After a Fashion (A Class of Their Own #1)(52)
“I certainly was amazed when he spit her out, but that might have been because he didn’t enjoy the taste of her,” Millie said before she plopped the dictionary on top of her head and began walking. She made it all the way across the room before the book tumbled to the ground. Picking it up, she set it back on her head and stood stock-still for a moment. “I’m definitely making headway with this whole posture business, although I’m a little confused about why I need to improve mine in the first place. It’s not like anyone is going to be watching me as I go about being your lady’s maid, Harriet.”
“I wasn’t aware you were going to pose as my maid.”
“That’s why I was looking for you, to discuss matters, but you don’t need to look so alarmed. I have been a maid before.” Millie edged forward a few inches and stopped when the dictionary began teetering. “Abigail thought it would be a wonderful way for me to earn a few dollars while I wait for the employment agency to contact me with another position. She’s footing the bill for my services.” With that, Millie began walking slowly across the room and straight out the door.
Harriet quirked a brow in Abigail’s direction after the last of Millie’s skirt disappeared.
Abigail barely batted an eye. “I assure you I have more than enough money at my disposal to pay Millie, and I also have no problem with any of you calling me Abigail.”
“You know addressing you by your given name isn’t what’s bothering me, nor is the state of your bank account.”
“I think you and I can both agree that what’s truly bothering you at the moment has nothing to do with Millie and everything to do with Oliver. You’re conflicted about him.”
Harriet opened her mouth to refute that nonsense but then snapped it shut when she realized that Abigail was exactly right. She was conflicted about Oliver. What bothered her most of all was that even though he’d yet to apologize about the whole Tawny and Ginger fiasco, she continuously got a little weak in the knees every time he stopped by to check on her.
It was ridiculous—that’s what it was, her traitorous body’s reaction to him—but she seemed to have no control over it. It certainly wasn’t helping matters much that Oliver had taken to being very solicitous toward Millie and Lucetta, something that warmed Harriet’s heart to no small end, even if it did appear Oliver’s liking for her friends took even him by surprise at times.
“Tell me, dear,” Abigail suddenly said. “What do you believe is the most pressing issue you have with Oliver?”
Since she could hardly tell Abigail her most pressing issue was that she found the man all too attractive and her knees kept wobbling whenever he showed up, Harriet took a minute to sort through all the things about Oliver that really annoyed her.
“He’s very high-handed,” she finally said. “Do you know that yesterday he had the audacity to ask me to practice adoring looks while peering into a mirror because he felt I was glaring at him too often?”
“You can hardly fault the man for that, Harriet, considering you have been glaring at him on a frequent basis. Why, you must know that society will find it difficult to accept your alliance if you don’t gaze adoringly at him every now and again.”
“You’re taking his side?”
“Of course not,” Abigail said with a sniff. “My job is to see you kept safe, which also extends to your health.”
“My . . . health?”
“Indeed. You’ve been in a perpetual state of annoyance practically from the moment you stepped foot in my house. I must tell you, such a state is not conducive to good health, especially in regard to digestion. Stomach issues, my girl, are hardly in vogue at the moment.”
“I wasn’t aware health issues were ever in vogue.”
“Fainting has always been popular amongst the more dramatic set. Not that I recommend it, of course. Why, I shudder to think how many dinners have been disrupted when ladies have slumped to the ground at the slightest provocation.”
“Yes, well, fascinating fainting tidbits aside, perhaps it would be for the best if we’d return to the subject of Millie and . . .”
A clearing of a throat had Harriet stopping midsentence as Abigail’s butler, Mr. Kenton, stepped into the room. “Mr. Addleshaw has come to call, Mrs. Hart. May I tell him you’re receiving?”
For a second, Harriet’s heart began galloping in her chest, until she reminded herself that her heart had no business galloping, or even mildly picking up its beats, just because Oliver had come to call.
“Of course I’m receiving today, Mr. Kenton. Show Mr. Addleshaw right in.”
“Very good, Mrs. Hart.” Mr. Kenton bowed and exited the room.
“I must say, I’m delighted to be receiving guests again,” Abigail said right before footsteps sounded in the hallway.
Ignoring the fact her breath seemed to have gotten stuck in her throat, Harriet craned her neck as she watched the door. Air came whooshing back to her, though, when Archibald, not Oliver, Addleshaw walked into the room.
That Oliver was his grandson, there could be no doubt. Both gentlemen possessed impressive height, and even though Archibald was somewhat advanced in years, his features were still strong—his hair, although silver, still thick, and his shoulders broad, without even the slightest droop to them.