After a Fashion (31 page)

“ . . . and I still don’t understand why you and Abigail feel it’s necessary to come with us tonight, Grandfather,” Oliver was saying as Harriet lingered in the doorway, unable to get a good look at him since his back was turned.

Archibald, wearing a formal jacket paired with an intricately tied cravat, crossed his arms over his chest. “Abigail is her chaperone, Oliver, so of course she has to go tonight. As for me, you’re tossing the poor girl to the wolves, my boy, and you’re going to need some help. Why, Miss Dixon, Everett’s dear friend, is known to be an absolute nightmare, and don’t forget, you’re also sitting down with a duke. I met the man once, granted it was years ago over in London, but I still recall he had a somewhat intimidating presence.”

“That certainly is going to calm those nerves our darling Harriet must be experiencing at the moment,” Abigail said, walking into the room. Oliver turned at her words, and the sight of him in his dark evening clothes left Harriet at a loss for words.

His black hair was combed away from his face, for once not rumpled in the least, and his eyes were twinkling at Abigail as she presented him her hand, which he immediately brought
to his lips and kissed. He released his hold on Abigail, lifted his head, and then . . . his mouth dropped open and he simply stared at Harriet.

She felt heat settle over her face, but she couldn’t seem to tear her gaze away from Oliver, nor could she seem to find her voice.

“This is certainly an encouraging turn of events,” Abigail said smugly, her smugness breaking through the fog that had settled over Harriet.

Knowing she was blushing from the top of her head to the tips of toes encased in a lovely pair of shoes that exactly matched her dress, Harriet’s breath hitched when Oliver began heading her way. He stopped directly in front of her and took her hand, placing a kiss on it as he studied her face.

“You look exquisite this evening, but what happened to your scratch?” he asked even as he lowered her hand but, strangely enough, kept possession of it.

“Thank you,” she managed to get out of a mouth that had turned dry. “And Lucetta fixed my face for me, since she’s incredibly competent with a touch of theatrical paint.”

“I must say, my wards have turned out to be very talented indeed,” Abigail said, with a satisfied nod in Archibald’s direction. “I haven’t been so impressed with young ladies for years. It’s been an absolute delight having them come into my life. I must admit that after my Charles died, and my issues with my daughter and grandchildren remained unresolved, I do believe I took to wallowing. I spent too many days buried in this dreary home simply waiting for the end to find me.” She lifted her chin. “That changed the second these delightful young ladies entered my life and gave me a purpose.”

“She and Archibald really
are
including us in their mad plotting attempts,” Lucetta said, stepping into the room with Millie by her side, although by the grin on her face, it was clear she wasn’t exactly worried about the plotting. “Heed me well, Millie,
if we’re not careful, we’ll find ourselves embroiled in something concerning, just like Harriet.”

“I’m not exactly certain what
embroiled
means, Lucetta, but I’ve misplaced my dictionary in all the hectic business of getting Harriet ready.”

Oliver released Harriet’s hand and walked over to her friends, kissing first Lucetta’s hand, then Millie’s. “I must say, Miss Longfellow, if you were responsible for Harriet’s hair, you deserve everyone’s apology for doubting your competence.”

Millie’s face turned pink. “Although I have been practicing with the hot tongs, I wasn’t allowed near Harriet’s hair.”

“Only because you burned off one side of your own hair while you were doing that practicing,” Harriet said with a shudder. “That’s why you’re wearing a cap.”

“Honestly, my darlings,” Abigail said with a wag of her finger in Harriet and Millie’s direction. “Surely you’re aware that it’s hardly proper to discuss disasters that occurred in the middle of your toilettes in the company of gentlemen.”

“On the contrary,” Oliver argued with a grin. “I find it completely charming that Miss Longfellow was so diligent in regard to her new position as lady’s maid that she actually tried out the hot tongs on her own head before attempting anything on Harriet’s.”

“Don’t encourage her,” Abigail said with a sniff, even as Millie sent Oliver a cheeky wink.

Oliver returned the wink, and right there and then, Harriet’s knees turned weak. He was so agreeable at the moment, so very different from what she’d first thought about him, that she couldn’t help her knees going weak, or her mouth turning dry, or her heart . . .

“Well, since I didn’t have my maid stuff me into this dress for no reason at all,” Abigail proclaimed, pulling Harriet rapidly from thoughts of weak knees and dry mouths. “We should be off, and let us hope for the best.”

“That’s an encouraging thought,” Lucetta said before she padded up to Harriet on feet that were still bare and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Now, don’t worry too much. I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

“Of course she will,” Millie exclaimed as she joined them, although given that her nose had taken to wrinkling, Harriet wasn’t exactly reassured. “Just remember to use all the lessons Abigail and Archibald have taught you, don’t insult Miss Dixon, and I’m pretty sure you’ll need to curtsy when you’re introduced to the duke.”

Biting her lip, Harriet looked at Oliver. “Are you certain you really want to go through with this, because there’ll be no turning back in the midst of dinner . . . and . . .
am
I supposed to curtsy when I’m introduced to the duke?”

Instead of answering her, Oliver was staring at her lips, his staring having the immediate effect of additional heat traveling up her neck to settle once again on her cheeks. “Do I have something on my face?” she finally asked when he continued staring.

Blinking, Oliver seemed to shake himself before he smiled. “Forgive me, I was . . . What was the question again?”

“I asked if you really wanted to go through with this.”

“Since all of
this
was my idea in the first place, of course, and besides, what could go wrong?”

“I don’t think I should answer that,” Harriet muttered before she took his offered arm, said a last farewell to her friends, and followed Abigail and Archibald out of the room.

As the carriage trundled down the street, Harriet smoothed her gloved hand against the seat, this one done up in blue velvet, before she caught Oliver’s eye. “How many carriages do you have?”

“I’m not exactly certain, a good dozen or so, but I had this
one brought out tonight because it can seat six comfortably, and requires two footmen on the back.” He smiled. “I thought you’d feel more at ease if you knew I’d already taken steps to keep you well protected. And to relieve your mind about Millie and Lucetta, I’ve hired men to watch Mrs. Hart’s house.”

Feeling an immediate urge to hurl herself once again from his carriage, if only to escape from his far-too-considerate nature, Harriet resisted the urge and summoned up the only thought left in her mind. “I couldn’t help but notice that your footmen were wearing livery and had powdered their hair.”

Oliver frowned. “Have they really powdered their hair?”

“They have, and I’m fairly certain, given that Gladys, one of the ladies I used to work with, kept company with a footman, you pay them extra for using powder.”

Oliver looked over at Archibald. “Do you remember if I asked to have the footmen powder their hair when I hired on additional staff after my house was completed last year?”

“The agency probably suggested that idea to you, given your position within society,” Archibald said. “But, if you ask me, having your staff powder their hair is a little . . . ostentatious.”

“From what I’ve heard,” Harriet added, “it’s quite the bother for the men, but . . . if you really think it’s necessary, you might at least notice the effort they’ve gone to on your behalf.”

Oliver smiled. “I think I’ll just inform Mr. Blodgett that hair powdering is no longer in the job description.”

Harriet realized her hand was actually inching for the door after Oliver’s surprisingly considerate conclusion, but knew if she leapt out of the carriage, Abigail would be beyond annoyed with her. Settling for looking out the window instead, she tried to get her pesky emotions in check but found that next to impossible when thoughts of how charming Oliver was being toward everyone, including her friends, kept tingles running up and down her spine.

“Are you looking at Mrs. Fish?” Oliver suddenly asked, joining her at the window, his closeness bringing with him the scent of sandalwood.

Not turning her head a single inch, because that would have her face almost pressed up against his, Harriet peered into the darkness and smiled. Mrs. Fish was standing underneath a gas lamp in front of her house, the one Harriet and Oliver had visited only a few hours before, cradling Precious in her arms.

“I think she’s taking her cat for an evening stroll,” Oliver said before he leaned back and Harriet did the same.

“It was very touching how delighted she was to get her cat back,” she said.

Oliver patted her arm. “I found it very touching that you refused to take the reward she so very determinedly tried to give you.”

“Given that my aunt was responsible for abducting the cat in the first place, I actually felt as if I should pay Mrs. Fish for her distress.”

Alarm replaced every single one of Harriet’s tingles when she caught Archibald exchanging a very significant look with Abigail before both of them directed their attention to her. “What?” was all she could think to ask, earning herself another lesson from Abigail regarding the proper way to pose a question.

By the time Abigail finished, the carriage was pulling to a stop. Terror was immediate and only increased as one of the footmen helped Harriet down to the sidewalk. She found herself standing before an imposing building, one that had not one but four covered awnings guarding the doors leading into Delmonico’s. Perfectly groomed and, as Lucetta had mentioned, handsome doormen manned each door, and fashionably dressed customers were breezing through those doors as if they had every right in the world to be there.

Her terror kept her rooted to the spot.

She didn’t have that right. She was a hat maker, or at least she’d been one before she’d been dismissed from her position. Now she was simply a lady intent on becoming a seamstress, but not a seamstress for high society, a . . .

“You’re thinking entirely too much,” Oliver whispered in her ear, the feel of his breath against her skin causing her knees to begin wobbling all over again.

“I’m not thinking—well, not anything of worth,” she returned, wincing when she heard the clear panic in her voice. “I don’t think I’m ready for this yet.”

“The only way you’ll ever be ready is to just move forward.” Oliver grinned. “At least you know which fork is the oyster fork.”

“Yes, but I never bothered to actually eat any of those oysters your fancy French chef served, and . . . what if they make me gag?” She shuddered. “They’re . . . slimy.”

“True, but they taste exactly like steak, and you love steak—you told me so.”

Before she could protest further, Oliver took her by the arm, and she suddenly found herself standing in the entranceway of the most elaborate restaurant she’d ever seen. Each and every table she saw through the doorway was draped in fine linen, with candles fluttering everywhere, the light from them causing the crystal glasses on the tables to sparkle. Servers moved on silent feet around them and a delicious aroma of well-prepared food filled the air. She drew in a deep breath, slowly released it, but was still feeling a distinct desire to bolt when Mr. Everett Mulberry suddenly appeared right in front of her and sent her a wink.

The wink had her feeling a little better until the lady walking a step behind him came into view and Harriet felt her stomach lurch. Given that the lady was keeping remarkably close to Everett, Harriet knew she had to be none other than Miss Dixon—
the Nightmare,
as Archibald had called her. She was dressed in an exquisite gown of beaded silk, one that had most
likely come from Paris, and she was beautiful. Her light brown hair was styled to perfection, but . . . the closer she came, the better Harriet could see her, and the hardness residing in the lady’s eyes diminished her beauty ever so slightly.

“That’s Miss Dixon,” Oliver told her.

“She’s . . . lovely.”

“Not as lovely as you are, and she’s not nearly as interesting.”

It was fortunate Oliver had a firm grip on her arm, because Harriet was fairly certain if he didn’t, she would have swooned right to the ground for the first time in her life, right at the man’s feet.

“Mr. Addleshaw,” Miss Dixon drawled as she came to a stop in front of them. “I hear congratulations are in order.”

“Miss Dixon,” Everett said, before he gestured to Harriet. “Allow me to present Miss Harriet Peabody. Miss Peabody, this is Miss Caroline Dixon.”

Miss Dixon barely spared her a glance and didn’t wait for a response from Harriet before turning her attention back to Oliver, handing him her hand, and then batting her lashes when he took it.