After a Fashion (A Class of Their Own #1)(33)
Harriet regarded him a little warily. “Hmm . . . Well, that’s very kind and . . . unexpected of you, but isn’t anything we need to worry about right now. My most pressing problem is what I’m going to wear when I come to work for you, because I’m not going back to any of those shops.”
“Madame Simone’s behavior was beyond unacceptable. I just sent her an incredible amount of money to pay Miss Birmingham’s bill, and finding out she and her staff treated you so shabbily today has annoyed me no small amount.” He nodded. “We’re going back there right this minute. You may rest assured that Madame Simone and her snooty helper will be extending you their most profuse apologies.”
Clear horror settled in Harriet’s eyes. “That’s a dreadful idea. How about if I return the money you gave me—except what I used to pay for the steaks, of course—and then sew as fast as I can and try to pull together a few pieces that I think you’ll find acceptable?”
“I don’t expect you to work yourself to the bone in order to produce an acceptable wardrobe.”
“Well, I’m not going back to Madame Simone’s. There’s only so much humiliation I’m willing to suffer in a single day.”
Oliver watched her for a moment, unable to help but recognize that underneath her air of bravado was a hint of vulnerability. It affected him in a most peculiar way and had him stepping closer to her. He took her arm and tugged her into motion. “Fine, we won’t visit Madame Simone’s, or any of the other small shops, but we will secure you a new wardrobe.”
“I don’t need a new wardrobe, just a few pieces to see me through the short time we’re going to spend out and about.”
He tightened his fingers around her arm. “Would it be possible for you to just be quiet and go along with me? I assure you, your shopping experience will be quite different while you’re in my company. I would think you’d try to relax that guard of yours and simply attempt to enjoy yourself. Most ladies I know love to shop.”
“Most ladies you know aren’t hat girls who get booted out into the street or threatened with arrest.”
Seeing no advantage to addressing that disturbing bit of truth, he looked around and smiled. There it was, only a block away—a department store that was certain to have everything Harriet needed. He began walking faster.
“If you haven’t noticed, you’re beginning to drag me,” Harriet complained. “And why are we walking? Isn’t your carriage around here somewhere?”
“I almost forgot about my carriage.” He turned them around and began heading the other way. “I’ll tell Darren where we’ll be, and then we’ll begin our shopping adventure.”
It took a good five minutes to reach his carriage because Harriet kept dragging her feet. He glanced up at Darren as he let go of Harriet’s arm, having no choice in the matter because she’d begun to wrestle her way out of his hold. “Miss Peabody and I are going to visit Arnold Constable & Company, Darren. I expect it’ll take a good few hours to get Miss Peabody all she needs, and I would hate for you to miss your lunch. Why don’t you park the carriage in front of the store and go get yourself something to eat?”
Instead of nodding in agreement, Darren shook his head and grinned. “Forgive me, Mr. Addleshaw, but I don’t think Miss Peabody is exactly keen about going to Arnold Constable & Company.”
“Why would you say that?”
“She’s dashing away in the opposite direction.”
Oliver turned, and sure enough, Harriet was quickly disappearing into the crowd, her huge hat once again bobbing in the breeze.
She was exasperating, annoying, and continuously causing him to move at a pace he was unaccustomed to moving as he kept having to dash after her.
“Just meet me at Arnold Constable’s,” he called to Darren as he began to jostle his way through the crowded sidewalk. He increased his pace but then smiled when a swish of an ice-blue skirt through a doorway captured his attention. Strolling a moment later into a small shop that sold unmentionables, he set his sights on Harriet, who was already at the very back of the shop, pretending an interest in what appeared to be bustles. He stalked over to join her.
“You’re trying my patience.”
“I could say the same of you,” she retorted without lifting her gaze. “Did I mention that I’m attempting to create a new bustle, one that would fold up when a lady sits down and then spring back to position once she stands up?”
“No, you didn’t, and that has nothing to do with . . . A collapsible bustle, did you say?”
“Indeed, but so far I haven’t been able to develop a spring that will actually work.”
Even though he was highly intrigued with the idea, he pushed it aside and sent her what he could only hope was a formidable glare. To his annoyance, it didn’t have any effect on her whatsoever, probably because she still wasn’t looking at him.
“Why did you run away?” he asked.
“I can’t go to Arnold Constable & Company.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s too . . . too . . . everything.”
“It’s one of the leading department stores in New York.”
“Exactly. That store caters to the elite. Why, I’ve heard the Vanderbilt family shops there, and the Astor family, and the list goes on and on. Your mother probably shops there.”