Page 74 of West End Earl
From the doorway, Higgins cleared his throat. “These arrived via messenger from your solicitor, milord.”
Cal glanced over his shoulder. Higgins held a brown leather satchel. Probably the wedding contracts. “Set it on the chair. And post this letter to my sister. Thank you, Higgins.”
Cal faced the window again, taking in the view but seeing nothing.
Higgins cleared his throat. “May I get you anything, milord? Coffee? A tray of food? Cook would love to send some of her ginger cakes, I’m sure.”
“No, thank you.” A leaf skittered by on the pavement, propelled by a breeze as it trailed along Hill Street. Down the lane, a child’s laughter echoed off the stone buildings. Cal felt no more connected to the world beyond the windowpane than to the one inside his house. As if he’d separated from his body and now remained blessedly numb. Numbness had to be better than hollow pain.
The door closed, and the library fell quiet once more. Ethan had called earlier in the day, but Cal had put him off, needing to write the letter to his sister before he lost the nerve. Something about telling Emma, and by extension, Phee, made the situation too real. Here in his library, hiding from the world, he could pretend his engagement was hypothetical or another tall tale he’d share over brandy.Remember that time Eastly traded me for a horse, and I outmaneuvered him?
Once that letter was posted, it would all be real. He would marry Violet Cuthbert so the lives and properties of his father’s tenants would continue undisturbed, and Eastly would gain a racehorse he didn’t know what to do with. The idiocy of it all was so overwhelming yet melded rather perfectly with this undeniably depressive turn his life had taken.
When the wood door rasped against the floor again, Cal sighed. The servants were concerned; he understood that. But this hovering about him like a bunch of nursemaids needed to stop. “What now, Higgins?”
“My husband is worried about you, which is inconvenient for me. And when it’s inconvenient for me, it becomes your problem.” Lottie didn’t wait for an invitation. She sailed in on a lemon-scented breeze, then took a seat by his fireplace. Cal couldn’t help but straighten his posture when she snapped, “Take a seat, Calvin. If you wanted sweetness and light, you shouldn’t have turned away Ethan this morning. Now you have to deal with me, and I have enough on my plate without worrying about your pretty little head as well. Sit.”
He sat. The path of least resistance was often the smarter option with Lady Amesbury.
“You look like hell, you haven’t seen Ethan in days, and everyone is concerned for you. Ring for brandy or coffee or whatever will get you talking. Because this is ridiculous.” She motioned toward Cal’s general person.
Higgins entered with a cart. He must have scuttled off for refreshments the minute Lady Amesbury arrived. Never mind that the master of the blasted house had left strict instructions barring visitors. Lottie’s smile and murmured thanks to his butler confirmed his suspicions. They were plotting against him, but Cal couldn’t make himself care beyond a faint stirring of indignation.
Pouring with a serene expression, she handed him a cup and saucer, then bit into a small frosted ginger cake. She settled deeper into the chair. “Now, talk.”
Cal took a sip of the coffee. Like everything else recently, it inspired neither appreciation nor satisfaction. It was just brown bean water that helped him stay alert until he could retire for the day and stare at his bedroom ceiling. “I’m fine,” he lied.
Her snort wasn’t delicate or amused. “Try again, but make an attempt at honesty this time.”
The cake didn’t tempt him in the least, but he took a bite to avoid answering for a few seconds. Words gathered in his throat, turning the sweet treat to ash. “I’m getting married.”
Lottie froze with her fork halfway to her mouth. “I beg your pardon? To whom? And how did we not know you were courting?”
“Violet Cuthbert, daughter of Baron Rosehurst. My father traded me for a horse. Ethan might have told you about that a few months ago. Well, it’s come down to it. I can’t escape the situation.”
If Lottie rolled her eyes any harder, they’d stick, and she’d be staring at her own brain forever. “Calvin, darling. Yes, you’re beautiful, but I also know you’re uncommonly intelligent. Others might not give you credit for that, but I know. You arenota damsel in distress, so stop acting like it.”
“What are you talking about?” Cal’s question was automatic, but her statement stung. All his life, he’d garnered praise for his looks—something entirely out of his control. Not once had he gained notoriety for competently handling his family’s affairs or making his own fortune on the Exchange and through investments.
“You’re handsome, titled, rich, and wickedly smart. Stop standing on the sideline of your own life and take charge, for God’s sake. Your father is an arse and a grown man. His consequences are his, and the natural result of his actions. Those problems are only yours to deal with if you take that responsibility on yourself.” Lottie’s voice was firm, her focus on him unshakable, and for a moment, Cal envied Ethan. To have such a partner in your life, an equal and a fighter, must be amazing. That Phee had been all those things wasn’t lost on him.
“It’s myfather. He’ll be ruined if I don’t do this.”
She made a dismissive noise in his general direction, then took a sip from her cup. “Nonsense. The Eastly title has the entailed estate, which will provide an income if he doesn’t make an utter hash of it. Even if he sells off literally everything else, he will still be head and shoulders ahead of the average British citizen. To whine about his lot only shows what a spoiled brat he is.”
Cal’s chuckle sounded rusty, but it felt good to laugh. Lottie had a point, and as usual, she happily speared anyone’s argument with an arsenal of logic.
Unfortunately, she was also acutely observant. She narrowed her eyes. “This level of grime and sloth isn’t due to your father’s latest misfortune. There’s a woman involved. Who is she?”
All the fight seeped from him, and he slumped in the chair. His chest went tight, and Cal wondered for a moment if breath would simply stop under the weight of his emotions. “You remember Adam Hardwick?”
She blinked. “I didn’t know your interests leaned that direction. But if that’s where your heart lies, I see the problem. Being in love with your brother-in-law is problematic at best.”
“Adam was a twin. His sister, Ophelia—Phee—took his place when he died.” He couldn’t say more, because saying her name aloud made his heart race.
Lottie cocked her head, considering. “That explains so much. I wonder why I didn’t see it.”
“People see what you tell them to see. At least, that’s what Phee says.”
