After a Fashion (A Class of Their Own #1)(8)
He was Oliver Addleshaw after all, and once Miss Birmingham remembered that, he was fairly certain she’d miraculously turn back into the sweet and demure young lady he’d thought he’d invited to spend time with him in New York.
Ladies had been trying for years to capture his attention, doing outlandish things in order to win his favor, which is why he’d finally resorted to creating a list a few years back. He’d hoped that by writing down exact characteristics he demanded in a lady, he’d avoid situations of an unpleasant nature.
It was rapidly becoming clear that even though he’d written things like pleasing appearance and demeanor, ladylike behavior at all times, and socially acceptable birth, his list was not helping him in the least in selecting an appropriate lady, even one he only needed to briefly spend time with as he negotiated a business deal.
He obviously needed to come up with another plan, and now that Miss Birmingham was not going to be around to help him with the Duke of Westmoore, he was going to have to come up with that plan somewhat quickly.
Miss Peabody waved her hand in front of his face. “I do so hate to interrupt what must be a riveting conversation you’re holding in your head,” she exclaimed, “but if you’ve neglected to notice, Miss Birmingham is trying to get out of the carriage. If you’ve forgotten, she’s not exactly modestly dressed.” She lowered her voice. “Your servants are pressed against the windows, sir, and I doubt it will help the young lady’s reputation if people get an eyeful of her in her current state of dishabille.”
Unable to help but wonder how a hat lady came to use a word like dishabille, Oliver opened his mouth, but before he could question her, the sound of fists beating against the carriage door drew his attention and had him moving up to the carriage. Miss Birmingham glared back at him, her features a little blurry from the fog covering the window. The fog thickened when she began yelling at him through the glass.
“Miss Birmingham,” he called through the door, “you will cease your tirade immediately.”
“Or what?” she yelled back.
Several ideas immediately popped to mind, none of them remotely achievable, but before he could summon up a suitable response, Miss Peabody let out a small yelp and lurched out of his sight just as her spot was taken by none other than Mrs. Birmingham.
Settling his gaze on the older woman, he noticed that her face was mottled with rage, but that rage, strangely enough, was not directed at her daughter but at Miss Peabody, who was slowly inching away from them.
“Explain yourself!” Mrs. Birmingham demanded. “What possible reason could you have for laying your filthy hands on my daughter?”
Miss Peabody lifted a gloved hand, considered it briefly, and then looked Mrs. Birmingham directly in the eye. “Since your daughter was outside dressed only in her unmentionables, I thought it might be prudent to get her out of the open before she suffered irreparable harm to her reputation.”
Mrs. Birmingham drew herself up. “It is not the place for someone like you to contemplate my daughter’s reputation. You mark my words, girl, Mrs. Fienman will hear about your unacceptable behavior before this day is through. I guarantee you that after I’ve had my say, you’ll no longer be in possession of a position.”
Miss Peabody’s shoulders sagged ever so slightly, but then she lifted her chin. “It is certainly your right to speak to Mrs. Fienman. You evidently believe I abused your daughter, although by the knot I currently have forming on my head, it’s debatable who was actually abused.”
Miss Peabody began to fiddle with the clasp of a reticule looped around her wrist. She extracted a piece of paper from it and extended it to Mrs. Birmingham. “Since you’ve stated you intend to seek out Mrs. Fienman today, allow me to present you with the bill for the hats your daughter ordered. Mrs. Fienman will appreciate prompt payment. In fact, she expects nothing less.”
A small bit of admiration stole through Oliver as he regarded Miss Peabody. There were not many ladies he knew who would brave additional wrath from an irate mother in order to attempt to collect on a bill, but Miss Peabody seemed to have no qualms about what she was doing.
His admiration was immediately replaced with anger when Mrs. Birmingham reached out and slapped Miss Peabody’s hand. The bill fluttered to the ground and landed in the midst of a puddle of water.
Oliver stepped forward, intent on rescuing the bill, but Miss Peabody beat him to it. She snagged the paper, gave it a vigorous shake, and then, as calm as you please, thrust it once again in Mrs. Birmingham’s direction.
Mrs. Birmingham seemed to swell on the spot. “Put that away. I’ve no intention of paying that bill, especially not after your reprehensible behavior toward my Lily.”
Miss Peabody’s hand didn’t waver. “My ‘reprehensible behavior’ has nothing whatsoever to do with this bill.”
“Your impertinence is astonishing, and because of it, your employer won’t see a penny from me. In fact, I do believe I’m going to demand Mrs. Fienman hold you responsible for the full amount of the bill.”
Miss Peabody looked at the bill and began muttering what sounded like numbers under her breath even as her face began to pale. Oliver heard her whisper, “That would take about three years of my wages,” before she squared her shoulders and nodded. “Fine, do that.”
The very idea that the young lady was even contemplating accepting Mrs. Birmingham’s outlandish suggestion had protective instincts Oliver hadn’t been aware he possessed roaring to life. He stepped closer to Miss Peabody and held out his hand. “You may give the bill to me, Miss Peabody. I’ll take responsibility for it.”