by Turano, Jen
“She’ll be fine,” Mr. Addleshaw interrupted right as a heavyset lady wearing a cap hurried up to join them. “Mrs. Rollins, you shouldn’t be out in this storm.”
“Neither should any of you,” Mrs. Rollins returned as she splashed through a deep puddle and came to stop. She leaned forward and peered at Harriet. “Oh dear. You’re the hat lady, aren’t you.”
Harriet frowned. “Why do I get the distinct feeling I’m about to hear something of an unpleasant nature?”
“Probably because what I’m about to tell you cannot, in any way, shape, or form, be considered pleasant.” Mrs. Rollins stepped closer to Harriet. “I’m Mrs. Rollins, dear, the housekeeper, and unfortunately, when Mr. Birmingham moved to Mr. Addleshaw’s office, he immediately took note of all the gowns his daughter left behind. In an attempt to explain why those gowns were left behind, I brought to his attention the . . . ah . . . altercation his daughter had been involved with. I fear I might have mentioned something about her pummeling a poor girl who was just trying to deliver some hats.”
“And he didn’t react well to that information?” Harriet asked slowly.
Mrs. Rollins drew herself up. “Indeed he did not. Instead of coming to the conclusion I’d hoped he’d come to—that his daughter had behaved badly—he immediately demanded to know your name—not that I had that information available to give him—and I’m afraid he’s considering pressing charges against you.”
The sound of yelling suddenly reached them from what seemed to be inside Mr. Addleshaw’s house. Harriet flinched when Mr. Addleshaw’s jaw clenched. His eyes turned cold and his posture stiffened, that stiffening causing the seam that had been pulling apart on his sleeve to lose that particular battle. Although Harriet found it impossible to look away from his rapidly deteriorating clothing, he didn’t seem to notice.
“Mr. Blodgett, please go and try to calm Mr. Birmingham while I escort Miss Peabody to the stables.” Mr. Addleshaw nodded to Mrs. Rollins. “I need you to go retrieve the small blue bag I keep in the lower left-hand drawer of my desk and then bring it to me. I have to get Miss Peabody into a carriage and on her way before Mr. Birmingham catches a glimpse of her and realizes she’s the hat girl in question.”
“But what about our discussion regarding what’s expected of me?” Harriet asked.
“We’ll have to have that at a later date.”
Not giving her a chance to protest, Mr. Addleshaw dragged her down the sidewalk and around his house, prodding her quickly over the courtyard and into an impressive-looking building that turned out to be the stables. Calling for a groom to ready a carriage, Mr. Addleshaw looked back at Harriet and frowned. “I don’t know your given name.”
“Which is somewhat strange, considering you’ve brought me on as an employee.”
“True, but you must admit, we’ve been under somewhat extenuating circumstances.”
Harriet smiled. “My name is Harriet.”
“Do your friends call you Harry?”
“Not if they want to remain my friends.”
“Harriet it is, then, and since we have to convince everyone we’re . . . attached, you must call me Oliver.”
She tilted her head. “Do your friends call you Ollie?”
“Not if they want to remain my friends.”
Harriet grinned and saw that Oliver was grinning back at her. Her heart, for some odd reason, began hammering in her chest, and she couldn’t seem to tear her gaze from his. His grin faded and his eyes clouded with what appeared to be confusion, but the moment was broken when Mrs. Rollins came bustling into the stable, dripping wet and holding a blue bag that appeared to be made of velvet.
“The situation is taking a nasty turn inside,” she exclaimed, thrusting the bag at Oliver. “Mr. Birmingham is demanding your attention at once, which means you really do need to wrap matters up with Miss Peabody.” Mrs. Rollins crossed her arms over her ample chest. “Mr. Blodgett has filled me in about what you’re up to, young man, and I must tell you right now, your grandfather would not approve.”
“We’ll leave my grandfather out of this, Mrs. Rollins,” Oliver said before he turned to Harriet and handed her the bag. “You won’t have time to have clothing made up for you, but I’m hopeful you’ll be able to find a few ready-made items that will do in a pinch. Use this money to purchase three dinner dresses, one or two day dresses, and whatever accessories you need to complete those outfits.”
The weight of the bag sent fresh apprehension rushing through Harriet’s veins. “I don’t think I’m comfortable accepting this much money, Mr. . . . er, Oliver.”
He narrowed his eyes. “While I admit it’s refreshing to meet a young lady who doesn’t seem to want to spend my money, you will go out and buy yourself appropriate clothing, and you will use the money in that bag to pay for that clothing.”
“I’m not very good at taking orders either, Oliver, especially when they’re delivered in that particular tone of voice.”
Mrs. Rollins sent a smile Harriet’s way. “That’s the spirit, dear.”
Oliver arched a brow at Mrs. Rollins, then looked back at Harriet. “For three thousand dollars—money you’ll be paid once my negotiations with the Duke of Westmoore are completed—I would think you’d be able to learn to take orders, and take them with a cheerful smile on your face.”
“I suppose I could give that a try, but I’m not promising anything,” Harriet muttered as a carriage pulled up next to her. Oliver practically shoved her into it and then surprised her when he pulled out a lap robe and wrapped it around her. She began feeling all warm and fuzzy inside until he stepped back and opened his mouth.
“We can’t have you taking a chill. You’ll be of little use to me if you get sick.”
“Mr. Addleshaw,” Mrs. Rollins admonished. “What a thing to say to the poor dear.” She smiled at Harriet again. “He’s normally very pleasant.”
“No I’m not,” Oliver argued. “And it would be in your best interest, Harriet, to remember that.”
“Not pleasant,” she repeated back.
“Exactly,” he agreed. “Now then, I’ll need your address so I can tell Darren, my driver, where to take you.”
Harriet rattled off her address, and the more she rattled, the more the vein on Oliver’s forehead throbbed.
“Am I to understand that you live on the Lower East Side?”
“Someone has to live there.”
He scowled at her for a second, then turned and whistled. A moment later Buford bounded into the stable, tail wagging furiously as mud dripped from his fur. “You may keep Buford with you for protection.” Oliver snapped his fingers, and Buford leapt into the carriage, splattering the beautiful green velvet upholstery with bits of muck when he shook himself before climbing up on the seat opposite her.
“There’s no need for me to take your dog,” she began. “I’ve lived on the Lower East Side for years, and nothing horrible has happened to me yet.”
“I thought we agreed you’d start accepting my orders and do so cheerfully.”
Harriet forced a smile she knew full well did not appear all that cheerful. “I said I’d try, but I didn’t promise anything. But as you are paying me a fortune, I suppose it would be churlish of me to refuse to take your dog with me. You should know, though, that I’ve never owned a pet before, which means there’s no guarantee Buford’s going to be happy with me, so . . . how long should I expect to keep him?”
“I’ll call on you two days from now, and we’ll reassess your situation. If I feel you truly are safe in your home, I’ll collect Buford at that time.”
“That long?”
“I have business meetings for the rest of today and most of tomorrow. Two days from now is the soonest I can fit you into my schedule. And just so we’re clear, I expect you to have at least a dress or two at that time for me to inspect.”
Harriet stiffened. “There’s absolutely no need for you to inspect anything I purchase. For your information, I have a keen sense for f
ashion.” She glanced at his sleeve that was now only attached to his shoulder by a single thread. “If anyone needs inspecting, I would have to say it’s you. Your jacket barely fits you, and it’s so poorly tailored that it’s falling apart right before my eyes.”
“My tailor is the best in the city, and . . .” Oliver looked at his sleeve and blinked. “I’m sure the only reason my clothing is currently falling to pieces is because it wasn’t meant to withstand such a ferocious storm.”
“I’ve never had any of my garments disintegrate because of a little water, and—” She stopped speaking when Oliver suddenly shut the carriage door, effectively cutting her off. Narrowing her eyes at him through the window, Harriet considered jumping out of the carriage to finish her sentence, but a sharp rap on the side sent it into motion, ruining her plans. As she settled back against the comfortable seat, Harriet’s fingers tightened around the bag.
“I’ve obviously lost my mind,” she told Buford, who simply stared back at her with his tongue lolling out. “I mean, honestly, who possessed of all of their wits would have agreed to a business deal that’s doomed for failure?”
Buford licked his lips and whined . . . loudly.
“Good heavens, I never thought to ask Oliver to send along something for you to eat, and . . . Oh dear, what are we going to do about Mrs. Palmer’s little yippers? She’s my landlady, and her dogs are constantly underfoot, and if you’re hungry . . .” She tucked the lap robe more securely around herself. “Well, you’re just going to have to promise not to eat them. Reasonably priced rooms are hard to come by these days, and I’d hate to get evicted because you got a taste for yappy little pooches.”
To her dismay, Buford licked his lips again.
“Or perhaps I’ll run right out to the butcher once we get to my home and buy you something to eat, and . . . I’ll use just a little of what’s in this bag to pay for it.” Forcing fingers that seemed reluctant to untie the drawstring, she peeked inside and pulled out a slip of paper lying on top of far too many bills.
For incidentals, she read. Harriet wrinkled her nose. “Who keeps this much money lying about for incidentals? Most people have a few coins at their disposal, but . . .” She glanced into the bag again and felt her stomach turn queasy. “There is no possible way I’m going to be able to go through with this.”
Closing the bag, she looked out the window, drawing in one steadying breath after another. Her thoughts jumped from one problem to the next until she realized her brow was soaking wet and not from the rain she’d recently experienced.
“This is the worst birthday I’ve ever had. Well, perhaps not as bad as the one where I learned my aunt was a swindler, but . . .” She pressed her lips together and considered the bag of money lying on her lap. “Unless . . .” She looked at Buford, who was watching her closely, his dark doggy eyes following her slightest movement. “You don’t think this is my something wonderful God sent me, do you?”
Buford’s only response was another licking of his lips.
“Right, I’m probably being fanciful, because I highly doubt God would approve of the disaster I’ve landed myself into. But what am I to do now? It would hardly be honorable to renege at this point, especially since Oliver is counting on me, but . . . I have no idea how to mingle in society.”
Leaning her head against the window, Harriet watched the passing scenery, the queasiness becoming more pronounced the longer she contemplated the mess she’d gotten herself into. As they traveled out of the well-heeled part of the city and into her world, the ramifications of what she’d agreed to settled over her, and panic replaced the queasiness. Just as she was about to roll down the window and ask the driver to take her back to Oliver’s house so she could explain she could not go through with his scheme, the carriage rumbled to a stop.
A moment later, the door opened and Darren stuck his head in. “I do beg your pardon, Miss Peabody, but I’m afraid Mr. Addleshaw gave me the wrong address.”
Looking past the man, Harriet saw a four-story, extremely narrow boardinghouse. It looked rather forlorn with its sagging shutters, peeling brown paint, and general air of neglect. “There’s been no mistake. This is where I live.”
“Are you certain?”
“Aren’t you certain where you live?”
Darren frowned but offered her his hand. Taking a second to stuff the velvet bag into her reticule, she took Darren’s offered hand and stepped down from the carriage. She tried to pull her hand from Darren’s, but oddly enough, the man seemed remarkably unwilling to let go of it. “I will need my hand, sir.”
“I’m not comfortable leaving you here, Miss Peabody. I think you should get back into the carriage and I’ll take you to Mr. Addleshaw’s house.”
“If you think you’re uncomfortable now, just think how uncomfortable you’ll be trying to explain to Mr. Addleshaw why another unwanted lady is trying to move into his house.”
Darren immediately released his hold on her. “He does seem opposed to ladies moving in uninvited.” He suddenly smiled. “Oh look, your grandmother is waiting for you on the stoop, which explains why you’ve chosen to live in this area.”
Craning her neck, Harriet caught sight of Mrs. Palmer, her landlady, waving madly at her. Harriet raised a hand, but before she could do more than give a halfhearted wave, Mrs. Palmer was joined on the stoop by her four yappy little dogs. To her dismay, the chorus of excited yaps immediately drew Buford’s interest. He bolted out of the carriage before Harriet had the presence of mind to grab his collar and took off toward the yippers, howling in a manner that stood the hair straight up on the back of Harriet’s neck.
As she dashed forward to catch him, she could only pray that Buford wasn’t too hungry.
5
Tripping over the sodden skirt sticking to her legs, Harriet stumbled on the one and only step leading up to the boardinghouse. Regaining her balance, she heaved a huge sigh of relief when she discovered Buford, not enjoying a tasty treat of annoying yippers but rolled on his back as the four little dogs clambered around him.
“Hello, dear,” Mrs. Palmer said. “That’s quite the beast you’ve got. May I assume he belongs to that handsome young man over there?”
Harriet lifted her head and saw that Darren had resumed his seat on the carriage, although he hadn’t urged the horses into motion yet.
“Everything all right?” he called.
“We’re fine,” Harriet called back before she turned to face her landlady. “Do forgive me, Mrs. Palmer. Buford must have scared you half to death when he charged up here.”
Mrs. Palmer waved Harriet’s apology away. “Don’t give it another thought, Miss Peabody.” She smiled. “I must say, I’m delighted to discover you’ve finally gotten a suitor.” Her smile dimmed. “Having said that, I do feel compelled to offer you a small piece of advice. It really isn’t advisable to accept a ride in such a fine carriage, especially since you’re drenched to the skin. Why, your young man might get in horrible trouble if you’ve stained the upholstery and if the owner of that carriage discovers his driver has been squiring his ladylove as well as his muddy dog around in it.”
“Those are excellent points, Mrs. Palmer, but that driver is not my suitor, nor is Buford his dog.”
Mrs. Palmer drew herself up. “If he’s not your suitor and that isn’t his dog, who owns that fancy carriage and what were you doing in it, and . . . who is responsible for that dog?”
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.”