After a Fashion (A Class of Their Own #1)(24)
“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
Slouching 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.”