After a Fashion (A Class of Their Own #1)(35)
Before Harriet could get so much as a single sputter past her lips, Oliver took a firm hold of her arm. “This lady,” he began, “is not Miss Birmingham, but Miss Peabody.”
Mr. Lamansky’s eyes went wide. “Oh, forgive me. I assumed she was your fiancée. I must admit I imparted the wrong information to Mrs. Gould when she begged me to come ask you who designed Miss, ah, Peabody’s dress.” He sent her an expectant arch of a brow.
“Er . . . ” was all Harriet could think to respond.
“This is one of Miss Peabody’s own designs,” Oliver said, coming to her rescue when she continued struggling for words.
The look Mr. Lamansky sent her had Harriet wishing a large hole would open up right in front of her feet, or better yet, that a train would suddenly go rushing through the store, at which time she’d fling herself in front of it and be done with this nonsense once and for all.
“Begging your pardon, Mr. Addleshaw,” Mr. Lamansky said in a lowered voice as he stepped closer to Oliver. “Do you think it wise to bring Miss Peabody, a dress designer by the sound of things, into this particular store? Surely you must realize that my customers are bound to take note of her, and I’m certain they’ll make mention of it to Miss Birmingham.”
Oliver’s hand tightened on her arm, and with that tightening, she felt him stiffen. His eyes turned hard, the vein began throbbing on his forehead, and he looked downright menacing, even with all but one of the buttons missing on his jacket and his hair untidy from chasing her through the streets.
Why hadn’t she suggested he fix his hair?
A bubble of hysterical laughter caught in her throat, and she struggled to hold it in, but the urge to laugh disappeared completely when Oliver began to speak.
“I fear there are numerous misconceptions floating around the city,” he drawled, the measured tone of his voice causing Mr. Lamansky’s face to pale. “First of all, I’m not engaged to Miss Birmingham, no matter the rumors you might have heard.”
“Not . . . engaged . . . ?”
“No, not to Miss Birmingham, but I am engaged.” He turned to Harriet and sent her a smile that was so surprisingly sweet she felt the unusual urge to dissolve into a puddle of blubbering incoherency right at his feet—until she remembered the pesky little notion that Oliver seemed to have an entire arsenal of smiles at his disposal, which he apparently brought out as needed. “Allow me to start again.” He inclined his head at Mr. Lamansky. “I would like to introduce you to my fiancée, Miss Peabody. Miss Peabody, this is Mr. Lamansky, one of the managers here. I’m quite certain he’s going to do everything within his power to provide you with a shopping experience you’ll never forget.”
“Your . . . fiancée?” Mr. Lamansky whispered.
“Exactly right, Mr. Lamansky, and do feel free to tell Mrs. Gould that my fiancée designed her dress. In fact, tell her Miss Peabody is soon to open up her own design shop here in town. You may assure her we’ll send her the shop’s location once it’s officially open.”
“Your fiancée is going to run a shop?”
Oliver let out a chuckle. “My Harriet is quite the independent lady. Why, the only way I could convince her to marry me was to agree to allow her to continue on with her pursuit of becoming one of the most sought-after designers in New York.”
Harriet’s mouth dropped open. She had no intention of opening a shop that catered to the elite, so . . . why would he say that . . . and . . . why in the world would he have proclaimed to this gentleman that she was his fiancée? She was only supposed to be posing as his social companion, and now, well, this was certainly going to open up a whole can of worms.
Unfortunately, Oliver didn’t seem to understand the ramifications of what he’d just so blithely announced. Instead of panic clouding his eyes, there was a strange gleam of intensity, but what that intensity meant . . .
“I’m going to be backing my fiancée’s venture, and I must say, she’s incredibly talented. I fully expect her shop to become a place where all the ladies go to seek out original designs.”
In the blink of an eye, everything became crystal clear. Oliver was a businessman forever on the lookout for opportunities that might be profitable or pique his interest. He’d apparently, during the midst of the nonsense unfolding around them, decided he wanted to partner with her on her plan to open up a shop. The problem with that decision, however, was that she had no desire to wait on the wealthy. She wanted to help ladies who were much like herself—ladies who had limited funds but still possessed a keen sense of style.
“Now then,” Oliver said briskly, “we’re here today to secure a new wardrobe for my darling, and I’m hopeful she’ll be able to find everything she desires under this one roof. She’s been much too busy of late to design clothing for herself, which is why I suggested we come here to secure everything she needs.” He sent Harriet a look she assumed was supposed to be one of indulgence, but she couldn’t help but notice a distinct trace of amusement lurking in his eyes.
She blinked and then blinked again. She hadn’t expected that Oliver Addleshaw might have a sense of humor.
Mr. Lamansky cleared his throat. “Did you say an entirely new wardrobe?”
“I’m not certain I used the word entirely, but I do believe that might be exactly what my fiancée needs.”