After a Fashion (A Class of Their Own #1)(45)
Oliver felt the distinct urge to begin sputtering exactly as Harriet was still doing. “My grandfather is coming to town?”
“Of course, dear. You know how Archibald enjoys being in the thick of things, and you really can’t expect him to ignore something as thrilling as your involvement with Miss Peabody. Why, I bet he’ll be absolutely tickled to death to participate in the upcoming festivities.”
Harriet turned to him with eyes that had grown huge. “What upcoming festivities?”
“How would I know? This is the first I’m hearing about Grandfather coming to town, or any festivities, for that matter. And, I have yet to understand how and why Mrs. Hart is involved in our private matters.”
“Oh, did I forget to mention that?” Mrs. Hart exclaimed as she batted innocent lashes his way. “I’m here to assume the position of chaperone.”
Oliver narrowed his eyes. “Forgive me, Mrs. Hart, but I was under the impression you’d chosen to withdraw from society.”
“Choices are made to change, my boy.”
“And you’ve, for some unfathomable reason, chosen to involve yourself in my affairs?” he asked slowly.
“I owe Reverend Gilmore a favor, so I certainly couldn’t refuse his request of seeing after Harriet.”
It was too late—his decision to end matters with Harriet was not going to be a feasible option, and his well-organized life, something he cherished, was rapidly going by the wayside. And strangely enough, it was all due to the machinations of some gentleman by the name of Reverend Gilmore and a society matron no one had seen out and about for years.
“I don’t need, or want, a chaperone,” Harriet said firmly.
“Of course you do,” Mrs. Hart countered before she turned to Mrs. Palmer. “Now then, from what I’ve learned, you’re the owner of this charming house where Harriet and her friends reside, and as such, you and I should probably have a little chat regarding future rent. I’ve convinced Miss Longfellow and Miss Plum to come stay with me while I go about the business of chaperoning Harriet, but I would like to take it upon myself to pay their rent in advance for the next couple of months.”
She smiled even as she shook her head. “Why, between the three ladies, their rooms are filled to bursting with various items, items I believe should stay here until I get the ladies’ lives . . . Well, no need to get into that.” Mrs. Hart slid a sideways glance at Harriet, who seemed to be swelling on the spot, and grabbed hold of Mrs. Palmer’s arm and hustled her over to the brown house.
“You have to go after that crazy lady and tell her our association has come to an end.”
Oliver pulled his gaze from the retreating back of Mrs. Hart and frowned at Harriet, who was glaring at him. “I don’t believe that’s an option, Harriet. Mrs. Hart is one of those formidable ladies you don’t want to tangle with if at all possible, and I fear she’s decided to take you in hand.”
“You can simply tell her that I don’t need anyone to take me in hand, and you can tell her that I’ve broken things off with you.”
Before Oliver could utter a single protest, Harriet sent a smile to Darren, who was still standing beside him, and then marched off in the direction of the peeling brown house, disappearing a moment later around the corner of the building. No more than a second passed before her head popped back into view. She scanned the surrounding area, seemed to blow out a breath of relief, and then disappeared again.
He’d forgotten all about the two gentlemen he’d thought were following Harriet. He scanned the assorted people walking on the sidewalk, but the gentlemen he’d seen before were nowhere in sight.
She’d conveniently neglected to explain the men, but he couldn’t really blame her for that, not when Mrs. Hart and her overabundance of personality had descended on them.
How was he going to tell Mrs. Hart there was no longer any need for her help in chaperoning, or more worrisome, how was he going to explain this mess to his grandfather?
“Should I take the boxes from Arnold Constable & Company up to Miss Peabody?” Darren asked, breaking through Oliver’s thoughts.
In all the chaos of the past hour, he’d neglected to remember that Arnold Constable & Company had efficiently gathered together some of Harriet’s selections and delivered them to the carriage for Harriet’s immediate use. He certainly had no issue with allowing her to keep the items purchased today, but what concerned him more at the moment was what Darren had just said. “What do you mean, up to her?”
“I assume she lives on one of the upper floors since she went around the corner of the house. Boardinghouses usually have outside stairs leading up to the tenants’ rooms.”
All the air disappeared from Oliver’s lungs as his gaze traveled over the peeling paint, lingered on the sagging shutters, and he finally came to the realization that he was standing in front of the place Harriet called home.
How had he neglected to realize that the lovely, vivacious, and yes, annoying, Miss Harriet Peabody lived in one of the meanest slums he’d ever seen?
Had he been so distracted by the appearance of Mrs. Hart that he hadn’t taken the time to figure it out, or could it be possible that some unconscious part of him had simply not wanted to delve into this alarming bit of reality?
Drawing in a deep breath, he caught sight of what could only be a rat foraging around in some rubbish strewn against the side of the sad-looking house. The rat scurried into a large hole leading to the basement in the house where Harriet resided.