After a Fashion (A Class of Their Own #1)(36)

Before Harriet had a moment to breathe, let alone think, she was ushered into one of Arnold Constable & Company’s private rooms and helped into a cushy chair. Handing her tea in a bone china cup, Mr. Lamansky smiled a very satisfied smile.

“I’ll send in ladies to assist you immediately,” he said before extending her a short bow and quitting the room.

The second the door shut behind the man, Harriet set aside her tea and turned to Oliver, who was lowering himself into a chair right beside her. “What have you done?”

Oliver picked up his cup, took a sip, grimaced, and set it right back down. “Have I ever told you I loathe tea?”

“I don’t believe that has ever come up in the few conversations we’ve had, but honestly, Oliver, what were you thinking telling Mr. Lamansky I’m your fiancée? That wasn’t part of our deal.”

“I didn’t appreciate the man’s attitude toward you.”

His response took her by complete surprise and had tears stinging her eyes. There’d never been a time in her life when a gentleman had come to her defense, and she was suddenly thankful she was sitting down. Otherwise, she was fairly sure she’d be unable to stand, given that her entire body felt somewhat like jelly. She swiped a hand over her eyes and, when she was certain she wasn’t about to turn into a watering pot, looked back at Oliver. “I do appreciate you putting that man in his place, but surely you realize this latest turn of insanity is going to cause both of us no small amount of difficulty.”

Oliver shrugged. “Telling him we are engaged was a means to an end, and you have to admit it was better than what I first thought about doing, which was pummeling the man.”

“Pummeling might have been the lesser of the two evils. We’d surely have been shown the door, but we wouldn’t now be engaged.”

“Harriet,” Oliver began slowly, “you do realize that we’re not truly engaged, don’t you?”

Rolling her eyes, Harriet picked up her tea and took a sip. “There’s no need to get nervous, Oliver. Of course I know we’re not truly engaged. What we are is worse—we’re liars.”

“Shall I assume you have a problem with that?”

“I don’t like to lie, nor do I believe God approves of people who do, and this—our pretend engagement—feels pretty much like a spectacular lie to me.”

Oliver frowned. “I find myself somewhat confused with your reasoning. How was it that agreeing to pose as my companion wasn’t a lie, while posing as my fiancée is one?”

Harriet regarded Oliver over the rim of her cup. “It’s funny you should bring that up, because I was actually discussing that very idea with my friends last night. It was bothering me somewhat dreadfully, but then Miss Longfellow, one of my roommates, pointed out that she has occasionally taken positions as a paid companion. She received compensation for that role, and even though those positions never worked out well for her, they were completely respectable positions for a lady to take. So, you see, there was absolutely nothing in the least shady about me agreeing to be your paid companion.”

“Forgive me for bringing this up, but paid companions are normally hired by ladies in their dotage, something I’m clearly not.”

“True, but it’s the same principle. You’ve hired me to be a companion, even if not exactly in the same role as most paid companions take on. Now, however, with your declaration that I’m your fiancée, you are asking me to live a lie, plain and simple, because we’re not engaged.”

Oliver tilted his head. “Would it make you feel better if I got down on bended knee and asked you to be my pretend fiancée?”

An image of Oliver on bended knee immediately sprang to mind. Something warm and mushy began to travel through her, until she staunchly pushed the mushiness aside. No good could possibly come from dwelling on fantasies, and it wasn’t as if Oliver had offered to really propose to her, given the whole pretend business. Besides, she was quite certain she didn’t even like the gentleman, so . . . what could possibly have brought about the whole mushy feeling?

“Harriet, is something the matter?”

Taking another sip of tea to allow herself time to collect her composure, Harriet swallowed and quirked a brow. “Of course nothing’s the matter—except that you’ve just announced our engagement to a man I’m fairly sure is even now spreading the word.”

“And you’re still bothered by the idea we’re perpetuating a lie?”

“We are perpetuating a lie.”

“I disagree. As you mentioned before, I’ve hired you to play a part, whether companion or fiancée, and that’s how you need to look at it. You should think of yourself as an actress, someone who assumes different roles with every new script. You don’t believe actresses are perpetuating a lie every time they take to the stage, do you?”

“Of course not, and speaking of actresses, don’t you think it would have made matters less complicated if you’d just hired one of them?”

“Actresses are hardly respectable.”

“Neither are ladies who make hats for a living—at least not in your world.”

“You no longer make hats for a living.”

“As I think I mentioned before, you’re very annoying.”