After a Fashion (9781441265135)

by Turano, Jen

  He was a true gentleman, something she’d rarely seen in her life.

  She looked to Lady Victoria and found the young lady smiling at her father and couldn’t quite hold back the wistfulness that settled into her very soul.

  What would it have been like to have grown up with a father such as the duke—a gentleman who was kind and clearly adored his daughter, and a man who went out of his way to ease a young lady’s discomfort?

  Abigail leaned forward. “I don’t know if Archibald has mentioned this to you or not, Your Grace, but he and I have been planning a dinner party for you and your family to welcome you to our fair city. We’re going to hold it at my home, which I hope you’ll find to your satisfaction.”

  The duke frowned. “I must beg your pardon, Mrs. Hart, because while I was intending to spend a few weeks here in the city, my plans have changed, given that we’ve been invited to a wedding being held in Scotland. It’s a distant relation, but it would be unacceptable to miss it. I fear we’ll be leaving New York in only a few days—after Mr. Oliver Addleshaw and I have an opportunity to discuss and, hopefully, close our business deal.”

  “But Father,” Lady Victoria said, “surely we could stay just a little longer, can’t we? We’ve been traveling around the world for months, and I do so miss sitting down with civilized people in order to enjoy a good meal.”

  “You’re sitting down to enjoy a meal right now, and with very civilized people,” the duke pointed out.

  Lady Victoria’s eyes narrowed, but before she could speak, Abigail cleared her throat.

  “If Lady Victoria is truly desirous of a dinner party, Your Grace, then I’m only too happy to accommodate her.” She tapped her finger against her chin. “I should be able to work out all the particulars and host it . . . two days from now?”

  “I would not want to cause you such a great amount of work, Mrs. Hart, and since the duchess is currently battling a bad cold, I’m not certain she’d even be up for attending,” the duke said.

  “Mother will be fine staying at the hotel if she’s still feeling under the weather,” Lady Victoria said, earning a frown from her father, which she blatantly ignored as she looked to Oliver and sent him a lovely smile.

  The duke frowned at his daughter, but then cleared his throat and nodded to Abigail. “My family and I would be honored if you would host a dinner for us, Mrs. Hart, but again, I wouldn’t want you to feel obligated to do so, especially since it’s incredibly short notice.”

  “It would be no obligation at all,” Abigail said as her gaze traveled from Lady Victoria, to Oliver, to Harriet, and then back to Lady Victoria again, who suddenly sat forward, pulled her attention from Oliver, and then set her sights directly on Harriet.

  “Tell me, Miss Peabody, however did you meet Mr. Addleshaw, and how long have you been engaged?”

  All conversation stopped at the table as everyone swung their attention Harriet’s way. Taking a deep breath, she realized this was her opportunity to allow Lady Victoria to know that she and Oliver weren’t truly engaged, and hopefully that would open the way for Oliver to pursue a woman who was perfect for him. “Mr. Addleshaw and I aren’t . . .”

  “Comfortable sharing how we met,” Oliver interrupted, ignoring the kick she sent him under the table. He smiled one of his most charming of smiles at Lady Victoria. “I fear I made something of a spectacle of myself, trying to attract Miss Peabody’s attention, and because of that, I’ve made her promise not to tell anyone the tale, and . . . Oh, here comes our first course. What a perfectly timed distraction.”

  Any further attempt on Harriet’s part to argue was put on hold when she suddenly found herself staring at a plate that sported not oysters but a dish Harriet could not identify, much less know what fork to use on it.

  “Do you not care for terrapin either?” Miss Dixon suddenly asked.

  Since Harriet had not the slightest idea what terrapin was, she settled for an “Ah . . . ?”

  “Turtle,” Oliver whispered.

  “I once found a turtle when I was little and brought it home with me. I even went so far as to name him Sam,” she said weakly, as her stomach turned queasy. “My aunt made me release him back into the wild a few days later, but I never thought I’d be eating him someday.”

  The duke set down his fork and gestured to the server. “Miss Peabody and I would prefer a different option, perhaps a soup?”

  “Or maybe just some oysters,” Harriet suggested since she knew what fork to use for that.

  “Is the entire dinner going to be like this?” Miss Dixon demanded. “I could barely enjoy my wine since Miss Peabody kept grimacing through hers and now . . . am I going to be forced to hear stories about Sam the turtle as I try to devour what I’ve always thought of as a delicious dish? I must say . . .”

  Miss Dixon continued speaking, but Harriet didn’t hear the words pouring out of the lady’s mouth. She was instead caught under the glare of none other than Miss Birmingham, who was standing a few tables away, clutching her mother’s arm with one hand and pointing directly at her with the other.

  Harriet’s only thought was to escape. She pushed her chair back, tossed her napkin onto the table, and dropped to the ground, where she immediately crawled under the table.

  Unfortunately, she’d forgotten all about the numerous candles that were lit on that very table, and a second later, shrieks erupted, the loudest coming from Miss Dixon, and then the smell of smoke permeated the air.

  18

  Having no idea what would have possessed Harriet to duck out of sight, but knowing now was hardly the time to worry about that, given that all the linens were going up in flames, Oliver dropped to his knees and poked his head under the table. His gaze immediately met that of Harriet’s horrified one. Holding out a hand, he motioned her forward, irritation humming through him when she shook her head and began inching away from him.

  “I can’t come out because Miss Birmingham and her mother are out there.”

  “While that certainly explains a lot, if you’ve neglected to notice, the table is on fire, which means I need to get you to safety, and quickly, before the whole restaurant burns down.”

  Harriet’s eyes turned impossibly wide. “You think the whole restaurant is going to burn down?”

  The sound of splashing water, then sizzling, followed by water dripping through the cracks in the table and dripping on him and Harriet in the process delayed his response. The smell of smoke grew noticeably stronger, and his eyes began stinging before he began coughing. “Please, Harriet,” he finally managed to rasp, but to his extreme annoyance, she refused to budge.

  “I just heard someone say the fire’s out, so feel free to leave me here,” she said.

  He coughed again and narrowed eyes that were now watering on Harriet. “I’m not leaving you here, and you can’t stay under the table all night.”

  “As I mentioned before, Miss Birmingham and her mother are out there, probably waiting to scream at me as soon as they catch sight of me, and that’s going to cause you no small amount of difficulty with the duke.”

  “There’s no one left in the restaurant, save the staff, because the moment the table linens burst into flames, the guests made a mass exodus for the doors.”

  Harriet looked more horrified than ever. “Management is going to be furious with me because I doubt any of those guests bothered to stop and pay their bill before they fled the fire.”

  Before Oliver could respond, Harriet scooted backward and disappeared. By the time he managed to crawl out from under the table, she was in the midst of apologizing profusely to servers covered in soot standing around the charred remains of what had recently been a delicious dinner.

  “I cannot put into words how sorry I am,” she said, her expressive eyes filled with what seemed to be tears, although given the amount of smoke still in the air, he wasn’t exactly certain about that. “Throwing my napkin down so carelessly was beyond irresponsible, and do know that I’ll personally take responsibi
lity for the damage I’ve caused.”

  A man wearing a suit, one that suggested he was the manager, stepped closer to Harriet and smiled.

  “My dear lady, you must not dwell on this another minute. Fires happen here all the time, and I don’t hold you responsible.”

  To Oliver’s surprise, Harriet immediately took to arguing with the man, her arguments only ending when he stepped up, introduced himself to the manager, and then promised the man he’d take responsibility for the damage, including all the bills that were not paid. With a very relieved manager left behind, one whom had been very gracious toward Harriet but hadn’t exactly hesitated to have them shown the door, Oliver tugged Harriet out of Delmonico’s.

  “You’ll have to deduct the amount for the damage from the fee you’re paying me,” she said when they reached the sidewalk and she suddenly refused to take another step.

  Rolling his eyes, Oliver let out a grunt. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’ll do no such thing, and as the manager kept telling you, situations such as setting the restaurant on fire happen all the time, so I’m sure the bill I’m going to receive won’t be that extensive.”

  “You and I both know it’s not a common occurrence for a lady to set the table to flames.”

  His lips began to curl but then thinned when he caught a glimpse of Mr. Birmingham glaring his way as Mrs. and Miss Birmingham pointed in his direction. For a second, Oliver thought the man was going to approach him, but then Mr. Birmingham took hold of Mrs. Birmingham’s arm, said something to his daughter, and with one last glare sent to Oliver, spun around and disappeared through the crowd lingering in front of Delmonico’s.

  “Oliver, we’re over here.”

  Pulling Harriet back into motion, even though she was dragging her feet, Oliver finally reached his grandfather’s side. Before he could do more than assure everyone gathered in a circle that he and Harriet were fine, Lady Victoria stepped close to him, began coughing uncontrollably, and then, to his great concern, began wobbling on her feet.

  Dropping his hold on Harriet’s arm, he managed to catch Lady Victoria before she hit the hard sidewalk, and the second he lifted her up into his arms, her arms snaked around his neck. Tucking her face into his shoulder, she began sobbing . . . dramatically.

  “I . . . need you . . . to take me . . . back to the hotel,” she managed to get out between sobs.

  Just when Oliver was about to hand the young lady off to her father, who’d stepped up to them, Lady Victoria tightened her grip around his neck and wouldn’t let go.

  “You should escort Lady Victoria and His Grace back to their hotel,” Harriet said firmly.

  The last thing Oliver wanted to do was leave Harriet, given that she’d just set a restaurant on fire and had to be experiencing at least a little bit of emotional distress. Not that she was showing that distress, but . . .

  Lady Victoria began coughing again, rather violently at that, and realizing she probably should be taken back to the hotel sooner than later, he sent Harriet a frown, which she ignored, and then followed the duke to a carriage that had just pulled up next to the curb. He suddenly found it a little difficult to breathe, and not because of the smoke he’d recently sucked in, but rather because Lady Victoria had a death grip around his neck and was efficiently choking him. He helped her get settled on the seat, but as soon as the carriage jolted into motion she dissolved into sobbing once again, and didn’t stop until they reached the Fifth Avenue Hotel.

  Helping Lady Victoria out of the carriage, Oliver took hold of her arm and managed to get her up to her suite of rooms with the duke leading the way. He had no idea what was expected of him after he got Lady Victoria into a chair but took a seat in the chair she was pointing to in the hopes of sparing everyone another bout of weeping.

  “Would you stay with her while I go have management summon a physician?” the duke asked.

  Alarm was immediate. “Are you sure that’s wise?”

  The duke actually smiled. “I trust you, Mr. Addleshaw, and Victoria’s mother is sleeping in a connecting room. I assure you, it’s completely proper.” With that, the duke disappeared, leaving Oliver alone with Lady Victoria.

  Unfortunately, Lady Victoria didn’t seem to have propriety on her mind. She waited just until her father vanished from sight before she . . . pounced.

  He suddenly found himself knocked out of his chair and on the ground, before Lady Victoria plopped down right on top of him.

  “What in the world are you doing?” was all he could think to ask.

  “I’ve come all this way, under the misimpression that you were eligible, but since your fiancée behaved so poorly this evening by ruining our dinner, I have to believe you’ve had a change of heart in regard to her, so . . .”

  Before Oliver could utter a single protest, Lady Victoria leaned forward and tried to kiss him, even though he turned his head to avoid her lips. Evidently being a somewhat determined sort, she tried again, right as her father reentered the room.

  The next day, Oliver jumped off his horse and handed the reins to a waiting groom, enjoying the feel of the sun on his face as he walked to the front of Abigail’s brownstone. His stride lengthened as his desire to see Harriet increased, and he reached the front door quickly, blinking in surprise when Abigail opened it.

  “I was expecting you hours ago.”

  Oliver took Abigail’s hand, kissed it, and frowned. “It’s not quite eleven in the morning, and in case you’ve forgotten, I do have a business to run. I’ve spent the morning with an earnest young gentleman by the name of Mr. Harrison Simmons who has agreed to go to West Virginia for me and settle the disturbing situation that’s transpiring there due to the inadequacies of Mr. Ruff.”

  When Abigail looked as if she were about to begin arguing, he continued, “I was here last night, trying to see Harriet, but your butler informed me you weren’t accepting callers and wouldn’t allow me to step through the door.” He smiled. “So there’s absolutely no reason for you to lecture me, Abigail, and again, it’s still morning.”

  Abigail muttered something under her breath before she pulled him into the house and began striding down a long hallway.

  “Where are we going?” he asked, breaking into a trot in order to keep up with her.

  “I need to speak with you privately.” Abigail made an abrupt turn to the right and plowed forward through a dreary-looking parlor filled with dark furniture. She looked somewhat stealthily over her shoulder before she pulled a book from a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf, which caused the bookshelf to open up to reveal a door. Placing her finger over her lips, she ushered him forward into a cheerful room decorated with green silk on the walls and furniture upholstered in yellow.

  “This is my personal parlor,” she explained, gesturing him toward a chair by the window that was now so clean it sparkled. “When my daughter was young, we used to spend hours here, reading and chatting, and . . .” A flash of what looked to be regret flickered through Abigail’s eyes, but then she blinked, and it disappeared right as she took a seat. “So . . . do you have much to discuss with me regarding the duke and his daughter?”

  Oliver lowered himself into the chair. “I do have much to discuss, not that it centers around the duke and Lady Victoria, though. I was hoping to talk to Harriet last night, but as I mentioned before, your butler wouldn’t let me.”

  “He’s always been rather diligent regarding following orders.”

  “You told him to keep me from the house?”

  Abigail shrugged. “I didn’t want you to cause Harriet more distress, at least not last night, considering all the embarrassment she suffered at dinner.”

  “My intention was not to distress Harriet. Surely you didn’t think I would take her to task for setting the table on fire, did you?”

  Abigail waved his question away. “Of course not. I was concerned about what you would tell her regarding Lady Victoria.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Come now, Oliv
er, it was clear to everyone that Lady Victoria only had eyes for you last night. She’s remarkably beautiful, comes from the aristocracy, and would make you a more-than-suitable spouse.”

  Leaning back in the chair, Oliver considered Abigail’s words. Marrying a woman like Lady Victoria would definitely raise his status in society’s eyes, but . . . he’d not been the slightest bit attracted to her and had truly only wanted to get back to Harriet as soon as possible, which . . . His eyes widened as the ramifications of that thought suddenly struck him.

  He was attracted to Harriet—there was no escaping from that troubling bit of truth any longer.

  But . . . what to do about it?

  “Did Lady Victoria allow you to know of her interest?” Abigail asked.

  “She knocked me to the floor and tried to kiss me.”

  “Oh . . . dear.”

  “Then her father walked in and . . . he was less than pleased to discover his daughter sitting on top of me.” Oliver raked a hand through his hair. “It’s questionable at the moment whether or not the duke and I will be proceeding with our business deal. I distinctly heard him tell his daughter, as I beat a hasty retreat, he wanted to leave New York immediately.”

  “But . . . what about Harriet, and . . . what about the ball I’ve just sent out invitations for?”

  “I thought you were going to host a small, intimate dinner party.”

  “I couldn’t very well have an honest-to-goodness duke going back to England and telling everyone we over here in America are still provincial now, could I?”

  “Abigail, forgive me, but I was under the impression that balls take at least a good month to plan and that society expects their three-week notice to such an event.”

  “The spontaneous nature of this ball is what’s making everyone so frantic to accept my invitation,” Abigail said with a satisfied smile. “Why, I’ve already heard back from almost one-hundred invitees—all of them coming, of course—and it’s the off season.”

  “As I just mentioned, I’m not sure the duke will still be in New York, let alone want to come to your ball—not given what happened last night with his daughter.”