After a Fashion (A Class of Their Own #1)(91)
“Where did you get this ring?”
Harriet pushed her less-than-helpful thoughts aside. “Abigail lent it to me. She thought people will expect me to be wearing an engagement ring.”
“I do beg your pardon, Harriet. I never once thought about getting you a ring.”
“Again, we’re not really engaged, and besides, you’ve had quite a bit on your mind of late, so it’s perfectly understandable why you didn’t think of it.”
“But . . . still . . . you deserved a ring.”
“And now I have one, if only for tonight.”
Oliver smiled. “You really are an extraordinary lady, Miss Harriet Peabody. Now, would you do me the supreme honor of joining me in the receiving line where ladies are certain to remark on that lovely dress of yours, and gentlemen are certain to drive me mad by lingering over your hand for an inappropriately long period of time?”
He really was going to have to turn down the charm or else . . .
Drawing in a deep breath, Harriet slowly released it and then took the arm he was offering her. Tears blinded her for just a moment as he escorted her down the hall, the knowledge that this was going to be the last night she spent in Oliver’s company causing her heart to break just a touch. Blinking the tears away, she squared her shoulders and made a promise to herself as they drew closer to the ballroom. She was going to enjoy this night with the gentleman by her side because, quite honestly, she would probably never experience another night like this for the rest of her life.
20
Gentlemen were lingering far too long over Harriet’s hand.
Oliver had known the moment he’d seen her tonight that it would be a strong possibility the gentlemen of New York would take an immediate interest in her, but he hadn’t been expecting their interest to cause him quite so much irritation.
That troubling business was probably what was behind him proclaiming to each and every guest they’d greeted so far the fact that Harriet was his fiancée in what sounded like a remarkably possessive tone of voice. That circumstance had caused Harriet to send him more than one disbelieving look, while Abigail, on the other hand, kept sending him smiles of pure delight.
He had no idea when he’d turned into a possessive sort, but he had the sneaking suspicion it might have occurred when the first guest, a Mr. Matthew Prescott, walked into the room, took one look at Harriet, and had almost begun to froth at the mouth.
Unfortunately, Mr. Prescott had not been the exception with that troubling reaction. Oliver had been forced to stand by and watch as gentleman after gentleman barely took the time to acknowledge him before moving on to Harriet, where each and every one of them had proceeded to ogle her.
Did they not remember that it was hardly appropriate to meet a lady for the first time, and be told said lady was firmly off the market, and yet still direct their attention to the lady’s all-too-obvious charms? Quite frankly, he’d been considering covering up those charms with his handkerchief, or better yet, hiding them underneath his coat, which he certainly wouldn’t mind shucking off to give her.
“You’re glowering again,” Abigail whispered, stepping to his side and giving him a sharp rap with the fan she was clutching.
“Can you blame me?”
Abigail shot a look to Harriet who was having her hand accosted by an earnest young gentleman by the name of Mr. Richmond Sprout. “Not in the least, dear, but you really should try to control that temper of yours. The last thing we need this evening is for you to punch someone.”
“That thought never entered my head.”
“Of course it did, but I find it rather sweet.” Abigail sent him a wink, turned, and smiled. “Ah, there you are, Mr. Mulberry, and I see you’ve brought the always delightful Miss Dixon with you.” She craned her neck and looked past them. “May I hope you’re the last to arrive?”
Everett stepped forward and kissed Abigail’s gloved hand. “I do beg your pardon, Mrs. Hart, for being somewhat tardy. Miss Dixon couldn’t quite decide what to wear tonight, and I fear that has made us a trifle late.”
“We’re hardly late,” Miss Dixon snapped. “And it’s hardly appropriate for you to disclose such personal information about me.” She nodded to Abigail. “I’m impressed by how quickly you pulled this together, Mrs. Hart. Why, I was worried no one would respond to your invitation, given that there was not even a week’s notice, let alone the customary three. It would seem I was mistaken, and I could not be more delighted.”
Oliver was fairly sure Miss Dixon was more disappointed not to witness Abigail’s failure than delighted by her success, but since she was the lady Everett seemed determined to continue on with, he kept his thoughts to himself and glanced to Harriet for a distraction.
Temper began to simmer when he realized that Mr. Sprout was still dawdling over Harriet’s hand, bending forward as his lips lingered on her glove, his gaze focused on the front of her low-cut bodice.
Reaching out, he snagged Harriet by the shoulder and pulled her close to him, leaving Mr. Sprout with no option but to release the hand he’d been clutching, his lips still puckered but now finding nothing more than thin air to touch. Oliver narrowed his eyes at the gentleman, satisfaction flowing over him when Mr. Sprout blinked, straightened, and hurried in the opposite direction.