After a Fashion (41 page)

Whatever the reason, Oliver wasn’t feeling quite as despondent as he’d been ever since Harriet had proclaimed a few days
before she was going home, and not the home she’d lived in when he’d first made her acquaintance.

“Ah, Oliver, I was hoping you’d pay me a visit soon.”

Getting to his feet, Oliver walked over to greet Reverend Gilmore, who was entering the sanctuary with Archibald by his side. Holding out his hand, Oliver found himself smiling when, instead of taking his offered hand, the reverend pulled him into a strong hug.

“Your grandfather tells me you’ve got a bit of a dilemma on your hands, son,” Reverend Gilmore said, stepping back.

“I do, but I’m not exactly certain how my grandfather expects you to help.”

Reverend Gilmore gestured to the pew. “Why don’t we sit down and discuss what’s on your mind.”

Making his way back to the pew where he’d left Buford, Oliver took a seat, Reverend Gilmore and Archibald joining him a second later.

“He’s quite the hero,” Reverend Gilmore said with a nod in Buford’s direction.

Oliver gave Buford a scratch on the head, earning a whine of delight in the process. “That he is. I’m afraid he’s missed the ladies dreadfully since he’s returned to my house.”

“And you? Do you miss the ladies—or more specifically, Harriet—dreadfully?”

The truth of the matter was yes, he did miss Harriet dreadfully, which was odd considering he and Harriet had not known each other long.

“It doesn’t really matter if I miss her,” he finally settled on saying. “Harriet’s made up her mind, and I can’t say I question her decision. She belongs with her family, but my many business ventures are mostly located here in the States, which means we really have no choice but to part ways.”

“Would you be willing to give up your businesses for her?”

“Surely you’re not suggesting I abandon my multi-million dollar enterprises in order to continue on with Harriet, are you?”

“I don’t make it a point to suggest much of anything to people, Oliver. You should live your life in a manner that makes you happy, or more importantly, a manner in which you believe will please God.” Reverend Gilmore leaned forward and placed his hand on Oliver’s knee. “From what I understand, you’ve managed to amass quite the fortune at a relatively young age. Is that fortune enough for you, or do you still feel compelled to increase it?”

“I have more money than I could probably spend in a lifetime, but since I was a young boy my goal has been to secure a larger fortune than Cornelius Vanderbilt’s. He left behind an estate worth more than one hundred million dollars.”

“And do you believe Cornelius Vanderbilt has any need of his fortune now?”

Oliver frowned. “Probably not, considering he’s dead.”

“And do you think Mr. Vanderbilt embraced and enjoyed his life while he was on this earth, giving more than he received, or do you think he might have spent most of his time collecting money?”

Oliver sat there for a moment, his thoughts whirling as a sense of something odd and quite disturbing flowed over him.

It was true that he had more money than he could ever use, but it was also true that he’d rarely used that money in a manner that would be pleasing to God. Before he’d met Harriet, he hadn’t even bothered to see the poverty that surrounded him, which God could hardly find acceptable, but . . . it certainly wasn’t too late to give to those in need, especially if he had Harriet by his side, pointing him in the right direction.

She’d made her choice, that choice putting an entire ocean between them, but . . . he wasn’t completely tied to America, except for the fact his businesses were there, and yet those busi
nesses didn’t provide him with lovely eyes, a beautiful face, or an intriguing attitude.

They also didn’t keep him warm at night, whereas Harriet . . .

He released a breath. “You’re a very wise man, Reverend Gilmore.”

“My wisdom only goes so far, Oliver. What happens next is completely up to you, but I do hope that you’ll place your trust in God and ask Him for guidance before you proceed with whatever you decide to do.”

As Oliver looked around the small church, he knew in that moment that Reverend Gilmore was right. He’d never embraced God fully, but ever since Harriet had stormed into his life, God seemed to be making it clear that it was past time Oliver set aside his materialistic, and somewhat unfulfilling, life and begin down a path that would draw him closer to God. He needed to begin helping other people with the fortune he’d been blessed to make, instead of centering his every thought on matters that weren’t important in the end.

Closing his eyes, he prayed—not just saying the prayers he repeated in church every time he went but truly opening himself up for the first time in his life. He first gave thanks for the many, many blessings he had, but then he asked for forgiveness for his many trespasses, and then . . . he asked for guidance and God’s help in allowing him to know what to do in regard to Harriet.

How much time passed, Oliver really couldn’t say, but he remained in prayer until a sense of happiness mixed with peace settled deep in his soul. Opening his eyes, he found his grandfather and Reverend Gilmore sitting with their eyes closed, so he waited for them to finish their own prayers before he smiled at them. “Gentlemen, I do believe I’ve just been granted the supreme gift of seeing the error of my ways, but it might take a miracle to convince Harriet I’m a changed man. Would either of you have any suggestions on how I should go about convincing
her she’s more important to me than the sum total of all my money, without having her come to the immediate conclusion I’ve lost my mind?”

“I cannot believe how many gowns you managed to stash away here,” Lucetta said as she dumped another armload of gowns onto the receiving room floor of the apartment Harriet and her friends had once called home. “And I didn’t even know we had an attic.”

Harriet paused in her task of sorting and grinned. “I discovered that last year when Reverend Gilmore received all of those gowns from some elderly lady’s estate and didn’t know what to do with them. Mrs. Palmer saw me carting them up the steps, and she very kindly followed me and showed me the attic.” She shook her head. “She also charged me five dollars to use the space for a year, even though both of us knew perfectly well that sum was outrageous since the attic was sitting there unused.”

“I’ll miss Mrs. Palmer, in a strange sort of way,” Millie said. “She’s always so nosy, but I must admit I found that somewhat endearing.”

Lucetta plopped down on top of a pile of dresses. “Abigail is far nosier than Mrs. Palmer, so I don’t believe you’re going to have to worry about
not
having someone watching your every move.”

“You and Millie have decided to take Abigail up on her offer of permanently moving in with her?”

Lucetta nodded. “She has that big old house all to herself, except for the servants, of course. I couldn’t refuse her offer, especially when she got a little teary-eyed. She’s been alone for far too long. Millie and I have been without any type of motherly figure for what seems like forever. Well, in Millie’s case it was forever, so . . . our living with Abigail will benefit
all of us. Although, I will admit I’m a little wary of Abigail and her plotting.”

“It’ll be interesting to see who she tries to get settled next,” Millie added. “But, I don’t think Lucetta and I are going to be nearly as exciting as you’ve been, Harriet. Honestly, finding out you’re a lady . . . It’s very odd.” She sent Harriet a cheeky grin. “I keep wondering if I should curtsy to you every time you enter a room.”

“I would have to hurt you if you did.”

Lucetta hauled herself up from the stack of dresses and moved over to Harriet, sinking down beside her on the floor. “Are you sure this is what you want to do—move to England?”

“I need to spend time with my family.”

“What about all this?” Lucetta asked with a gesture to the stacks and stacks of gowns.

Millie tossed aside the hat she was perusing and came to join them, plopping down with a poof of her skirt. “Harriet doesn’t need to earn a living anymore. She’s rich.”

A twinge of something peculiar swept over Harriet. She still hadn’t grasped the reality of what came with suddenly finding out she was a member of the aristocracy, and the daughter of a duke. Victoria had explained in some detail what being a lady entailed, but quite frankly, the more Victoria had explained, the queasier Harriet had begun to feel.

She would be presented to the queen, which meant she was looking at months of preparations. Then she’d be brought out at a special ball her parents would host for her and . . . Victoria had been completely delighted to inform her that gentlemen from across England would flock to make her acquaintance.

She didn’t want to make any gentleman’s acquaintance, because . . .

No, she was not going to think about Oliver.

She’d made her decision, and it was the right decision, but . . .
even though God had blessed her with one of the greatest blessings of all—a family to call her own—her heart was a little heavy.

“Speaking of riches,” she said in an effort to drive away her pesky thoughts, “I’ve got something for the two of you.” She struggled to her feet and hurried down the short hallway, entering the kitchen a second later. Walking over to the battered kitchen table, she rummaged through the hats and ribbons stacked on it until she finally found her reticule. Taking out the bills Oliver had given her to buy clothing, she rejoined her friends. “I’d like the two of you to have this money I got from Oliver. He refused to take it back from me, but it would ease my mind knowing you two have a bit of a cushion in case anything of a dastardly nature occurs to either of you while I’m all the way across the ocean.”

“Harriet . . .” Lucetta began.

“I’ll just leave it under your pillow if you don’t take it now.”

Millie let out a sniff. “You worked hard to earn that money.”

“No, I didn’t. All I did was shop, practice table manners, set a restaurant on fire, and danced one dance with Oliver at a ball before chaos descended.”

Millie got to her feet and reluctantly took the money. “You also fell in love with Oliver.”

“Perhaps.”

“You’re willing to simply sail away from him?” Millie pressed.

“Although I do think he cares for me, he never claimed to be in love with me.” Harriet blew out a breath. “But in order for both of you to truly understand why I’m leaving, I’m going to tell you a little story about me. It’s one I’ve shared with Oliver, and it’ll explain why I have to leave—in addition to the fact that I need to spend time with my family.”

Moving to a chair piled high with gowns, Harriet brushed them to the floor and took a seat. “Most people don’t know this about me, but . . . I’m a hopeless romantic at heart.”

Releasing a snort, Lucetta shook her head. “No, you’re not.”

Harriet narrowed her eyes. “Do you want to hear the story or not?”

“Sorry. Continue.”

“Where was I?”

“You’re a romantic at heart,” Millie supplied.

“Yes, quite right. Thank you, Millie.” Harriet settled back into the chair. “Well, you see, while I was in the circus, I got to be friends with the bearded lady, and she, being a truly delightful woman, began sharing her books with me, books that had more than one fairy tale residing within the pages.”

Millie’s eyes widened. “You read fairy tales with a bearded lady?”

Harriet nodded. “Strange, I know, but as I said, she was a delightful sort, and I’ve come to believe, given that her face truly was covered with a real beard, that she needed those fairy tales just as desperately as I did. She and I were prone to sighing rather heavily at the end of the stories, especially when the fair princess who fought to live under trying circumstances was rescued in the end by a dashing prince on a white steed.” She looked at her friends. “That’s what I want more than anything—a fairy-tale ending, and I’m no longer willing to settle for anything less than that.”

Millie’s eyes grew misty, she opened her mouth, but all that came out was one, lone hiccup before she drew in a deep breath and exchanged a glance with Lucetta.

Lucetta smiled. “You really are a romantic at heart, and you’ve achieved part of your dream, turning into a princess of sorts.”

“And Oliver makes a nice prince,” Millie said before she bit her lip. “Or maybe he’s more the knight in shining armor, considering how he came to your defense at the ball.” She smiled. “But whichever one he is, I do think he’s a good man at heart.”

Harriet returned Millie’s smile. “You’re right, of course, but the reality of our situation is that I barely know him, and I want
a man to sweep me off my feet, and . . .” She shook herself. “Well, I’m sure both of you understand what I’m trying to say, but enough about my little romantic dream. We’re running short on time, and we need to get these gowns packed up. Then I’m going to have to figure out what to do with them.”

“Abigail said to tell you that you can store them at her house.”

Harriet stood up. “I wouldn’t want to dump all of these on her, and besides, it’s not as if I’m ever going to open up my own shop now.” She brushed aside the stab of pain that thought evoked. “Maybe we should have them delivered to another seamstress, one who could put them to good use.”