After a Fashion (A Class of Their Own #1)(43)
A burst of bright color captured his attention, and he realized the color came from Harriet’s hat, a hat she’d been able to retain in her mad leap from the carriage. He broke into a run but then slowed to a mere stalk when Harriet stopped in her tracks and stood on the edge of the sidewalk while people jostled around her, her attention fixed on something he couldn’t see. She spun on her heel and headed back in his direction, stopping yet again when she caught sight of him.
She muttered something he couldn’t hear because of the distance that separated them and then plowed forward, waving a dainty hand in his direction as she sailed past him.
“Go away.”
He caught up with her easily. “I promised to see you home, so see you home I shall.”
“I wouldn’t want you to get embarrassed if someone you know happens to see you in my company.”
“I never said I was embarrassed to be seen with you.”
An unladylike snort escaped her even as her pace increased.
“Harriet, please, we need to speak frankly.”
She began walking faster, causing Oliver to break into a near run.
“Well, go on, then,” she said with a slight pant lacing her words. “I’m listening.”
“Can’t you slow down?”
Harriet looked up and, to his surprise, stopped rather abruptly. Her eyes widened, and she spun around yet again and began heading back in the direction they’d just come.
He paused for just a moment, his gaze traveling over two large gentlemen striding his way, their attention seemingly on Harriet’s rapidly retreating back. Oliver took off after Harriet and grabbed hold of her arm. “Are you in some type of trouble?”
“Why would you assume that?”
“What do those men want with you?”
“What men?”
“If I’m going to be able to help you, you have to tell me what’s wrong.”
“Who said anything’s wrong?”
Oliver ran his hand through hair he knew had to be standing on end. What he really needed to do, instead of dealing with the madness of his life, was plan a nice, long holiday, well away from ladies and well away from drama.
“Do you remember when you told me you don’t care for lies?” he finally asked.
“It wasn’t that long ago, Oliver. Of course I remember.”
“And you want me to believe you’re telling the truth about not noticing those men following you?”
Harriet stumbled, righted herself, and continued forward. “Fine, maybe you’re right. Maybe since I’ve made your acquaintance I’ve taken to lying on a regular basis, because agreeing to this ridiculous plan of yours is nothing but a lie, even though I keep trying to convince myself otherwise. It’s become clear that we’ve made a huge mistake, and I, for one, believe God is surely punishing me, given the fact that . . .” Her voice trailed off as she came to another sudden stop, her attention riveted on a fancy carriage parked in front of a shabby four-storied building.
“I was hoping that would be gone by now,” she muttered. She glanced over her shoulder, bit her lip, glanced to the fancy carriage, and then edged to the right—leaving Oliver no choice but to believe she was about to take off running down a rubbish-strewn alley.
“Harriet, you’re going to have to tell me . . .”
“Miss Peabody, ah, there you are at last.”
Harriet froze as a well-dressed and rather formidable-looking older lady suddenly appeared from behind the carriage and began marching their way.
Recognition set in, followed immediately by confusion.
“How do you know Mrs. Hart, and what do you think she’s doing here?” he asked.
“I’ve never seen that lady before in my life.”
“Then why is she calling you by name and heading our way?”
“I’m sure I have no idea.”
Mrs. Charles Hart, one of the wealthiest yet most reclusive society matrons in all of New York, came to a stop directly in front of Harriet. Then, without a by your leave, she snatched Harriet into her arms, gave her a good hard squeeze, and then released her, stepping back with a huge smile on her wrinkled face. “It is so fortunate you returned home at such an opportune time, my dear. Why, I’d almost given up hope of seeing you today. I fear I kept those delightful young ladies, Miss Longfellow and Miss Plum, at my mercy for quite some time as they were forced to entertain me while I awaited your return.”
“I beg your pardon?” Harriet asked.
“Well, there’s no need for that, my dear. It was hardly as if you were aware I planned to visit you today, so there’s no reason to beg my pardon. I assure you, your friends kept me well amused, and the conversations we shared were downright riveting.”
She patted Harriet’s cheek, which had Harriet looking more confused than ever, but Mrs. Hart didn’t appear to notice as she turned her attention to him. “Mr. Addleshaw, this is an unexpected, yet fortuitous, surprise. I was not aware you were to escort Harriet about today—which, I must add, was completely inappropriate—but . . . good heavens, what has happened to you? You have the smell of the barns about you, and the look as well, if I might be so bold to add, and . . .” Her gaze traveled down his length. “Are you aware you’re missing almost all of your buttons?”