After a Fashion (A Class of Their Own #1)(96)
“I’m not actually that worried about it,” he said, slowing his steps to a stop when they reached the duke and Victoria, who clearly hadn’t gone to wait for her father in the hallway.
Drawing in a breath, Harriet lifted her head to meet the duke’s gaze, but found him looking not at her face but . . .
“Miss Peabody, where in the world did you get that gown?” he demanded.
Of all the words she’d been expecting to come out of the duke’s mouth, those hadn’t come close. “My . . . ah . . . aunt gave it to me.”
“How did she come by it?”
Confusion, mixed with a hefty dose of alarm, swirled over Harriet. By the distinct edge in the duke’s voice, she knew something was dreadfully amiss, but rather than speculate on what that could be, she decided on the spot that her best, and perhaps only option, was to direct the conversation to the one person who might have some answers. “Excuse me for a moment, Your Grace,” she said.
Sending Oliver what she hoped was a reassuring smile as she withdrew her hand from his arm, she began marching across the eerily silent ballroom, determined to reach her aunt as quickly as possible. Unfortunately, Jane was no longer hiding behind Silas but was winding her way through the crowd, her goal apparently being that of making a hasty escape. Harriet took off after her, breaking into a run when Jane looked over her shoulder and then picked up her skirt and dashed forward. Snagging hold of Jane’s arm right as her aunt reached a door leading to the servant stairs, Harriet pulled her to a stop.
“Since you obviously came to the ball this evening for the purpose of being introduced to society, you should be thrilled beyond measure that I, being your dutiful niece, am now going to fulfill your every dream by introducing you to a real live duke,” Harriet said.
“I’ve changed my mind,” Jane snapped, trying to tug out of Harriet’s hold. When Harriet wouldn’t let go, Jane resorted to kicking her, hard.
Digging her fingers into Jane’s arm, Harriet began hauling her forward. “I’m not letting you slip out of whatever this is, Jane, so you might as well stop struggling. Tell me, before we reach the duke, why is he so interested in my dress?” she asked as Jane tried to kick her again.
“Let go of me, or I swear, you’re going to regret it.”
“I’m fairly sure I don’t have much left to regret, thanks to you and Silas,” Harriet said, pulling her aunt forward another few feet before a lady’s voice suddenly rang out, stopping Harriet in her tracks.
“Good heavens! Is that you, Jane?”
Keeping a hand on Jane’s arm, even though her aunt had stopped struggling, Harriet lifted her head and settled her attention on a beautiful lady who was framed in the doorway leading into the ballroom. She was dressed in an exquisite gown that could have been made by no other designer but Worth, and a tiara nestled in her dark, elaborately styled curls. When the duke moved to join the lady, Harriet realized she was looking at the duchess.
But . . . how in the world did the Duchess of Westmoore know her aunt, and . . . why did the duchess’s face seem so familiar . . . and . . . why was a distinct feeling of queasiness beginning to settle in the pit of her stomach?
The room began to swim out of focus, but then Jane shrugged away from Harriet and walked not for the back door but directly across the ballroom and toward the duchess, spreading out her arms in a gesture of welcome.
“Margaret, my goodness but this is an absolute delight. Why, I haven’t seen you for an age,” Jane gushed in an accent that was distinctly British. “I had no idea you were expected in town.”
Silas suddenly stepped out of the crowd, moved to stand in front of the duchess, bowed and then turned to Jane. “My, my, Miss Peabody, you have been busy over the years, haven’t you, but tell me . . . how are you acquainted with the Duchess of Westmoore? Old friends, are you?”
The duchess lifted her chin. “Forgive me, sir, but did you just call Jane . . . Miss Peabody?”
Silas laughed. “Should I assume that’s not her name?”
Before she could answer him, Oliver took Silas by the arm and hauled him out of the way, leaving Jane standing by herself, facing the duchess.
“When did you change your name from Waldburger to Peabody?” Margaret asked.
Jane let out an honest-to-goodness giggle. “You must remember that I never cared for the name Waldburger, and I always thought Peabody had a certain charm.”
“It was the name of one of my dogs.”
“So it was.” Jane giggled again. “Now then, dear Margaret, while I’d love to catch up with you on everything that’s been happening in your life over the past twenty or so years, I just recalled a most pressing appointment that I simply must keep. I’m afraid my niece and I must take our immediate leave.”
“I wasn’t aware you had a niece, Jane. Since you’re going by the title of Miss, I would have to imagine you never married, and since you’re an only child . . . ?”
“Harriet’s more of an honorary niece,” Jane said in a rush, “and although I’d welcome the chance to introduce the two of you . . . she’s a shy sort and would die of embarrassment to be introduced to a duchess. But again, I do have that pressing engagement, so I really must get on my way.” Jane spun around, trotted across the ballroom floor, snagged hold of Harriet’s arm when she reached her, and proceeded to try to drag Harriet out of the room.