After a Fashion (A Class of Their Own #1)(48)

The sound of pounding started again.

“He’s not going to just go away,” Millie yelled. “Besides, we still have his dog.”

“Oh, very well, I’ll deal with him,” Harriet said, struggling to her feet and heading out of the kitchen. She stalked down the short hallway, reached the door, pushed aside the bolt that secured it, twisted the lock, and then wrenched it open, her temper steadily rising when she looked at Oliver and found him smiling back at her, although his eyes held a distinct trace of temper.

“What?”

“Is that any way to greet your fiancé?”

“You’re not my fiancé, you’ve only ever been my pretend fiancé, or maybe temporary fiancé would be a better way to put it. But since I’ve decided I can’t be trusted not to harm you if I have to spend any additional time in your company, you need to go away and leave me alone.”

“Don’t you think you’re being a little overly dramatic? I mean—”

Not allowing the annoying man to finish his sentence, Harriet shut the door in his face, locked it, brushed her hands together, turned, and pretended not to hear his demands for her to open up as she headed back toward the kitchen. She knew full well she’d have to open the door again to give him Buford, but . . .

Her steps slowed when a letter, sitting directly on top of a clumsily wrapped package and positioned on a side table, caught her eye. Dread was immediate when she picked up the letter and found her name scrawled in an untidy hand across the front—that particular scrawl far too familiar.

It was from Aunt Jane, but . . . how had it gotten on the table?

She picked up the package and hurried to the kitchen, finding Millie and Lucetta both on their knees, trying to coerce Buford from under the table. She had to clear her throat twice to get them to look at her. She held up the letter and package. “Were these waiting outside the front door when the two of you came home today?”

Lucetta frowned. “No, they were on the table.”

“Are you sure?”

Lucetta’s frown deepened. “Didn’t you leave them there because you were avoiding dealing with your aunt?”

“Perhaps she’s sent you a birthday present,” Millie said, eyeing the package. “You should open it.”

“My aunt never sends me presents.”

“She gave you that dress of your mother’s last year on your birthday,” Millie argued.

“Only because she wrongly believed if she buttered me up with that offering, I’d be more inclined to join her little confidence-swindling thing she has going on in the city.”

“But at least she didn’t try to take the dress back after you refused her offer,” Millie said weakly.

“There’s no need for you to try so hard to bring out positive aspects about my aunt, Millie. She has nothing whatsoever positive about her, and just because she’s likely related to me, doesn’t mean I have to like her.” Harriet tore off the brown wrapping and considered the box for a second before she finally opened it up. What was nestled inside had alarm flowing freely through her. She plucked out the diamond necklace and held it up.

“That’s . . . hmm . . . really nice,” Millie said as she nodded to Lucetta. “Isn’t it nice?”

“Stunning, but . . . ” She turned to Harriet. “Do you suppose that used to belong to your mother?”

“Highly doubtful, since Aunt Jane has never given any indication she or my mother came from wealth, and . . .” Her words died in her throat as something more concerning than receiving what was most likely a stolen necklace hit her. “I’ll be right back.” She dropped the necklace into the box, spun around, marched her way back to the door, and pulled it open, barely flinching at the glare Oliver sent her.

“Why didn’t you mention that Buford can open doors?” she demanded.

Oliver’s brows scrunched together. “Buford can’t open doors.”

“Are you quite certain about that?”

“Well, yes, seeing as how he’s a dog, and”—he lifted his hands and turned them from side to side—“he has paws. Why do you ask?”

“Never mind.” She shut the door in his face again and willed her breathing to slow, knowing this was not the appropriate time to descend into a fit of the vapors.

Her aunt, or the men her aunt employed who’d been following her around town of late, had been in her home.

She’d been left an expensive piece of jewelry, which meant her aunt was up to something and wanted to get Harriet’s attention, but what could that something possibly be?

“She’s going to frame me for theft, or blackmail me, or . . .” Horror was swift as Harriet realized that not only could she be harmed by an accusation of theft—her friends could be as well. Her breath caught in her throat when the idea sprang to mind that authorities could even now be getting a tip from Jane. They would be led to this very apartment, where they’d discover a glittering diamond necklace that, clearly, none of the ladies living on the Lower East Side could afford.

They’d be hauled away to rot in jail, probably Jane’s plans all along, and then she’d come to the rescue and bail them out . . . leaving Harriet, Lucetta, and Millie in the woman’s debt.

That idea was completely unacceptable, although . . . She might be completely off the mark, but . . . what if she wasn’t? What could she possible do to avoid suffering the consequences of whatever duplicity her aunt intended?