After a Fashion (5 page)

“Well, that was pleasant,” Miss Peabody proclaimed.

“
Pleasant
is hardly the word I’d use to describe what just happened.”

“True, but I thought it would be rude of me to say what I really thought about the situation, and . . .” Miss Peabody’s words trailed off when Buford suddenly slunk into view, his ears drooping.

To Oliver’s dismay, his dog had a lady’s hat clamped between his teeth, one that resembled the hat Miss Peabody had been
wearing before Miss Birmingham snatched it off her head. Buford skulked up to Miss Peabody, leaned against the fabric of her skirt, and dropped the hat at her feet.

Smiling, she gave him a scratch behind the ears before she picked up the hat. “I don’t think I’ll be wearing this again.” Tucking it into the crook of her arm, she caught his eye. “While it was generous of you to offer me a way home, Mr. Addleshaw, I’m quite fond of walking, so I won’t need to take you up on your generosity.”

“It’s about to rain.”

“Then I suppose I should get on my way.” She took a step back. “It was interesting meeting you, and I wish you well in your future encounters with the Birmingham family.”

“As bad luck would have it, Mr. Birmingham and I are actually scheduled to meet here at my home later today. Originally, we were supposed to discuss matters of business, but now I’m afraid we’ll need to delve into the personal. I’m hopeful he won’t be too disappointed to learn I have no intention of moving forward with his daughter, although I expect her behavior won’t affect our business plans.”

“If I were you, I’d reconsider having
anything
to do with the Birmingham family, even matters of a business nature.” She sent him a nod and then began walking away without another word.

For some inexplicable reason, the very idea that she didn’t seem to want to linger in his company intrigued him. He started after her. “Miss Peabody, wait.”

Miss Peabody slowed but didn’t stop. “Was there something else you needed, Mr. Addleshaw?”

“I was wondering if you’d care to return to the house and perhaps enjoy a cup of tea with me.”

“I don’t believe that’s necessary.”

“It might settle your nerves.”

“My nerves rarely get unsettled.”

“Fascinating,” he muttered, earning a widening of the eyes from Miss Peabody before she turned and quickened her pace.

He was left staring after her as the most unusual thoughts whirled around his head. She’d been abused quite thoroughly by Mrs. and Miss Birmingham—and Buford, for that matter—and yet she seemed remarkably unscathed from her unpleasant encounter with them. Granted, her hair was straggling down her back and her dress was smeared with dirt, but her head was held high as she marched down the street. That gave clear testimony to the fact she was a strong woman, probably self-sufficient, and completely different from any woman he’d ever known.

“Miss Peabody, please, I need another moment of your time,” he heard pop out of his mouth, even though he had no idea why he needed more of her time—he simply wanted it.

Miss Peabody stopped, turned, and waited for him to join her. “Mr. Addleshaw, forgive me, but you were the one who pointed out it looks ready to rain. Since I have no desire to get soaked, I really must be on my way.”

“Are you married?”

“I certainly have no idea why my marital status is of interest to you, but no, I’m not married, which is why I told you my name is
Miss
Peabody.”

He wasn’t exactly sure why it was of interest to him either. In all honesty, he wasn’t even sure why he’d asked in the first place.

“Was that all you wanted?”

“Ah, no . . . I . . . ah . . .” He smiled. “I wanted to offer you compensation for the hat Buford destroyed.”

“My hat wasn’t worth much to begin with, so there’s no need to compensate me.”

“Then at least allow me to provide you with a comfortable ride home.”

Miss Peabody blew out what was clearly an exasperated breath. “Mr. Addleshaw, thank you, but no. I prefer walking, and I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

It was apparent that no truer words had ever been spoken. Miss Peabody had a very managing way about her, one not often seen in ladies, and certainly not seen in ladies who were so lovely. He felt his breath hitch ever so slightly as the full extent of her beauty began to sink in. Her face was made up of delicate hollows that drew attention to her unusual eyes, while her lips were full and her cheeks rosy—although some of that color was likely a result of her brawl with Miss Birmingham. His gaze skimmed down her figure, taking in the slightness of her form even though parts of that form were rounded in all the right places.

From out of the blue, an enticing idea began to brew.

He’d been approaching the whole lady business completely wrong.

The only reason he’d invited Miss Birmingham to come to New York from her home in Chicago was because of the Duke of Westmoore and the meetings they were soon to have. If he’d thought about it from a business perspective, he would have realized that he didn’t need a lady by his side, he needed a business associate—who happened to be a lady. More specifically, he needed someone he could pay to be at his beck and call, someone who would not expect to be pampered with new wardrobes and hats or, worse yet, prettily said words so that a lady’s tender feelings weren’t hurt.

He had the strangest feeling the perfect lady to fit that particular role was standing right beside him.

Taking a step closer to her, Oliver smiled. “You’re very well-spoken.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Your speech, it’s very refined. Have you had some schooling?”

Miss Peabody’s eyes began glittering. “That’s none of your business.”

“You’re also very fetching.”

“Ah . . . what?”

“You’re quite lovely.”

Miss Peabody began inching away from him. “Thank you, Mr. Addleshaw, for that bit of nonsense, but I believe it might be for the best if we parted ways now. Do make certain to settle up with Mrs. Fienman, won’t you? Even though I know full well I’m going to be released from my position once Mrs. Birmingham has her say, I did promise Mrs. Fienman I’d deliver her bill
and
do my best to make sure it was going to be paid.”

“Ah, you’re conscientious. Another mark in your favor.”

“Yes, well, again,
lovely
to meet you, and—”

“I have a business proposition for you.”

She took another step away from him. “A . . . business proposition?”

“Exactly.”

Miss Peabody looked at him and then looked down at the front of her dress, which had large paw prints all over it. One of her hands moved to her head, and she grimaced, leaving Oliver to believe she’d touched a sore spot, put there no doubt by Miss Birmingham’s parasol. She glanced to Buford and finally returned her attention to him. “In the interest of self-preservation, I’m going to have to say . . . no. But thank you.”

“You’re being too hasty with your refusal to hear me out. What I’m about to offer is a wonderful opportunity for someone like you, and . . .”

“Someone like me?”

“Ah, well, yes, you know, a hat girl and not of my social station in . . .” He stopped speaking when she leveled a glare at him that appeared hot enough to melt the skin right off his face.

“Don’t say another word,” she said between clenched teeth.
“You have insulted me most grievously, and I will not be held responsible for my actions if you continue to speak.” With that, she turned on her dainty heel, picked up her skirt, and bolted away from him.

Reluctant admiration caught him by surprise as he watched her flee.

Miss Peabody was
exactly
what he needed. She was lovely, intelligent, and didn’t appear to be possessed of a hysterical nature, even if she did seem to have a bit of a temper. All that was left to do now was convince her it would be in her best interest to join forces with him. But first he was going to have to catch up with her.

3

S
lowing her pace when she began developing a stitch in her side, Harriet tipped back her head and scanned a sky that had turned an ominous shade of black.

“I’m still waiting for the wonderful,” she called, and right there and then, the heavens opened up and a torrent of water poured over her—almost as if God hadn’t appreciated her snippy tone of voice.

Dropping her head, she pulled out the horrible hat she had tucked under her arm and jammed it over her hair. Plowing forward, her annoyance increased steadily, especially when a mangled bird on the hat kept poking her in the eye.

Thoughts of Mr. Addleshaw continued to plague her with every step she took. He, and other gentlemen of his ilk, explained to perfection why she didn’t hold the wealthy in high esteem.

The sheer arrogance of the man as he’d blithely suggested she listen to a business proposition from him was enough to set her teeth on edge. He knew absolutely nothing about her, except that she was
fetching
and spoke in a
refined
manner, which made it difficult to comprehend what type of business arrangement he’d even been suggesting.

She stumbled to a stop. Perhaps Mr. Addleshaw simply needed a secretary, someone to record all the business ideas he had. If that was the case, she might have been a little hasty in her refusal. She was soon to be out of work and . . . No. There was no reason for a secretary to be fetching and well-spoken, not unless Mr. Addleshaw spent his time gazing and conversing with his secretary, which didn’t make a bit of sense. Men of his station normally employed other men. Besides, Mr. Addleshaw had insulted her, and she needed to remember that.

She started off down the sidewalk again, her steps turning to stomps when the conversation she’d had with the infuriating Mr. Addleshaw—the part about a
“wonderful opportunity for
someone like you”—
kept rolling over and over through her mind.

The man had actually been smiling when he’d said those unfortunate words, as if he expected her, the poor, desperate hat lady, to fall on her knees in gratitude and thank him for his generosity.

Unfortunately, given that Mrs. Fienman had warned her about sullying the good name of the business, she truly was going to be desperate in the not too distant future. Maybe, just maybe, she should turn around and at least hear Mr. Addleshaw out.

“Don’t even think about it,” she argued aloud, glancing around to see if anyone had heard her. To her relief, since she’d reached Fifth Avenue, the rain had increased and the sidewalk was currently free of people.

“He’s enough to turn a person into a lunatic,” she muttered, trudging through a deep puddle and then shivering when water began seeping into her undergarments and through her stockings. She pushed aside the discomfort, allowing temper to replace it.

Mr. Addleshaw had questioned whether or not she’d had any schooling.

An unladylike snort escaped through her nose.

Her education had been obtained through slightly irregular means and could never be considered normal by any stretch of the imagination, but she had received one.

She’d lived throughout her childhood with a woman who’d somehow become responsible for Harriet after her mother died in childbirth. Though the woman never spoke of Harriet’s mother, Harriet had always called her Aunt Jane.

Aunt Jane disliked staying in a place for any length of time, and vigorously proclaimed her dislike for mothering. Because of that, Harriet most often found herself in the care of an odd assortment of complete strangers—their willingness to take her in brought about by Aunt Jane’s willingness to pay them. These strangers would occasionally send her to school, but more often than not, given that the people her aunt left her with were usually educated, although eccentric, they simply shared their knowledge with her. She’d learned mathematics from an elderly man who’d once taught at Yale, science from another who’d lectured at Harvard, and literature from a man all the way from England who adored everything Shakespearian. Dancing instruction, along with deportment, came from numerous ladies, many of them aging wallflowers who’d never secured a match but knew, in theory, everything a lady needed to know to secure a gentleman and move about in society.

Harriet’s love of fashion and talent with a needle and thread came about when she was twelve and found herself deposited rather abruptly with a lady by the name of Mrs. Brodie. Mrs. Brodie owned a small dress shop and lived above that shop. She hadn’t exactly seemed thrilled to have Harriet thrust on her, but once she realized Harriet had an interest in clothing, she soon set her to work stitching hems and sewing on buttons. Harriet loved the feel of the fine fabrics and enjoyed perusing the latest fashion plates. She’d been more than distraught when Aunt Jane
had shown up out of the blue months later to inform her they were moving on . . . again.

The next two years passed in a blur, with different cities every few months, and Aunt Jane growing more hostile toward Harriet with every city they left behind. Harriet had always instinctively known that Aunt Jane didn’t care for her, but as she grew older, the woman’s dislike seemed to turn more and more to outright hatred. Questions had begun consuming Harriet’s every thought, and when she’d had the audacity to ask Aunt Jane how they were related and how she earned a living, she’d received a slap across the face, and her questions had remained unanswered.