After a Fashion (9 page)

It really was unfortunate that Mr. Birmingham had descended on Oliver before they’d been able to talk everything through. As it stood now, she truly had no idea what story she was supposed to tell people. Harriet forced a smile. “An . . . ah . . .
acquaintance
of mine wanted me to watch Buford for a day or two, and that acquaintance kindly provided me with a means to get home.”

Mrs. Palmer gestured to the carriage that was, thankfully, trundling off down the street. “That’s a wealthy man’s carriage, my dear, which means you’ve gotten yourself into some sort of mischief.”

Heat, no doubt the result of Mrs. Palmer’s speculation, spread over her cheeks. “I fear your imagination is getting away from you, Mrs. Palmer. I have not gotten into mischief, not exactly, and I assure you, there’s no reason for you to be concerned about me.” Pretending not to notice the clear doubt on Mrs. Palmer’s face, she called to Buford, amazed when the dog actually lumbered to her side. “Now then, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get Buford inside before it starts raining again.”

“There’s still time for you to come to your senses.”

Since Harriet had been thinking the same thing on the ride from Oliver’s house, she didn’t see the point in arguing. Instead,
she kept the smile firmly on her face and nodded at her landlady. “I’ll keep that in mind, Mrs. Palmer, but I must get Buford inside and rummage up something for him to eat. I think he may be hungry.” She lowered her voice. “We wouldn’t want him to get tempted by those little darlings of yours, would we?”

“It doesn’t speak well of this acquaintance of yours that he gave you his dog to watch over but didn’t provide any food for it.”

“I never said my acquaintance was a gentleman.”

“You didn’t have to, dear.” Mrs. Palmer turned and began walking to the door. “Stay there. I’ll get you something to feed the dog.” She disappeared into the house, with her yippers scampering around her feet, and reappeared a moment later carrying a dented pot.

Buford moved closer to Mrs. Palmer and sniffed the air.

Mrs. Palmer smiled down at him before looking at Harriet. “Here are some scraps I got from the butcher. You’re welcome to them.”

Guilt stole over Harriet as she accepted the pot, knowing that even though Mrs. Palmer owned the house and charged all her tenants rent, she didn’t charge much and was almost certainly short on funds. Recalling, however, that she had a fortune tucked away in her reticule, Harriet’s guilt slipped away.

“Thank you, Mrs. Palmer. I do appreciate it, and I’ll be certain to refill the pot tonight and drop it off if I see your light on when I get home from dinner.”

“You’re going out to dinner? With the gentleman who owns that carriage?”

“I’m not going out with him. I’m—”

“So it is a gentleman.”

Harriet refused to sigh. “I’m going out to dinner with Millie and Lucetta. It’s my birthday, you see, and we’re going to Mort’s, which means I’ll certainly be able to refill your pot with leftover scraps from our meal.”

“Where are you getting the money to splurge at Mort’s?”

“I’ve been saving up.”

“A likely story.”

Realizing she was in the midst of a battle she couldn’t win, Harriet stepped off the stoop. “I’ll bring the pot back soon, Mrs. Palmer. Buford. Come on, boy.”

Rounding the corner of the boardinghouse, even as Mrs. Palmer’s dire predictions followed her, Harriet reached the rickety steps leading up to the small rooms she shared with her friends. Mindful of the slick surface, she began to climb. “Watch your paws,” she said to Buford when they reached the second floor. She turned to check on his progress and found him standing perfectly still a few steps below her, trembling from head to tail.

Setting down the pot, she hurried back to him. “I know the climb seems slightly terrifying, but you really have to move along. It’s going to start raining again any second now.”

Buford let out a pitiful whimper and staunchly refused to budge.

Taking hold of his collar, she gave a hard tug, but that only resulted in increased whimpers. Releasing the collar, she scrambled up to the pot and extracted a revolting piece of grisly beef. She waved it in what she hoped was an enticing manner. “If you want this, you’re going to have to come and get it.”

Buford eyed the beef, let out a mournful yip, stepped up one step, then froze in place.

“It would have been less problematic if you’d discovered your fear of heights on the first floor. As it stands now, we’re halfway up, which means we’re also halfway down, and you’re much too heavy for me to carry you in either direction.” She sat down beside him on the narrow step and gave him the piece of beef, even though he’d done absolutely nothing to earn it.

He wolfed it down and nudged her with his nose.

“Harriet, why are you lingering on the steps, and . . . why are you trying to bring a pony up them?”

Tipping her head, Harriet found one of her roommates, Miss Lucetta Plum, peering at her from over the railing. “Buford isn’t a pony, Lucetta. He’s a dog. And unfortunately, I’ve just discovered he’s a bit of a coward when it comes to heights.”

“I’ll be right down,” Lucetta called, and a second later, Harriet heard the sound of bare feet padding down the steps. She wasn’t surprised in the least that Lucetta wasn’t wearing shoes. Her roommate was known throughout the city as one of the most beautiful actresses to ever grace the stage, but any care for her appearance disappeared the moment Lucetta left the theater. Lucetta preferred comfort over fashion when she wasn’t in the spotlight, and when she came into view, Harriet saw that today was no exception. Her friend was wearing a ratty old wrapper that had seen better days paired with loose trousers, the flared and tattered hems billowing around her ankles. Lucetta’s golden hair was pulled into a messy knot on top of her head, and a large streak of what seemed to be grease was smeared across her nose.

“If only your admirers could see you now,” Harriet said with a grin, earning a grin from Lucetta in return.

“Perhaps I
should
allow some of them to see me like this,” Lucetta said. “Maybe then I wouldn’t be plagued with so many pesky gentlemen trying to attract my attention—most of whom insist on pronouncing my name
Loo-chet-a
instead of
Loo-set-a
.”

“For most ladies, gentlemen trying to capture a woman’s attention is a sought-after circumstance.”

“As you very well know, Harriet, I’m not most ladies, but now is not the time to discuss me or the gentlemen who plague me far too often. Explain the pooch.”

“That’s going to have to wait until we get him off these stairs. It’s starting to drizzle, and that’s not going to help our plight.”

Lucetta smiled. “Leave him to me.” She crouched down and
rubbed Buford’s head. “You poor little darling,” she crooned. “There’s no reason to be afraid.”

Buford went from rigid to relaxed in a split second.

“That’s amazing, Lucetta. Who knew you had the same effect on dogs as you have on gentlemen?”

“I’m not sure that’s something I should be proud of,” Lucetta said before she straightened. “You said his name’s Buford?”

Harriet nodded.

“Come along, Buford.” Lucetta began climbing, and to Harriet’s amazement, Buford trailed willingly up the remaining two flights of stairs and disappeared from view.

“Aren’t you coming?” Lucetta yelled.

Picking up the pot of beef, Harriet hurried up the stairs, walked through the door, and entered the cramped space she and her friends fondly referred to as their receiving room. She set down the pot on a table that was surprisingly free of clutter and glanced around. “Did you clean?”

Lucetta beamed back at her. “I know it’s completely unlike me, but I thought it would be the perfect gift for your birthday.”

A lovely feeling of warmth swirled through Harriet. “It
is
the perfect gift, but I feel horrible that you spent the one afternoon you have off cleaning.”

Lucetta waved away the protest. “
Romeo and Juliet
wrapped up sooner than expected—due to a slight problem with an overly emotional director. My next venture doesn’t open at Niblo’s Garden for another six weeks, and rehearsals don’t begin for two. Management there is bringing in a mad inventor to see if the place is suitable for him to experiment with some new form of electric lights, since everyone is concerned about fires from gas lights burning theaters to the ground these days.” She blew a strand of hair out of her face that had come free from the messy knot atop her head. “But enough about that—where and why did you get the mutt?”

Harriet looked down and shook her head at the sight of Buford hovering by Lucetta’s side. “You’ve made a new conquest.”

Lucetta ruffled Buford’s fur, which immediately set his tail to wagging. “He’s a lovely conquest to be sure, and at least I know he won’t send me any of those nauseating roses.”

“Acquired more of your least favorite flower last night after your performance, did you?”

“I got bushels of them, and most of them sent by that horrid Mr. Silas Ruff.” Lucetta shuddered. “I think he believes his persistence will eventually wear me down.”

“He obviously doesn’t realize you’re a lady who can’t be bought.”

“Obviously, but again, we’re getting off topic. Where did you get Buford? I know he’s not a stray, because he’s wearing a collar and looks remarkably well fed.”

“He’s Oliver Addleshaw’s dog.”

Lucetta’s mouth made an O of surprise. “Are you talking about the Oliver Addleshaw who recently built one of the most extravagant houses on Fifth Avenue?”

“One and the same. I saw his house today, and it certainly seems to be extravagant, at least on the outside.”

“And you have his dog because . . . you found him wandering around outside that house and . . . Oh dear, please tell me you’re not considering holding Buford for ransom? Jail is not a place you’d care to visit.”

“You’ve evidently been immersing yourself entirely too much in those Shakespearian plots, and . . . how would you know that jail is not a place I’d care to land?”

Lucetta gave an airy wave of her hand. “I spent a few hours in one when I needed to prepare for a particularly difficult part, and I did not enjoy the experience. However, that has nothing to do with what you’re doing with Mr. Addleshaw’s dog or what you were even doing on Fifth Avenue.” She nar
rowed her eyes. “Your aunt doesn’t have something to do with this, does she?”

“Considering Aunt Jane is extremely put out with me since I once again refused her lovely offer of joining her less-than-savory business operation, I haven’t had the pleasure of speaking to or even seeing her since my last birthday.” Harriet bit her lip. “Although, I do believe she’s taken to having me followed again.” She waved her hand. “But enough about that. I was at Oliver’s house because Mrs. Fienman sent me there to make a delivery.”

“Mrs. Fienman prefers you remain in the back room, and . . . did you just call Mr. Addleshaw by his given name?”

“He told me to use his name, and yes, Mrs. Fienman did prefer to keep me to the back room, but there were extenuating circumstances that required her to shove me out of that room today.”

“And those circumstances culminated with you becoming so well acquainted with Mr. Addleshaw that you’re now addressing him by his given name and taking care of his dog?”

“When you say it like that, it sounds a little . . . unseemly.” She felt her shoulders sag. “And here I was trying so hard to convince myself that this was the “something wonderful” God sent me for my birthday.”

“Oh . . . Harriet.” Lucetta moved up next to her, Buford still attached to her side, and pulled Harriet into a clumsy hug. “Don’t tell me you asked God for another gentleman this year,
and
that you believe He sent you Oliver Addleshaw as your something wonderful. From what little I know of the man, and believe me, that isn’t much, he’s ruthless, with only one ambition—that of amassing a fortune greater than Cornelius Vanderbilt’s.”

Harriet stepped out of Lucetta’s embrace and wrinkled her nose. “While I certainly don’t understand why anyone would feel the need to have more money than Cornelius Vanderbilt, I
didn’t ask for a gentleman this year, and I certainly don’t consider Oliver my something wonderful. I was entertaining the idea that it’s the money Oliver’s giving me that’s wonderful.”

“What money?”

Reaching for her reticule, Harriet managed to get the clasp undone, but before she could show Lucetta the contents of her bag, the outside door burst open and Miss Millie Longfellow, her other roommate, stomped through it. Forgetting all about her reticule when she saw that Millie was covered from head to toe in something pink, Harriet stood there gawking, as Lucetta did the same.

“Well, as you can see,” Millie said with a jerky motion of her hand, the action causing some of the pink to go flying, “I’ve been dismissed once again from my position. Dismissed all because of a baking lesson with the children that went horribly, horribly wrong, and . . .”

Whatever else Millie was going to say seemed to get stuck in her throat when Buford moved from Lucetta’s side and charged directly at Millie, skidding across the floor and finally coming to a stop when he plowed into her skirt and promptly began to chew on it.

Millie’s eyes went wide as she remained frozen on the spot. “Would it be too much of a bother to beg the two of you for some assistance before this creature gnaws off my leg?”

“He won’t hurt you,” Harriet reassured her, hurrying forward. “He just wants to sample whatever that is you have on your gown.” She stopped by Millie’s side, reached out her hand, swiped at the pink, and brought it up to her nose. “Is this strawberry icing?”

Millie grinned, the action causing a delightful dimple to pop out on her pixie-like face. “It is.”

Harriet was tempted to lick her finger, decided it was probably less than sanitary, so settled for wiping it on one of the
few icing-free spots on Millie’s apron. “Should I ask why you’re covered in icing?”

“I told you, I had an unfortunate baking incident. I’ll be more than happy to share all the gory details, but only after you’ve called off the dog.”