After a Fashion (A Class of Their Own #1)(101)

“What happened with Jane?” she heard herself ask when a strained silence settled over the room.

Margaret’s eyes turned stormy. “She’s in jail, where she’ll linger for a very long time.”

“And Silas Ruff?”

Oliver released a sound of disgust. “He’s gone off to take the waters somewhere out west, and he’s, of course, completely unrepentant regarding what he did.”

“What happened to Buford?”

Oliver reached out and took her hand in his. “He took that bullet meant for you.”

Tears immediately blinded her. “He died?”

Squeezing her hand, Oliver leaned closer. “Good heavens, Harriet. No, he didn’t die. Buford’s entirely too tough to do something like that. He got nicked in the shoulder—the bullet didn’t even lodge in his body—and he’s been spending all of his time in Lucetta’s room, basking in the sound of her voice.” He grinned. “She’s taken to singing to him, and I must say, your friend could make a fortune if she ever gives up acting for the opera.”

“She’s making a respectable living now—not that anyone would know it,” Harriet returned with a smile.

“You’ll also be happy to know that Miss Birmingham, along with her dreadful parents, have returned to Chicago. I’m sure they’ll continue to be unpleasant, but at least we’ll never have to suffer their company again, especially since I informed Mr. Birmingham in no uncertain terms that our business association was definitely at an end. I couldn’t continue on with a person who’d deliberately caused you pain.”

It was fortunate she was lying in bed, otherwise she would have been in serious danger of melting into a puddle on the floor.

“That’s perfectly understandable,” she managed to mutter.

“Forgive me for interrupting, but I must ask what your intentions are toward my daughter, Mr. Addleshaw.” Her mother’s words clarified the earlier worry Harriet had seen on her face.

Her mother had believed her dead for far too many years, and Margaret was obviously afraid that, just when they’d found each other, Harriet was going to be lost to her once again.

She deserved Harriet’s attention for the foreseeable future, and Harriet knew she needed to create a bond with the woman who’d given birth to her, no matter that she’d come to care for Oliver, had fallen in love with him, in fact.

But . . . the reality was she barely knew the gentleman, and his life was in New York, while her family and their lives were firmly entrenched in England.

She gave Oliver’s hand a squeeze before releasing it and then looked to her mother, a woman Harriet longed to know better and already loved more than she’d ever loved anyone in her life, including Oliver.

“As I assume you’ve been told, Mother, Oliver and I were never truly engaged. We formed an alliance to suit our different needs, but I will admit that, strangely enough, we came to care for each other, or at least I came to care for him during the time we spent together.”

“That’s so romantic,” Victoria said with a sigh.

She was going to have to have long talks with this sister of hers, but now was hardly the time. She sent Victoria a rolling of the eyes and returned her attention to Margaret. “Oliver’s businesses, at least most of them, are here in America, and while I have developed a great deal of affection for him, my life, for the foreseeable future, is no longer in this country but in yours.”

She felt Oliver stiffen beside her but couldn’t look him in the eye, instead keeping her gaze settled on her mother’s face, a face that was now looking hopeful.

She summoned up a smile and felt her heart break just a bit. “I’m coming back to England with you, Mother. It’s past time I returned home.”





23





Harriet was leaving—and soon from what he’d been told.

Throwing down the pen he’d been using to try and total up a stack of figures, Oliver realized that in the mood he was currently in, he’d get no business done. Rising from the chair, he whistled for Buford and waited as his dog got up somewhat gingerly from the patch of sun he’d been lounging in and moseyed over to Oliver’s side. Leaning down, he gave Buford a pat on the head before he straightened and walked out of his office, Buford dogging his every step.

“Would you like me to call for the carriage?” Mr. Blodgett asked, materializing in the hallway on silent feet.

Oliver shrugged. “I really have no place to go.”

Mr. Blodgett cocked a brow. “Oh? You can’t think of any place your company might be appreciated?”

“She’s made her decision, Mr. Blodgett, and I know why she made that decision. Her mother needs her just as Harriet needs her mother. I won’t step between them.”

Mr. Blodgett opened his mouth, but then shut it when Archibald came strolling toward them. His grandfather stopped and smiled at Mr. Blodgett. “So is he going to see her? Have you called for the carriage?”

“He’s going to let her go.”

Archibald’s smile slid off his face. “You won’t find another like her, my boy.”

“I’m perfectly aware of that.”

“Then why are you letting her go?”

“She needs to be with her family. They live in England; I live here.”