After a Fashion (14 page)

“I almost forgot about my carriage.” He turned them around and began heading the other way. “I’ll tell Darren where we’ll be, and
then
we’ll begin our shopping adventure.”

It took a good five minutes to reach his carriage because Harriet kept dragging her feet. He glanced up at Darren as he let go of Harriet’s arm, having no choice in the matter because she’d begun to wrestle her way out of his hold. “Miss Peabody and I are going to visit Arnold Constable & Company, Darren. I expect it’ll take a good few hours to get Miss Peabody all she needs, and I would hate for you to miss your lunch. Why don’t you park the carriage in front of the store and go get yourself something to eat?”

Instead of nodding in agreement, Darren shook his head and grinned. “Forgive me, Mr. Addleshaw, but I don’t think Miss Peabody is exactly keen about going to Arnold Constable & Company.”

“Why would you say that?”

“She’s dashing away in the opposite direction.”

Oliver turned, and sure enough, Harriet was quickly disappearing into the crowd, her huge hat once again bobbing in the breeze.

She was exasperating, annoying, and continuously causing
him to move at a pace he was unaccustomed to moving as he kept having to dash after her.

“Just meet me at Arnold Constable’s,” he called to Darren as he began to jostle his way through the crowded sidewalk. He increased his pace but then smiled when a swish of an ice-blue skirt through a doorway captured his attention. Strolling a moment later into a small shop that sold unmentionables, he set his sights on Harriet, who was already at the very back of the shop, pretending an interest in what appeared to be bustles. He stalked over to join her.

“You’re trying my patience.”

“I could say the same of you,” she retorted without lifting her gaze. “Did I mention that I’m attempting to create a new bustle, one that would fold up when a lady sits down and then spring back to position once she stands up?”

“No, you didn’t, and that has nothing to do with . . . A collapsible bustle, did you say?”

“Indeed, but so far I haven’t been able to develop a spring that will actually work.”

Even though he was highly intrigued with the idea, he pushed it aside and sent her what he could only hope was a formidable glare. To his annoyance, it didn’t have any effect on her whatsoever, probably because she still wasn’t looking at him.

“Why did you run away?” he asked.

“I can’t go to Arnold Constable & Company.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s too . . . too . . . everything.”

“It’s one of the leading department stores in New York.”

“Exactly. That store caters to the elite. Why, I’ve heard the Vanderbilt family shops there, and the Astor family, and the list goes on and on. Your mother probably shops there.”

“She does, frequently at that, which is how I know they’ll have everything you need, all under one roof. Quite frankly,
I’m a little confused as to why you didn’t start at department stores in the first place.”

“Because, again, they draw in elite crowds.”

“Madame Simone is one of the leading designers in the city, and yet you went to her shop.”

“I thought I would be less conspicuous there, since there wouldn’t be as many ladies roaming around.”

“You think entirely too much,” he said before he took hold of her arm again, and with quite a bit of prodding on his part, finally got her out of the unmentionables shop and back on the sidewalk.

“I’ll embarrass you,” she finally whispered.

“You won’t,” he said softly. “You’re now, for all intents and purposes, a lady I hold in deepest affection. Once you show up at Arnold Constable & Company on my arm, you’ll be treated like a princess, but you need to trust me.”

She stopped moving, but since he wasn’t willing to stand for another hour on the sidewalk, he prodded her forward, not speaking until they reached the department store—where he found he couldn’t actually make her walk up the steps.

For a wisp of a lady, she really was incredibly strong—and . . . stubborn.

“I can’t do it.”

“You
can
do it. Just think about that shop you want to open and know that this is just something you have to do to attain your goal.”

Harriet opened her mouth, looked as if she wanted to argue, but then pressed her lips together right before she nodded. “Very well, but do remember that this was
your
idea.” She tightened her fingers around his arm and, with her feet dragging only a little, allowed him to escort her through the front door.

8

T
error seized hold of Harriet and wouldn’t let go as Oliver escorted her across the marble floor. He led her deeper into the bowels of Arnold Constable & Company, and with every step they took, her terror increased. Her mouth felt incredibly dry, her heart was racing, and when she looked up and saw not one but several glass chandeliers swaying from the ceiling, her stomach immediately turned queasy.

A strange ringing sounded in her ears when she glanced around the room and discovered a well-dressed lady staring in her direction, the scarf the woman had evidently been considering for purchase dangling forgotten in her hand. The lady caught Harriet’s eye and sent her a nod, right before she imperiously summoned a gentleman wearing a dark suit to her side with the deliberate movement of a gloved hand. Harriet watched as the gentleman hurried over to the woman and bent his head as she began to whisper furiously in his ear.

Her queasiness increased. This was it—the die was cast. She’d been found out. How, she couldn’t really say, but she knew she was about to be ejected from yet another store, no matter that
Oliver was standing by her side, practically propping her up now that her legs seemed to be giving out on her.

“You need to calm down,” he said, placing a hand against the small of her back to steady her.

“That lady is staring at me,” Harriet whispered.

Oliver squinted in the direction Harriet was looking, smiled at the lady and gentleman, who both smiled back, and then returned his attention to her. “Of course she’s staring at you. You’re wearing a very fashionable dress, paired with an unusual hat—but one that, I imagine, will soon be the hat to have in New York City. You’re also beautiful, and . . . you’re with me.”

The ringing in her ears disappeared. “Beautiful?”

Oliver arched a brow. “Fishing for a compliment?”

“For some unfathomable reason, I find myself in desperate need of one right about now.”

“Well then, I’ll have to see what I can do about getting you more than one.”

Bracing herself for whatever outlandish thing would soon come out of Oliver’s mouth, Harriet wrinkled her nose when he simply smiled. But then she was distracted by the disturbing sight of the man in the formal suit making his way directly for them. Fresh terror kept her rooted to the spot—the only movement she seemed capable of making was to peek at Oliver out of the corner of her eye.

To her annoyance, even though Oliver clearly saw the man approaching them, he certainly didn’t seem to realize the gravity of their situation. He was standing there, calm as could be—for all appearances a gentleman who was simply out for a bit of shopping, not a gentleman who was inappropriately escorting a hat girl through one of the most elite department stores of the day.

“Mr. Addleshaw,” the gentleman exclaimed, “this is a pleasant surprise. We haven’t seen you here in months, nor have I seen your mother.”

“Mr. Lamansky, always a pleasure to see you as well,” Oliver returned. “I’m afraid I’ve been out of town of late, and my parents are visiting India at the moment.” He turned and gestured to Harriet. “May I introduce to you Miss—”

“Ah, you must be Miss Birmingham,” Mr. Lamansky interrupted before Oliver had a chance to finish the introduction. Mr. Lamansky’s smile dimmed for a second before he hitched it back into place. “I’ve heard
wonderful
things about you since you’ve arrived in our city. Tell me, how do you find the shopping?”

Before Harriet could get so much as a single sputter past her lips, Oliver took a firm hold of her arm. “This lady,” he began, “is
not
Miss Birmingham, but Miss Peabody.”

Mr. Lamansky’s eyes went wide. “Oh, forgive me. I assumed she was your fiancée. I must admit I imparted the wrong information to Mrs. Gould when she begged me to come ask you who designed Miss, ah, Peabody’s dress.” He sent her an expectant arch of a brow.

“Er . . . ” was all Harriet could think to respond.

“This is one of Miss Peabody’s own designs,” Oliver said, coming to her rescue when she continued struggling for words.

The look Mr. Lamansky sent her had Harriet wishing a large hole would open up right in front of her feet, or better yet, that a train would suddenly go rushing through the store, at which time she’d fling herself in front of it and be done with this nonsense once and for all.

“Begging your pardon, Mr. Addleshaw,” Mr. Lamansky said in a lowered voice as he stepped closer to Oliver. “Do you think it wise to bring Miss Peabody, a dress designer by the sound of things, into this particular store? Surely you must realize that my customers are bound to take note of her, and I’m certain they’ll make mention of it to Miss Birmingham.”

Oliver’s hand tightened on her arm, and with that tightening, she felt him stiffen. His eyes turned hard, the vein began
throbbing on his forehead, and he looked downright menacing, even with all but one of the buttons missing on his jacket and his hair untidy from chasing her through the streets.

Why hadn’t she suggested he fix his hair?

A bubble of hysterical laughter caught in her throat, and she struggled to hold it in, but the urge to laugh disappeared completely when Oliver began to speak.

“I fear there are numerous misconceptions floating around the city,” he drawled, the measured tone of his voice causing Mr. Lamansky’s face to pale. “First of all, I’m not engaged to Miss Birmingham, no matter the rumors you might have heard.”

“Not . . . engaged . . . ?”

“No, not to Miss Birmingham, but I am engaged.” He turned to Harriet and sent her a smile that was so surprisingly sweet she felt the unusual urge to dissolve into a puddle of blubbering incoherency right at his feet—until she remembered the pesky little notion that Oliver seemed to have an entire arsenal of smiles at his disposal, which he apparently brought out as needed. “Allow me to start again.” He inclined his head at Mr. Lamansky. “I would like to introduce you to my fiancée, Miss Peabody. Miss Peabody, this is Mr. Lamansky, one of the managers here. I’m quite certain he’s going to do everything within his power to provide you with a shopping experience you’ll never forget.”

“Your . . . fiancée?” Mr. Lamansky whispered.

“Exactly right, Mr. Lamansky, and do feel free to tell Mrs. Gould that my fiancée designed her dress. In fact, tell her Miss Peabody is soon to open up her own design shop here in town. You may assure her we’ll send her the shop’s location once it’s officially open.”

“Your fiancée is going to run a shop?”

Oliver let out a chuckle. “My Harriet is quite the independent
lady. Why, the only way I could convince her to marry me was to agree to allow her to continue on with her pursuit of becoming one of the most sought-after designers in New York.”

Harriet’s mouth dropped open. She had no intention of opening a shop that catered to the elite, so . . . why would he say that . . .
and
 . . . why in the world would he have proclaimed to this gentleman that she was his fiancée? She was only supposed to be posing as his social companion, and now, well, this was certainly going to open up a whole can of worms.

Unfortunately, Oliver didn’t seem to understand the ramifications of what he’d just so blithely announced. Instead of panic clouding his eyes, there was a strange gleam of intensity, but what that intensity meant . . .

“I’m going to be backing my fiancée’s venture, and I must say, she’s incredibly talented. I fully expect her shop to become a place where all the ladies go to seek out original designs.”

In the blink of an eye, everything became crystal clear. Oliver was a businessman forever on the lookout for opportunities that might be profitable or pique his interest. He’d apparently, during the midst of the nonsense unfolding around them, decided he wanted to partner with her on her plan to open up a shop. The problem with that decision, however, was that she had no desire to wait on the wealthy. She wanted to help ladies who were much like herself—ladies who had limited funds but still possessed a keen sense of style.

“Now then,” Oliver said briskly, “we’re here today to secure a new wardrobe for my darling, and I’m hopeful she’ll be able to find everything she desires under this one roof. She’s been much too busy of late to design clothing for herself, which is why I suggested we come here to secure everything she needs.” He sent Harriet a look she assumed was supposed to be one of indulgence, but she couldn’t help but notice a distinct trace of amusement lurking in his eyes.

She blinked and then blinked again. She hadn’t expected that Oliver Addleshaw might have a sense of humor.