After a Fashion (A Class of Their Own #1)(89)

“Lady Victoria admitted to you she knocked Oliver down and then tried to kiss him.” Lucetta let out a snort. “Honestly, if someone ever tries to kiss my fiancé, if I ever get around to even entertaining the thought of finding one, well, I’m certainly not going to pat that someone on the back and try to soothe away their guilt with kind words.”

“If Oliver truly was my fiancé, I doubt I would have been as forgiving, but again, he’s not.”

“You hold him in affection,” Lucetta countered.

“Perhaps, but there’s no possible future for us. I’m simply going to take any affection I hold for the man and wrap it away much like I did with my mother’s gown. Maybe, when I’m feeling sentimental, I’ll pull out my memories of Oliver and sigh over them before I pack them away again.”

“That’s a bit of a maudlin thought,” Lucetta mumbled.

Harriet laughed. “I don’t intend on sighing over the gentleman very often, Lucetta. Starting up my own business is going to occupy most of my time.”

“True,” Millie said, “but enough about business and the relationship with Oliver that was destined to be doomed from the start. You have a ball to attend, and you need to keep your wits about you. You know you don’t have all the uses for that silverware down, and you certainly didn’t get much practice at Delmonico’s since you almost burned the place to the ground. And don’t even get me started on all the dance steps you’re going to have to remember from clear back in the day when your aunt made you take lessons. How long ago was that anyway?”

“Far too long, and thank you for reminding me,” Harriet muttered. “I forgot all about the dancing.”

“Which is somewhat odd, considering you’re going to a ball,” Lucetta said before she whipped the gown off the dress form, gave it a good shake and smiled. “You’ve done wonders in the small amount of time you had to redesign this.”

“I could hardly wear a gown tonight that was originally equipped to handle hoops—although, looking at it now, I probably should have used some of the excess fabric to shore up that bodice.”

“No sense worrying about it now,” Millie said, taking the dress from Lucetta and moving to Harriet’s side. “We’re losing track of time, and revealing bodice or not, we need to get you into this.”



Two hours later, Harriet stared at the reflection in the mirror, hardly able to believe the elegant and well-coifed lady staring back at her had recently worked as a milliner.

Her black hair had been swept to the top of her head and anchored in place with pins covered in tiny pearls. Soft tendrils of curls teased her cheek, and her face was slightly flushed, the color highlighting the fact her eyes had taken to twinkling.

She raised her hand and tugged up her neckline the best she could, the diamond bracelet Abigail had lent her sparkling in the reflection of the mirror. Abigail had also lent her the use of the matching necklace, and while the diamonds glittering back at her gave her a very regal appearance, Harriet knew it was simply an illusion.

She wouldn’t belong tonight—of that she was quite certain—but honor demanded she see the deal she’d struck with Oliver through to the end. Wearing the gown of her long-dead mother would also honor that mother, if only in Harriet’s mind. Perhaps, in the process, she could finally lay to rest all the resentment she’d unconsciously been holding against her mother, that resentment stemming from leaving Harriet all alone—except for Jane, a poor excuse for an aunt.

Maybe it was as Lucetta had suggested and God had sent her that odd dream where she saw herself wearing her mother’s gown. Perhaps He’d known she’d been harboring a hurt for most of her life, and by having her wear her mother’s gown, had given her a means to heal that hurt.

She took a moment to consider her reflection again, her hands smoothing down the fine silk. Her eyes misted with tears as she gazed at her mother’s gown, wondering how her mother must have looked wearing the dress, and wondering if her father had been the one to give the gown to her mother, perhaps as a token of his affection.

Brushing that ridiculous thought aside, given the reality of her mother’s situation, she nodded, just once.

“I hope I’ll make you proud tonight, Mother.”

Closing her eyes, she took a moment to pray, asking God to give her strength to see the night through to the very end.

“Ready?”

Harriet opened her eyes, felt the all-too-familiar feeling of terror seize hold of her, and turned from the mirror, finding Abigail marching determinedly into the room. Abigail stopped dead in her tracks, right as her mouth gaped open.

“Good heavens, child, you’re stunning.”

Harriet grinned. “Thank you, but I must admit I feel a bit like a fraud.”

“No fraud could look as beautiful as you do. Where in the world did you get such an original gown? Why, I haven’t seen that particular shade of purple for decades, but I must say, it suits you to perfection.”

Harriet ran a hand over the delicate silk. “It was my mother’s.”

“Your . . . mother’s?” Abigail repeated slowly, moving to her side and reaching out a hand to touch the fabric. “It’s very fine.”

“It is, and I’m fortunate that my aunt kept it so well-preserved all these years.”