After a Fashion (A Class of Their Own #1)(78)

“On the contrary,” Oliver argued with a grin. “I find it completely charming that Miss Longfellow was so diligent in regard to her new position as lady’s maid that she actually tried out the hot tongs on her own head before attempting anything on Harriet’s.”

“Don’t encourage her,” Abigail said with a sniff, even as Millie sent Oliver a cheeky wink.

Oliver returned the wink, and right there and then, Harriet’s knees turned weak. He was so agreeable at the moment, so very different from what she’d first thought about him, that she couldn’t help her knees going weak, or her mouth turning dry, or her heart . . .

“Well, since I didn’t have my maid stuff me into this dress for no reason at all,” Abigail proclaimed, pulling Harriet rapidly from thoughts of weak knees and dry mouths. “We should be off, and let us hope for the best.”

“That’s an encouraging thought,” Lucetta said before she padded up to Harriet on feet that were still bare and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Now, don’t worry too much. I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

“Of course she will,” Millie exclaimed as she joined them, although given that her nose had taken to wrinkling, Harriet wasn’t exactly reassured. “Just remember to use all the lessons Abigail and Archibald have taught you, don’t insult Miss Dixon, and I’m pretty sure you’ll need to curtsy when you’re introduced to the duke.”

Biting her lip, Harriet looked at Oliver. “Are you certain you really want to go through with this, because there’ll be no turning back in the midst of dinner . . . and . . . am I supposed to curtsy when I’m introduced to the duke?”

Instead of answering her, Oliver was staring at her lips, his staring having the immediate effect of additional heat traveling up her neck to settle once again on her cheeks. “Do I have something on my face?” she finally asked when he continued staring.

Blinking, Oliver seemed to shake himself before he smiled. “Forgive me, I was . . . What was the question again?”

“I asked if you really wanted to go through with this.”

“Since all of this was my idea in the first place, of course, and besides, what could go wrong?”

“I don’t think I should answer that,” Harriet muttered before she took his offered arm, said a last farewell to her friends, and followed Abigail and Archibald out of the room.



As the carriage trundled down the street, Harriet smoothed her gloved hand against the seat, this one done up in blue velvet, before she caught Oliver’s eye. “How many carriages do you have?”

“I’m not exactly certain, a good dozen or so, but I had this one brought out tonight because it can seat six comfortably, and requires two footmen on the back.” He smiled. “I thought you’d feel more at ease if you knew I’d already taken steps to keep you well protected. And to relieve your mind about Millie and Lucetta, I’ve hired men to watch Mrs. Hart’s house.”

Feeling an immediate urge to hurl herself once again from his carriage, if only to escape from his far-too-considerate nature, Harriet resisted the urge and summoned up the only thought left in her mind. “I couldn’t help but notice that your footmen were wearing livery and had powdered their hair.”

Oliver frowned. “Have they really powdered their hair?”

“They have, and I’m fairly certain, given that Gladys, one of the ladies I used to work with, kept company with a footman, you pay them extra for using powder.”

Oliver looked over at Archibald. “Do you remember if I asked to have the footmen powder their hair when I hired on additional staff after my house was completed last year?”

“The agency probably suggested that idea to you, given your position within society,” Archibald said. “But, if you ask me, having your staff powder their hair is a little . . . ostentatious.”

“From what I’ve heard,” Harriet added, “it’s quite the bother for the men, but . . . if you really think it’s necessary, you might at least notice the effort they’ve gone to on your behalf.”

Oliver smiled. “I think I’ll just inform Mr. Blodgett that hair powdering is no longer in the job description.”

Harriet realized her hand was actually inching for the door after Oliver’s surprisingly considerate conclusion, but knew if she leapt out of the carriage, Abigail would be beyond annoyed with her. Settling for looking out the window instead, she tried to get her pesky emotions in check but found that next to impossible when thoughts of how charming Oliver was being toward everyone, including her friends, kept tingles running up and down her spine.

“Are you looking at Mrs. Fish?” Oliver suddenly asked, joining her at the window, his closeness bringing with him the scent of sandalwood.

Not turning her head a single inch, because that would have her face almost pressed up against his, Harriet peered into the darkness and smiled. Mrs. Fish was standing underneath a gas lamp in front of her house, the one Harriet and Oliver had visited only a few hours before, cradling Precious in her arms.

“I think she’s taking her cat for an evening stroll,” Oliver said before he leaned back and Harriet did the same.

“It was very touching how delighted she was to get her cat back,” she said.

Oliver patted her arm. “I found it very touching that you refused to take the reward she so very determinedly tried to give you.”