After a Fashion (A Class of Their Own #1)(29)
“Brothels have never appealed to me, Silas, and you know I don’t gamble.”
Instead of taking offense at Oliver’s words, Silas chuckled. “I sometimes forget how prudish you can be, Oliver—but to each his own.” Silas sent Oliver a wink, slapped Everett on the back, and strode from the room, closing the door loudly behind him.
Everett shook his head. “I realize Silas is brilliant at making money, Oliver, but I have to tell you, if you don’t get rid of him, and soon, he just might end up ruining your life.”
Oliver found he couldn’t disagree.
7
A sense of unsettledness mixed with irritation continued to plague Oliver long after parting ways with Silas. He’d gone to Astor House in search of peace, but peace certainly was not what he’d received. Leaning his head against the cool glass of the carriage window, he permitted himself a long, drawn-out sigh.
Miners were suffering, and he was ultimately responsible—it was as simple as that.
For years he’d skirted around ethics in his quest for profitability, but never had that skirting caused physical injury to another person. Granted, he’d thought improvements were under way at the Fayette mine, but that didn’t excuse his negligence in not making certain those improvements had actually started.
It was abundantly clear Silas had taken entirely too much liberty in the matter, but the question of the hour now was how to proceed.
A part of him believed he should cancel his meetings with the Duke of Westmoore and travel to West Virginia with Silas to assess the situation. The other part of him, however—the part that paid Silas an exorbitant salary—believed Silas had played a major part in creating the disaster, so it was up to him to set matters to rights. That would allow Oliver to continue on with the duke and secure a deal he’d been working on for months.
His contradictory thoughts came to an abrupt end when the carriage shuddered to a stop. Peering out the window, Oliver’s gaze sharpened on the traffic clogging the street. He reached for the door and got out, feeling the distinct urge to immediately jump right back in when he realized he was standing in the midst of the Ladies’ Mile. This particular stretch of New York was filled with department stores, exclusive dress and jewelry shops, and many fine places to dine, but it was also brimming with ladies, all out for an enjoyable day of shopping, many of them unmarried.
It was a distinct possibility he could be mobbed at any second.
“There’s an overturned wagon up ahead, Mr. Addleshaw,” Darren called. “We’re going to be stuck here for a while.”
“I think you may be right.” Oliver sent Darren a nod and took a step toward the carriage, but before he had an opportunity to climb in, a burst of giggling sounded right behind him. Knowing it would be less than gentlemanly to ignore the women responsible for those giggles, he summoned up a smile and turned. To his dismay, he found five young ladies waving back at him—each and every one of them clutching delicate handkerchiefs in their hands, handkerchiefs that suddenly began fluttering to the ground. He bent over and began retrieving various bits of lace when from out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of another lady, one who immediately captured and held his attention.
What was so intriguing about her, he couldn’t actually say. Perhaps it was the fact her face was almost completely obscured by a large, elaborately decorated hat, lending her a rather mysterious air. Or, perhaps it was simply that she wasn’t paying him the least bit of attention, even though the crowd of ladies gathered around him had grown substantially. The lady spared him not a single glance as she breezed past, lifting the skirt of her ice-blue gown to step around a lingering puddle. Her arm suddenly swung into view, and looped around that arm was a reticule that seemed oddly familiar.
His mouth dropped open when he realized the lady was none other than Miss Harriet Peabody.
Straightening, he handed the beaming woman standing nearest to him the handkerchiefs he’d scooped off the ground, nodding at her rather absently when she let out a breathy word of thanks. Looking over the heads of the crowd that surrounded him, his attention finally settled on the very top of Harriet’s hat, the only thing he could still see of her.
“Miss Peabody,” he called, causing each and every one of the giggling ladies to immediately stop giggling. They turned as one in the direction Harriet was disappearing, and for a brief moment, Oliver swore they all resembled colorful birds of prey, just waiting to devour a weaker bird—or in this case, Harriet.
He pushed aside that ridiculous notion when he realized Harriet was completely out of sight. Sending the gathering of now disgruntled-looking ladies a muttered excuse over his shoulder, he strode into the crowded sidewalk, craning his neck as he tried to bring Harriet into view. He finally caught a glimpse of an outlandish hat.
It was quickly becoming apparent the lady enjoyed wearing unusual creations on her head.
“Miss Peabody,” he called again, louder than before, and couldn’t believe his eyes when the tip of her hat began bobbing faster than ever, leaving him with the distinct impression she’d heard his call but was deliberately trying to get away from him.
Plowing forward, he edged around two servants in formal livery burdened with excessive packages, and tipped his hat to a lady gesturing his way. Temper began churning through him when he saw Harriet duck into a narrow space that seemed to be some type of alleyway between two shops.