“My sister has already said she’d be happy to watch her for you. And it doesn’t have to be more than a couple of hours.”
His eagerness and the fact that he’d already started planning for it put Harriet on edge. She glanced at him and wondered once more if he might have realized she wasn’t male after all. Probably not, or he would have said something now while they were alone. Wouldn’t he?
She shook her head. Oliver was a likeable man, easy to talk to, helpful and considerate. Working with him was a pleasure since he consistently seemed to be one step ahead of her, always aware of what she needed and when. If he truly believed her to be his best mate, she ought to be flattered, not suspicious.
“I’ll have to think about it,” she said, deliberately stalling for time. Considering the position she was in, it was imperative she think of all that might go wrong for her if she went out with him. “Lucy will also have to agree to being watched by someone she doesn’t know.”
“Of course. I understand.” He flung his free arm around Harriet’s shoulder and gave her a quick sideways squeeze. “If you tell her my sister makes excellent crepes, I’m sure she’ll agree.”
Harriet grinned. It was nice having a friend like Oliver, and it felt good being referred to as someone’s best mate. For too long, she’d felt so abandoned and alone. Knowing Oliver, James, and Matthew could be relied on if she needed help was a blessing.
“I’m sure you’re correct,” Harriet said. “But I’ll want to meet your sister first, if that’s all right.”
“Sure thing.” Oliver withdrew his arm and sent her a broad smile. “Let me know when and I’ll make it happen. Will give us a chance to discuss Mary Wilkes.”
Harriet instinctively rolled her eyes and groaned in response to the mention of the girl Mr. Hudson employed as a cleaning lady “I’d rather not.”
“You know she fancies you, right?”
“I do.” She’d have to be blind and deaf to be unaware of the fact since Mary wasn’t the least bit subtle.
“So why don’t you make your move, Harry?”
“Make my move?” Harriet had no desire to venture down this conversational path.
Unfortunately, Oliver was quite determined. “I saw your expression when James mentioned the brothel and we were talking about our experiences of that nature. Made me realize you might not have much. Which is nothing to be embarrassed about, I assure you.”
“To be honest,” Harriet muttered, her face turning hot with discomfort, “I’ve more important things to consider.”
“Most people do, but that doesn’t mean you can’t make time for yourself on occasion. And Mary’s extremely pretty. Shapely too. Don’t you think?”
“Certainly, but I’m not in the business of taking a young woman’s innocence.”
Oliver snorted. “That girl is about as innocent as a seasoned courtesan. Mark my word, you’ll not be her first or even her second. That’s for sure.”
Harriet struggled to keep the shock from her voice when she asked, “How on earth do you know that?”
“Saw her with David Bates last week in the back alley. Seemed to be having a jolly good time, if you know what I mean.”
Baffled and slightly disgusted, Harriet shook her head. “In other words, she’s giving herself to other men while pursuing me?”
“What can I say? Men aren’t the only ones with needs of that nature.”
Increasingly concerned about having to chat about this at greater length, Harriet regretted agreeing to speak with Lucy about going out with Oliver one evening. But at least her sister could serve as a reason for her to decline. Something could always come up, like a tummy ache or an unwillingness to sacrifice one precious evening with Harriet.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Harriet said when they reached the next street corner where she would turn right while Oliver continued for two more blocks.
“Have a good evening.” His arm came around her, drawing her into a tight embrace before letting her go. “Get some rest.”
“You too,” she said before stepping down from the pavement and crossing the street. The bakery up ahead would provide the pies she intended to purchase for supper.
“How was your day?” she asked Lucy when she returned to their lodgings.
“Boring as usual,” Lucy complained. She sat at the table – the only other piece of furniture present besides two chairs and their beds – reading the book Harriet’s friend Emily Brooke had provided during their last book club meeting.
Harriet had learned of the meetings from Ada Quinn, whose acquaintance she’d made in childhood. They’d grown up near the same village, so they’d met every Sunday at church. As they’d grown up, their friendship had deepened. They’d kept in touch after Ada’s father died and she’d moved to London. When Harriet herself had arrived a few years later, she’d sought her out.
At Ada’s insistence, Harriet had joined her for one of the book club meetings, which took place the first Saturday morning of every month and was started by Emily, a viscount’s daughter and the most upper-class person Harriet knew. Initially, Harriet’s short hair had caused a bit of a stir in the group, but her explanation pertaining to practicality had apparently made enough sense for the issue to quickly be dropped.
