Free After a Fashion by Jen Turano Page B

suitor, nor is Buford his dog.”
    Mrs. Palmer drew herself up. “If he’s not your suitor and that isn’t his dog, who owns that fancy carriage and what were you doing in it, and . . . who is responsible for that dog?”
    It really was unfortunate that Mr. Birmingham had descended on Oliver before they’d been able to talk everything through. As it stood now, she truly had no idea what story she was supposed to tell people. Harriet forced a smile. “An . . . ah . . . acquaintance of mine wanted me to watch Buford for a day or two, and that acquaintance kindly provided me with a means to get home.”
    Mrs. Palmer gestured to the carriage that was, thankfully, trundling off down the street. “That’s a wealthy man’s carriage, my dear, which means you’ve gotten yourself into some sort of mischief.”
    Heat, no doubt the result of Mrs. Palmer’s speculation, spread over her cheeks. “I fear your imagination is getting away from you, Mrs. Palmer. I have not gotten into mischief, not exactly, and I assure you, there’s no reason for you to be concerned about me.” Pretending not to notice the clear doubt on Mrs. Palmer’s face, she called to Buford, amazed when the dog actually lumbered to her side. “Now then, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get Buford inside before it starts raining again.”
    “There’s still time for you to come to your senses.”
    Since Harriet had been thinking the same thing on the ride from Oliver’s house, she didn’t see the point in arguing. Instead,she kept the smile firmly on her face and nodded at her landlady. “I’ll keep that in mind, Mrs. Palmer, but I must get Buford inside and rummage up something for him to eat. I think he may be hungry.” She lowered her voice. “We wouldn’t want him to get tempted by those little darlings of yours, would we?”
    “It doesn’t speak well of this acquaintance of yours that he gave you his dog to watch over but didn’t provide any food for it.”
    “I never said my acquaintance was a gentleman.”
    “You didn’t have to, dear.” Mrs. Palmer turned and began walking to the door. “Stay there. I’ll get you something to feed the dog.” She disappeared into the house, with her yippers scampering around her feet, and reappeared a moment later carrying a dented pot.
    Buford moved closer to Mrs. Palmer and sniffed the air.
    Mrs. Palmer smiled down at him before looking at Harriet. “Here are some scraps I got from the butcher. You’re welcome to them.”
    Guilt stole over Harriet as she accepted the pot, knowing that even though Mrs. Palmer owned the house and charged all her tenants rent, she didn’t charge much and was almost certainly short on funds. Recalling, however, that she had a fortune tucked away in her reticule, Harriet’s guilt slipped away.
    “Thank you, Mrs. Palmer. I do appreciate it, and I’ll be certain to refill the pot tonight and drop it off if I see your light on when I get home from dinner.”
    “You’re going out to dinner? With the gentleman who owns that carriage?”
    “I’m not going out with him. I’m—”
    “So it is a gentleman.”
    Harriet refused to sigh. “I’m going out to dinner with Millie and Lucetta. It’s my birthday, you see, and we’re going to Mort’s, which means I’ll certainly be able to refill your pot with leftover scraps from our meal.”
    “Where are you getting the money to splurge at Mort’s?”
    “I’ve been saving up.”
    “A likely story.”
    Realizing she was in the midst of a battle she couldn’t win, Harriet stepped off the stoop. “I’ll bring the pot back soon, Mrs. Palmer. Buford. Come on, boy.”
    Rounding the corner of the boardinghouse, even as Mrs. Palmer’s dire predictions followed her, Harriet reached the rickety steps leading up to the small rooms she shared with her friends. Mindful of the slick surface, she began to climb. “Watch your paws,” she said to Buford when they reached the second floor. She turned to check on his