After a Fashion (10 page)

“That might be problematic since Buford seems to enjoy strawberry icing and he’s not exactly good at listening to commands.”

“Nonsense,” Lucetta said as she snapped her fingers. “Buford, be a dear and leave Millie alone.”

Buford gave Millie’s skirt a last lick before he loped back to Lucetta’s side and pressed against her legs. Sending Harriet a grin, Lucetta picked up the dented pot. “I’m going to take him into the kitchen and feed him some of . . . well, whatever this is. It has to be better for him than icing.” Waltzing across the room with Buford sticking closely to her, Lucetta disappeared.

“I take it that beast is a boy?” Millie asked dryly.

“How could you tell?”

“It wasn’t difficult, since he seems to be completely under Lucetta’s spell, but . . . why is he here?”

“It’s a thrilling tale, much like the one I’m sure you have to share, but perhaps tale sharing should wait until you’ve changed your gown. Lucetta cleaned today, and you’re dripping all over the floor—as am I, now that I think about it.”

Millie smiled right before her bottom lip began to tremble. “I can’t believe I lost another position today. Mrs. Sheppard was so angry about the mishap that she’s refusing to pay me the wages I’m due.” Millie’s eyes turned suspiciously bright. “I have no idea how I’m going to be able to make the rent this month, and I dread going back to the employment agency and admitting another failure. The last time I was dismissed from a position, they told me they were running out of households willing to hire me, and—”

A loud rapping on the door interrupted Millie’s sad tale.

Harriet frowned. “I wonder who in the world that could be?” Stepping up to the window, she peeked through the curtain, feeling an immediate stab of dread run through her. Reaching for the doorknob, she opened it up ever so slowly and summoned up a smile. “Timothy, this is a surprise. What brings you here?”

Timothy hung his head. “I sure do hate to be here right now, Miss Peabody, but Mrs. Fienman ordered me to bring you this.” He handed her an envelope.

The dread turned to resignation as Harriet stared at the heavy vellum clasped in her hand. “I take it Mrs. Birmingham didn’t waste any time besmirching my character?”

“I’m not sure what
besmirching
means, but she sure did give Mrs. Fienman an earful about you, and none of it pleasant.” He shook his head. “She insisted I take her to the hat shop after depositing her daughter at the hotel. Curiosity got the best of me and I admit I took to listening outside the office door. I’m sorry to have to tell you that Mrs. Birmingham demanded Mrs. Fienman pen you that letter immediately while she looked on so that she’d be sure it was to her liking. I have a feeling you’re not going to find what’s written on the paper very nice.”

“You didn’t say anything about having trouble with Mrs. Fienman,” Lucetta said, hurrying back into the room with Buford trailing behind her.

“I haven’t had time to say much,” Harriet muttered before she slid her finger under the flap and opened the letter. It didn’t take her long to read the contents. “My services are no longer required at Fanny’s Millinery, and . . . Mrs. Fienman feels that because I’ve caused her undue distress, she does not feel obligated to pay me my wages owed.”

“Oh no, not you as well,” Millie moaned. “We’re . . . doomed.”

Harriet lifted her chin, thanked Timothy—who seemed as if he couldn’t get out of there fast enough—and shut the door.
Turning to face her friends, she realized in that moment that she really had no other option but to go through with the madness Oliver had offered.

Millie had been let go from yet another position.

Lucetta, while earning somewhat substantial pay, had mysterious obligations she had to meet on a regular basis. While Harriet knew her friend would offer to pick up the rent for a few months until things got settled, Harriet couldn’t allow that.

She moved past Millie, who seemed ready to burst into tears, patted Lucetta’s arm, sidestepped Buford, and didn’t stop walking until she reached their miniscule kitchen. Pulling off the reticule looped around her wrist, she dumped the contents over the scarred surface of their wobbly table.

“What is that?” Millie whispered from the doorway.

“It’s money I’ve been given to purchase clothing, but I’ll have three thousand dollars more after I complete my obligation to Oliver Addleshaw.”

“But . . . Harriet,” Lucetta began slowly, “what are you going to have to do to earn those three thousand dollars?”

“Not what you’re obviously thinking, Lucetta. I’ve been hired to pose as Oliver’s lady friend. And before you start arguing with me, you must realize that I have no other choice, since I’ve lost my position, as has Millie.”

“But . . . what of your reputation?” Lucetta questioned.

“I’m a hat maker, Lucetta, or at least I was. My reputation is really not important to anyone but me, and I assure you, I have no intention of ruining it.” She blew out a breath. “I know what I’m about to do sounds untoward, but it’s really just a clever bit of acting, and . . .” Her words trailed away to nothing when she heard the sound of footsteps clunking down their hallway. Before she could even become concerned, Reverend Gilmore stepped into the room.

“Ah, wonderful,” he said, pulling a dripping hat from his
head. “All of you are here, safe and sound—especially you, Harriet.”

“What led you to believe I wouldn’t be safe?” Harriet asked.

“It’s more of a
whom
rather than a
what
,” Reverend Gilmore said with a smile. “Mrs. Palmer just ran me down, and I’m not exaggerating when I say ran. The poor dear was completely out of breath when she reached the church, and she had a very outlandish tale to tell, one that I knew couldn’t possibly be . . .” His words trailed off as his gaze settled on the kitchen table. “Goodness, my dear, where did all of that money come from?”

Harriet felt her cheeks heat again. “I got it from Mr. Addleshaw and . . . I’m praying that it’s my ‘something wonderful’ God sent me for my birthday.”

“My dear child, prayers should certainly commence immediately, especially since it’s clear you might have gotten yourself embroiled in something . . . disturbing.”

6

S
louching down in a chair made of the finest leather, Oliver took a sip of his drink, allowing himself the luxury of relaxing, something he hadn’t been able to do since he’d returned to New York the day before.

Stretching his legs out in front of him, he gazed fondly around at his surroundings. Astor House wasn’t nearly as plush as the Metropolitan Hotel or even the Fifth Avenue Hotel. In all honesty, most of his associates found the Astor House to be downright old-fashioned. He, however, enjoyed it—especially the idea that gentlemen of business had sought refuge there for years, using the dark and quiet confines of the private rooms the hotel offered as a place to escape the hectic pace of their lives.

It was also a perfect place to enjoy a leisurely lunch and hide from lecturing housekeepers, opinionated butlers, and irate fathers who happened to believe their daughters deserved a second chance at becoming Oliver’s bride. After all that had occurred in the last twenty-four hours, he felt he was entitled to a few hours of hiding, especially in a place where no one spoke above a whisper, at least as pertained to the well-trained staff Astor House employed.

He lifted his glass, took another sip, and then glanced to his right, his lips quirking at the sight of his best friend, Everett Mulberry, slouching in the chair next to him. The poor man had dark shadows staining the skin underneath eyes that were currently closed. Everett also had a decidedly grumpy look about him, clear evidence that the man was suffering the same type of week Oliver was.

“How are the brats?” Oliver asked, causing one of Everett’s eyes to pop open, peer at him for a second, and then close again.

“They’re bratty,” Everett muttered. “They’re always bratty.”

“And the latest disaster would be . . . ?”

Everett rubbed his temple. “When was the last time we spoke?”

“I’ve been out of town six weeks, but I believe we had dinner the night before I left.”

“Is that all the time that has passed since I last saw you? To tell you the truth, it felt like years, but that might be because my life drags on through one horrific incident after another these days.” Everett opened his eyes. “Let me see, in the past six weeks I’ve gone through four governesses, two nannies, and had one driver and one kitchen maid tender their resignations due to an overabundance of stress.”

“That has to be a new record.”

“I’m sure you’re probably right. To top matters off, the employment agency where I get my staff has recently informed me that if I don’t get the children under control soon, they will not provide me with any additional help, whether they be governesses, maids, or drivers. I certainly don’t know how to bring the children under control, and the agency is supposed to have professionals at their disposal. One would think, given all the money I’ve shelled out, that these professionals could easily manage three children.”

“Have you reminded the agency that you’ve only recently inherited these children?”

Everett released a grunt. “They don’t seem to care.” He snatched up his glass, took a hefty gulp, and set the glass back on the table a little harder than was strictly necessary. “I still cannot fathom what Fred Burkhart was thinking, leaving his children to me. Why, I barely knew the man.”

“You stood up for him at his wedding.”

“Oh . . . right, but—”

“You’re godparent to all three of his children.”

“True, but honestly, Oliver, I thought that only meant I would be expected to watch them sing in the church choir, or send them outlandish presents at Christmas. I never thought I’d be expected to raise them if something dastardly happened to Fred and his wife. Besides, Miss Marybeth Thornridge is also godparent to the little monsters, and she’s a woman. I really don’t understand why she wasn’t given guardianship.”

“I would have to believe, since Miss Thornridge is off on a mission in the wilds of some backward country and has been off on that mission for at least two years, Fred thought you’d be easier to locate if something were to happen to him, which it did.”

“Being the easiest godparent to locate does not make me the most viable candidate. I’m a single gentleman who spends his time immersed in business and society matters. I don’t have time to raise three children, all of whom seem to have made it their goal in life to slowly drive me insane with their daily bouts of mischief.”

Oliver thought it was a sign of true friendship that he didn’t laugh. Everett looked so disconcerted that he’d hardly appreciate amusement, and Oliver really couldn’t blame the man. It wasn’t every day a person got saddled with someone else’s children. “I imagine Fred really never thought he’d die, but it’s a great testimony to how much he trusted you that he left you his children.”

“I’d rather have been left a yacht.” Everett shuddered. “Elizabeth, she’s the oldest of the bunch, actually took down all the curtains in the receiving room, cut them up, and sewed them into dresses for herself and the twins.”

“Isn’t one of the twins a boy?”

“That was exactly my point. Poor Thaddeus looked ridiculous in the mauve-colored frock Elizabeth stuffed him into.” Everett shook his head. “Unfortunately, when I made mention of that, Elizabeth burst into tears, Rosetta, the other twin, bit me, and Thaddeus now refuses to wear anything
other
than dresses.” He blew out a breath. “How could I have possibly known that Elizabeth was not proficient with sewing and had tried to make Thaddeus a pair of trousers out of the drapes, but they didn’t work, and because of that, she’d made him the only thing she was capable of making, a frock.” He released a heavy sigh. “She didn’t want her little brother to feel left out.”

“I’m almost hesitant to bring this up, but that was rather sweet of Elizabeth.”

Everett slouched down into the chair again. “I know, and quite frankly, it would be easier if they were horrible all the time. That way I could send them off to some boarding school, wash my hands of them, and not feel a sliver of guilt about it.”

“Aren’t the twins only around five years old?”

“They are, but Miss Dixon managed to find a school that
will
take them, even given their tender ages.”

Oliver crossed his ankles. “Ah, the ever-resourceful Miss Dixon. May I assume your association with the lady is going according to plan?”

“I imagine it is, although nothing is official just yet.” Everett swiped a hand through his hair, leaving it standing on end. “She’s certainly an ideal candidate for the position of Mrs. Mulberry. She’s friends with all the right people, and my parents approve of her.”

“Do
you
approve of her?”

“What’s not to approve? She’s beautiful, fairly well-educated, has stellar manners, and we rub along quite nicely together.”

“But she doesn’t care for the children?”

Everett frowned. “Why would you say that?”

“She took it upon herself to search out a boarding school for them.”