodness, Miss Dixon, it’s hardly the thing to screech at Mr. Mulberry in such a common fashion,” Abigail said as she bustled over to join them. Ignoring Miss Dixon’s protests regarding the screeching, Abigail nodded to Oliver. “It seems all the guests have arrived—except for the duke and duchess, of course—which means we can repair to the ballroom.”

“My father said to expect them around eleven, and it’s only ten thirty now,” Victoria said as she joined them, holding Archibald’s arm.

“The perfect time for them to make a grand entrance,” Abigail said. “But, I don’t want our guests to get bored, so we’ll open the ball. I’ve instructed Oliver’s chef to hold dinner until midnight, which is such a delightful time to dine.”

“I knew I should have eaten something before coming here,” Miss Dixon muttered.

“Ah, Miss Dixon, I was hoping you’d attend this evening,” Victoria exclaimed, stepping forward and taking what seemed to be a rather firm grip of Miss Dixon’s arm. “Why, we barely had any time at all to get acquainted at Delmonico’s.”

“Because Miss Peabody set the place on fire.”

“And wasn’t that just so exciting?” Victoria chirped before she tugged Miss Dixon forward. “Mrs. Hart has very kindly set out numerous tables with scrumptious little treats. Would you care to join me as I go find some to sample?”

Miss Dixon, without so much as a single glance to Everett, fell into step beside Victoria and quickly disappeared into the crowd assembled in Abigail’s ballroom. Oliver looked to his friend, but before he could say a single word, Everett held up his hand.

“I know. She’s being exceedingly difficult.”

“Which begs the question of why you continue spending time with her.”

“The brats need a mother, Oliver, and she’s everything my parents want for me in a spouse.”

“Yes, but your parents won’t have to wake up next to her every morning, will they?”

Everett shrugged and then smiled. “I must say, Lady Victoria is not what I expected.”

“She’s charming,” Harriet said, speaking up. “I think what everyone has forgotten is that she’s a relatively young lady and young ladies are known to make a few mistakes here and there.”

Oliver gestured to the crowd. “She certainly was quick to haul Miss Dixon away from you.”

Harriet smiled. “She’s attempting to make up for the fact she tried to maul you.”

Everett’s eyes widened. “Lady Victoria mauled you? You never told me that.”

“We’ve hardly had much time to talk of late, what with Abigail deciding to host a ball, Harriet’s aunt on the loose, Silas threatening to ruin me, and all the issues I’m dealing with over that mining accident.”

“Have there been any new developments in regard to the mine?”

“I’ve just sent a gentleman known for his negotiation strategies down to West Virginia, and I’m hopeful he’ll have good news to report soon.” Oliver blew out a breath. “I’m going to have to spend a fortune in new machinery, but . . .”

“It’s the right thing to do,” Harriet finished for him.

“It is.”

“And you’re feeling much better now because you’re doing the right thing, aren’t you?” she pressed.

“I’d feel even better if my profits began to move forward, but . . . yes, I do feel better.”

“I’m delighted to learn there’s hope for you yet, Mr. Addleshaw.”

Oliver turned as an older lady who’d just made that declaration slipped out from what appeared to be a broom closet and marched their way, her grin surprisingly youthful.

“I should have known you’d find a way to attend the ball,” Harriet said.

“You didn’t think I’d leave you all alone to deal with this, did you?” Lucetta asked with a wave of her hand, before she patted her silver curls. “What do you think?”

Oliver took in the elaborately curled wig perched on top of Lucetta’s head, the wrinkles she’d somehow managed to create on her face, and the very thick spectacles she’d perched on her nose. “Can you see out of those?”

Lucetta grinned. “Not really, but the fact my vision is a little skewed is helping me get into character. I’ve decided I’m a dotty old thing who is slightly related to Abigail. I’m one of those relatives who
has
to be invited but one whom no one actually acknowledges.” She smoothed a hand down the skirt of her hideous floral gown. “I found this gem in Abigail’s attic, along with the lovely wig I’m wearing.”

“But I’m the one who was given the daunting task of picking old moth carcasses out of that wig and getting it to fit Lucetta’s head,” Millie said as she stepped out of the broom closet dressed as a proper maid. “And, just to be clear, she didn’t suffer any ill effects from my efforts.”

A smile teased Harriet’s mouth. “I see you’re still miffed over the fact Abigail brought in another hairdresser to do my hair tonight.”

“I’ve been practicing hair styling with hot tongs for two days,” Millie grumbled.

“Why don’t you show everyone what that practice did,” Abigail said, moving up to rejoin them.

“I don’t think there’s any need for that.”

Everett grinned at Millie. “You burned your hair off, didn’t you.”

Millie lifted her nose in the air. “I don’t believe you and I are familiar enough with each other, Mr. Mulberry, for you to ask me such a question. If you’ll excuse me, I need to go check on the refreshments. Abigail has trusted me with making certain the punch bowl never runs dry.”

With that, Millie bobbed a perfect curtsy, turned on her heel, and marched into the ballroom. Partway across the room, she apparently realized that maids normally didn’t boldly walk through the middle of the dance floor, because she turned once again and practically ran to the side.

“She’s an unusual lady,” Everett said as he watched Millie’s retreating back.

“That she is,” Abigail agreed, taking his offered arm before she nodded to Oliver. “Are you ready to open the ball?”

Apprehension was immediate. “What do you mean . . . open the ball?”

“She means that you and Harriet,” Archibald began, stepping forward, “being the newly engaged couple, will be expected to open the ball with the first dance.” He looked at Abigail. “Did you forget to mention that to them?”

Abigail smiled. “I have been rather busy of late, pulling off this daunting feat of preparing a ball in two days, so, yes, I might have forgotten.”

Oliver felt Harriet’s fingers dig into his arm. Looking down at her, he frowned. “I probably should have asked this before, but do you know how to dance?”

“Of course, although I might be a bit rusty.”

It hit him then, how little he really knew about the lady stand
ing beside him. But . . . he wanted to know more . . . everything about her—not just how she came to know how to dance but what she thought about every second of the day. Who’d taught her how to sew, and how was she able to imagine and assemble a bustle that could collapse and then recover? And . . . did she regret not ever being able to perform on a wire because her aunt had hustled her out of the circus?

Unfortunately, the reality was that he wasn’t going to get to learn more about her. Their time was almost over, and that realization caused something that felt remarkably like regret to settle deep in his soul.

“But . . . when did you learn?” he heard himself ask.

“Does it matter?” Harriet countered before she prodded him forward. The next thing he knew, he was standing with Harriet in the middle of Abigail’s ballroom. The room went silent as Abigail took up a position in front of the thirty-piece orchestra she’d somehow managed to procure on remarkably short notice.

“I would like to take a moment to welcome all of you to my, shall we say, spontaneous ball,” Abigail said as laughter filled the room. “The guests of honor will be arriving shortly, but their lovely daughter, Lady Victoria, is already here, as most of you know, since she was in the receiving line.” Abigail waved a hand in the direction of Victoria, who was stuffing what appeared to be a piece of cake into her mouth. Undaunted, Victoria swallowed and grinned, executing a beautiful curtsy before she waved to the guests and then gestured back to Abigail.

“Now then,” Abigail continued, “as most of you were made aware, Mr. Addleshaw has recently become engaged to the lovely Miss Peabody, and it is my wish that the couple open the ball with the first dance.”

Oliver saw the members of the orchestra pick up their instruments, and he turned to Harriet, who instead of looking nervous was beaming up at him.

“See, I did finally practice that adoring look you demanded, and I’m now going to suggest you try your hand at looking adoringly back at me,” she muttered out of the side of her mouth even as she kept her smile firmly in place. “The guests will get suspicious if I’m the only one doing the whole adoring business.”

His lips curved into a returning smile. She was so beautiful and so different from anyone he’d ever known that he decided there and then that, although this was to be the last night they were together, he was going to make the most of it.

“Ready?” he whispered as he pulled her into his arms.

“I don’t know if I’d go that far, but . . .”

The music began and he pulled her closer, breathing in the scent of her that smelled exactly like violets. He swept her across the floor, delighted when she matched his every step.

All of the worries that had been plaguing him of late simply disappeared as he waltzed Harriet around the room, enjoying the feel of her in his arms until it seemed as if they were the only two people at the ball.

He looked down at her face and felt more alive than he’d ever felt in his life. Her unusual eyes were sparkling with pleasure, and her face glowed from their exertions, but not once did she stumble. When she tilted her head back and laughed, he was hard-pressed to not give in to the urge he immediately felt to lower his head and claim the lips that were only inches away from his own.

He couldn’t give her up—it was as simple as that, but . . .

He pushed the thought away, not wanting anything to intrude on the unexpected happiness that had descended over him. Disappointment was immediate when the music slowly came to a stop. He pulled her close for just a second, blinking as the sound of enthusiastic clapping drew him back to reality. He sent Harriet a smile, pleased to notice she looked somewhat dazed, and dropped his arms from around her. He was about
to take hold of her hand, when a voice that sent anger coursing through him sounded throughout the ballroom.

“Bravo, my friend, bravo,” Silas Ruff drawled as he continued to clap even though all of the other guests had stopped. “What a delightful couple you make.”

Casually placing himself in front of Harriet, Oliver struggled to tamp down the temper that threatened to overtake him. “This is certainly a surprise, my
old
friend, finding you here at the ball since I wasn’t aware you’d been extended an invitation.”

Silas laughed, although it sounded anything but amused. “Given the—how did Mrs. Hart phrase it?—oh yes,
spontaneous
nature of this event, I assumed my lack of an invitation was a simple oversight. But—” he laughed again—“it was hardly difficult getting into the house, given that I brought with me a very special surprise for your lovely Miss Peabody.”

Before Oliver could take so much as a single step, Silas turned and then stepped forward with a lady dressed in an elaborate gown of ivory, draped in diamonds and smiling back at him. Dread was immediate, and only increased when Silas smiled a nasty smile Oliver’s way before he opened his mouth.

“It is my extreme pleasure to introduce to you, Oliver, Miss Jane Peabody, aunt to your lovely little Miss Harriet Peabody.” Silas’s eyes suddenly narrowed. “You’ll be delighted to learn that Miss
Jane
Peabody is one of the most charming confidence artists I’ve ever had the fortune of meeting.”

21

F
orcing feet that wanted to remain stuck to the floor into motion, Harriet stepped around Oliver and set her sights on her aunt. Jane was still standing beside Silas, and she was smiling, although her smile appeared to be incredibly forced and she’d begun to turn a very ugly shade of red.

“Act as if you didn’t know about my aunt,” she said softly before she began forward—and then was tugged to an immediate stop when Oliver grabbed hold of her hand. Irritation was immediate. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she whispered. “You have much to lose here, while I have nothing. I’ll handle Jane.”

“Not likely,” he said pleasantly before he tucked her hand into the crook of his arm. “We’ll do this together, shall we?”

Before she could protest, he began strolling ever so casually across the ballroom floor, bringing her to a stop directly in front of Mr. Silas Ruff. “Shall we repair to a more private setting?”

Silas laughed even as his eyes narrowed. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you,
old
friend?” He stepped closer to Oliver and lowered his voice. “I told you that you’d regret firing me, and this is me showing you what regret looks like.”

He gestured to the silent crowd watching them closely. “I’m
of the firm belief, that you, as members of New York’s highest society, deserve to know what our dear Oliver here,
unintentionally
I’m sure, almost unleashed on you—that being Jane and Harriet Peabody.”