After a Fashion (A Class of Their Own #1)(46)
Did rats know how to climb, and if so, did Harriet ever have to fend them off as she tried to sleep?
The mere idea of that caused his temper to stir, replaced quickly with dismay.
“Mr. Addleshaw, are you feeling all right?”
Oliver drew in another breath, that action having the unfortunate result of a rather pungent odor sweeping up his nose. He began breathing through his mouth before he managed to nod in Darren’s direction. “I wasn’t aware that Miss Peabody lived in such a deplorable part of the city, but now that I do, I’ll need to rectify that situation.”
“Begging your pardon, sir, but I got the distinct impression, given that Miss Peabody flung herself from your carriage, that the two of you are not in accord at the moment.”
“I should probably go straighten that little misunderstanding out.” Oliver extracted the pistol he always carried with him from the waistband of his trousers. “Best keep this with you, Darren, to guard the carriage.”
Accepting the pistol, Darren frowned. “Are you certain you wouldn’t rather keep the pistol, sir? If you ask me, you’re in more danger from Miss Peabody than I am out here on the street.”
A grin caught Oliver by surprise even as he shook his head. He watched his driver walk away and climb up on the carriage before he turned and headed toward the boardinghouse, wondering what he should say to Harriet when they came face-to-face.
They would have to go through with the plan—there was no other option, especially now that he’d seen her home.
Harriet would have no reason to live with Mrs. Hart unless she played the role of his fiancée, and he knew her well enough, even in the short time they’d been acquainted, to realize she wouldn’t let him just give her money without doing anything to earn it.
She was too proud, too conscientious, and had too much appreciation for the value of a dollar, but he could not allow her to remain living in squalor. Somehow, he was going to have to convince her to continue on as his fiancée. How he was going to do that, he had no idea, but he needed to move quickly.
He strode to the side of the house, grunted in disgust at what someone apparently thought passed for stairs, grabbed hold of the rickety railing, and began to climb, having no idea what floor Harriet lived on or if she’d even answer the door once he figured that out.
11
Harriet, I think your Mr. Addleshaw is climbing up our stairs,” Millie announced as Harriet was reaching a hand underneath the kitchen table in an attempt to pull a trembling Buford out from under it.
Snatching back her hand when Buford growled at her, Harriet glanced at Millie who was standing in the doorway of their tiny kitchen. “He’s not my Mr. Addleshaw, and I’d appreciate it if you’d inform him that I’m unavailable to speak with him . . . now or anytime in the future.”
“Oh dear, something happened, didn’t it?”
“You could say that.”
“And . . . ?”
“There’s no time to explain, especially if he’s on his way up, but I’ll tell you all about it after you get rid of him.”
Millie bit her lip. “I don’t think Mr. Addleshaw is going to appreciate me trying to get rid of him.”
“You’re probably right, but just be firm and I’m sure you’ll persevere.”
“I have no idea what persevere means, and you, of all people, should remember that I’m hardly good at dealing with the socially elite. Besides, I thought you’d decided it was in your best interest to accept his offer.”
“I’ve changed my mind.”
“Well, that’s unfortunate, especially since Mrs. Hart seems quite excited to step in and chaperone you around town.” Millie’s brow furrowed. “She’s also excited about bringing you ‘up to snuff’—whatever that means. I couldn’t find a credible definition of that particular expression in any of my dictionaries, but now, since I’m going to have to look up what persevere means, I’ll once again look for the meaning of up to snuff.”
Harriet grinned. Millie was a lady who was determined to improve herself, and at the moment, she was doing said improvement by memorizing the dictionary. The words that frequently poured out of Millie’s mouth were always a surprise, especially when Millie didn’t have their meanings exactly right. “Up to snuff means that Mrs. Hart wants to pretty me up and hone my manners so that I’ll be acceptable to society.”
“How delightful.”
“I’d rather be boiled in oil.”
“Hmm. . . .”
“Exactly. So, you’ll need to think of something to say to get Oliver to leave. And . . . tell him I’m returning all of his money to him, except for the amount I spent on Buford’s meal.”
“You do realize that if you’re determined to end your association with Mr. Addleshaw, you’re going to have to give him back his dog, don’t you? That might prove a little tricky since Buford doesn’t seem to want to come out from under the table.”
Looking back at Buford, Harriet saw that the poor pooch was trembling harder than ever. “Any thoughts as to what’s wrong with him?”
“When Lucetta and I got back from paying a visit to Reverend Gilmore about an hour ago, the door was wide open, and we were afraid Buford had run off, but then we found him hiding underneath the table. It’s rather strange.” Millie frowned. “Do you think he somehow opened the door and then remembered he’s afraid of heights and that’s what sent him into hiding?”