After a Fashion (A Class of Their Own #1)(84)
Dropping his hold on Harriet’s arm, he managed to catch Lady Victoria before she hit the hard sidewalk, and the second he lifted her up into his arms, her arms snaked around his neck. Tucking her face into his shoulder, she began sobbing . . . dramatically.
“I . . . need you . . . to take me . . . back to the hotel,” she managed to get out between sobs.
Just when Oliver was about to hand the young lady off to her father, who’d stepped up to them, Lady Victoria tightened her grip around his neck and wouldn’t let go.
“You should escort Lady Victoria and His Grace back to their hotel,” Harriet said firmly.
The last thing Oliver wanted to do was leave Harriet, given that she’d just set a restaurant on fire and had to be experiencing at least a little bit of emotional distress. Not that she was showing that distress, but . . .
Lady Victoria began coughing again, rather violently at that, and realizing she probably should be taken back to the hotel sooner than later, he sent Harriet a frown, which she ignored, and then followed the duke to a carriage that had just pulled up next to the curb. He suddenly found it a little difficult to breathe, and not because of the smoke he’d recently sucked in, but rather because Lady Victoria had a death grip around his neck and was efficiently choking him. He helped her get settled on the seat, but as soon as the carriage jolted into motion she dissolved into sobbing once again, and didn’t stop until they reached the Fifth Avenue Hotel.
Helping Lady Victoria out of the carriage, Oliver took hold of her arm and managed to get her up to her suite of rooms with the duke leading the way. He had no idea what was expected of him after he got Lady Victoria into a chair but took a seat in the chair she was pointing to in the hopes of sparing everyone another bout of weeping.
“Would you stay with her while I go have management summon a physician?” the duke asked.
Alarm was immediate. “Are you sure that’s wise?”
The duke actually smiled. “I trust you, Mr. Addleshaw, and Victoria’s mother is sleeping in a connecting room. I assure you, it’s completely proper.” With that, the duke disappeared, leaving Oliver alone with Lady Victoria.
Unfortunately, Lady Victoria didn’t seem to have propriety on her mind. She waited just until her father vanished from sight before she . . . pounced.
He suddenly found himself knocked out of his chair and on the ground, before Lady Victoria plopped down right on top of him.
“What in the world are you doing?” was all he could think to ask.
“I’ve come all this way, under the misimpression that you were eligible, but since your fiancée behaved so poorly this evening by ruining our dinner, I have to believe you’ve had a change of heart in regard to her, so . . .”
Before Oliver could utter a single protest, Lady Victoria leaned forward and tried to kiss him, even though he turned his head to avoid her lips. Evidently being a somewhat determined sort, she tried again, right as her father reentered the room.
The next day, Oliver jumped off his horse and handed the reins to a waiting groom, enjoying the feel of the sun on his face as he walked to the front of Abigail’s brownstone. His stride lengthened as his desire to see Harriet increased, and he reached the front door quickly, blinking in surprise when Abigail opened it.
“I was expecting you hours ago.”
Oliver took Abigail’s hand, kissed it, and frowned. “It’s not quite eleven in the morning, and in case you’ve forgotten, I do have a business to run. I’ve spent the morning with an earnest young gentleman by the name of Mr. Harrison Simmons who has agreed to go to West Virginia for me and settle the disturbing situation that’s transpiring there due to the inadequacies of Mr. Ruff.”
When Abigail looked as if she were about to begin arguing, he continued, “I was here last night, trying to see Harriet, but your butler informed me you weren’t accepting callers and wouldn’t allow me to step through the door.” He smiled. “So there’s absolutely no reason for you to lecture me, Abigail, and again, it’s still morning.”
Abigail muttered something under her breath before she pulled him into the house and began striding down a long hallway.
“Where are we going?” he asked, breaking into a trot in order to keep up with her.
“I need to speak with you privately.” Abigail made an abrupt turn to the right and plowed forward through a dreary-looking parlor filled with dark furniture. She looked somewhat stealthily over her shoulder before she pulled a book from a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf, which caused the bookshelf to open up to reveal a door. Placing her finger over her lips, she ushered him forward into a cheerful room decorated with green silk on the walls and furniture upholstered in yellow.
“This is my personal parlor,” she explained, gesturing him toward a chair by the window that was now so clean it sparkled. “When my daughter was young, we used to spend hours here, reading and chatting, and . . .” A flash of what looked to be regret flickered through Abigail’s eyes, but then she blinked, and it disappeared right as she took a seat. “So . . . do you have much to discuss with me regarding the duke and his daughter?”
Oliver lowered himself into the chair. “I do have much to discuss, not that it centers around the duke and Lady Victoria, though. I was hoping to talk to Harriet last night, but as I mentioned before, your butler wouldn’t let me.”