After a Fashion (A Class of Their Own #1)(65)
If anything, Buford’s shaking increased. Harriet scooped up the tiny dog, got to her feet, and held the dog out to the lady. “If you could just hold this for a moment, it might help me get Buford out from under the table.”
The lady took the dog, leaving Harriet to crouch in front of Buford again. “Oliver’s going to have to have a heart-to-heart with you, Buford, about this whole cowardly giant business. You’re a fierce beast—at least you look like one—and it’s past time you remember that.”
The gentleman with the large mustache stepped up next to her and leaned over. “Excuse me, but did you mention a gentleman by the name of Oliver?”
“I did.”
“You’re not speaking about Mr. Oliver Addleshaw, are you?”
“I am, and that large bit of trouble hiding under the table is his dog. I’m watching over him at the moment, although, given that he’s just destroyed a good portion of this store, I’m not doing a very good job of watching.”
Buford let out a whine.
“You have no reason to whine,” Harriet admonished, looking Buford in the eye. “You’ve been a very bad boy, and Oliver’s not going to be happy with you once I hand him over a bill for all this damage.”
Buford seemed to realize he was in a smidgen of trouble, because he closed his eyes and refused to look at her. Unable to come up with a suitable way to get him out from under the table, Harriet straightened and looked to the woman with the red eyes. “I really must apologize for all of this, Mrs. or Miss . . . ?”
“I’m Mrs. Henderson, proprietress of this shop—at least I was until Mr. Bambini informed me I’m being evicted.” With that Mrs. Henderson dissolved into great, heaving sobs.
Before Harriet could offer a single word of comfort to the distraught lady, Mr. Bambini suddenly beamed at her.
“You must be Miss Peabody.”
“How in the world do you know my name?”
“Mr. Addleshaw told me all about you, and I offer you my congratulations.” He winked. “You are the reason many a young lady is going to be despondent once word officially gets out about the engagement. But enough about that—what do you think of this wonderful space? I should have realized you’d want to look it over once Mr. Addleshaw told you about it, but he neglected to tell me you were planning on stopping by today.” Mr. Bambini sent a pointed look toward Mrs. Henderson. “If I’d have known, I would have made certain there was nothing of a distressing nature to greet you.”
Harriet barely had time to duck as a piece of china, hurled by none other than Mrs. Henderson, sailed her way. She felt it graze the top of her head, heard a resounding crash and then dropped to the ground and rolled to the right when Mrs. Henderson grabbed a beautiful crystal vase and chucked that in her direction. Shards of glass stung her cheek and she knew she was bleeding, but the ramifications of what Mr. Bambini had stated finally settled in, and she didn’t have the heart to fight back.
“Have you lost your mind?” Mr. Bambini yelled as he grabbed a plate from Mrs. Henderson and took hold of both her arms, effectively restraining her even as the tiny dog the lady had dropped to the ground began to scamper around their feet. “That is Miss Peabody you’re assaulting, fiancée of Mr. Oliver Addleshaw.”
Mrs. Henderson began to struggle against the arms that bound her, causing Harriet’s heart to ache as she pushed herself up from the floor. She wiped her hands on her gown, winced when a shard of glass sliced her, plucked it out of her palm, and drew in a steadying breath. She felt something dribble down her face but ignored it as she stepped closer to Mrs. Henderson and Mr. Bambini. “I’m afraid there’s been a grave misunderstanding.”
Mrs. Henderson stilled as Mr. Bambini sent her a frown. “A misunderstanding? I assure you, there has not. Mr. Addleshaw sought out my services yesterday, telling me of his desire to find his fiancée a most desirable location, and this is the location he decided he wanted to obtain.” Mr. Bambini’s frown turned to a smile. “I must say, he certainly seems to adore indulging you, my dear. Why, for a gentleman of society to actually encourage his future wife to dabble in . . . trade . . . Well, it’s not something I’ve ever seen before.”
For a second, something warm traveled through her veins, but then reality pushed the feeling away as temper replaced it. “While my fiancé certainly does seem to enjoy indulging me, tell me, Mr. Bambini, was Mr. Addleshaw aware of the fact this particular space was occupied by Mrs. Henderson?”
“He bought a vase from me,” Mrs. Henderson said. “I was thrilled, thinking he would tell others of his social set about my place, but now . . . I think he only did so to ease his conscience because he knew in order to give you this shop, I’d have to go.” She dissolved once again into a fit of weeping.
Every pleasant thought and every unlikely dream Harriet had begun to dream died a rapid death. Disappointment, mixed with a healthy dollop of temper, settled over her, and she found she had to take in quite a few deep breaths before she was even able to speak. She looked up and found Lucetta standing a few feet away from her, Millie hovering right behind her. “It seems to me, ladies, that Abigail and Archibald’s plotting is all for naught.” She drew in another breath. “Would you be so kind, Lucetta, to fetch Buford? I’m sure he’ll come out from under the table for you.”