Page 75 of West End Earl
“Let me guess—Emma is with child, and your Miss Hardwick stepped in to help?”
Cal nodded. “After I ruined everything. She’s well out of reach now. A relationship is impossible. It doesn’t really matter if I marry Violet Cuthbert or the onion seller on the corner. If I can’t marry who I want, I might as well save my father. Again, and for the last time.”
“I understand you’re distressed and wallowing, Cal. And truly, this is the most epic wallowing I’ve seen outside Drury Lane. But you’re talking nonsense.” Lottie wiped her fingers on a cloth serviette, with dainty motions that were at odds with her tone.
“It’s not nonsense. This is my life, and it’s a disaster.”
“Let me ask you something. Are Emma and your Miss Hardwick in love? Or at least lovers?”
Cal blinked. “Not that I know of.”
“Then what is stopping you from living with them and having a relationship while she plays the part of Adam in public?”
“You mean besides the fact that it’s a scandal waiting to happen?”
“So? Speaking as a former scandal, I can tell you it isn’t that bad when you’re with the right person.”
That hadn’t been his experience. As a child he’d dealt with the whispers, the drama. Boys at Eton had been merciless with their tormenting. Developing a carefree facade had been vital to his survival. If you pretended none of it mattered, it stole the fun out of it, and the boys eventually found other targets. In reality, each barb only reminded him of the truth—his parents didn’t care. He and Emma weren’t enough reason to be civil or to live separate lives so their relationship wasn’t constantly under discussion by all of society.
As an adult, he’d done what he could—and sometimes more than he should—to protect Emma from the lasting consequences of their parents’ choices. Given her the best chances at a good match. Tried to handle everything, until he felt like a performer he’d once seen at a traveling fair who’d managed to juggle a knife, a ball, and a shoe from a child in the crowd.
“If anyone is qualified at handling scandals, it’s you. You’ve been training your entire life for this, and here you are, pouting in your library, instead of doing whatever you need to do to get into her good graces.”
“I won’t ever have heirs.” The protestation sounded weak, but a lightening in the pressure near his heart felt an awful lot like hope.
Lottie shrugged. “Everything entailed reverts to the crown. Our new king could use the boost in his coffers. You know his divorce from Queen Caroline must be bleeding him dry. If the earldom means more to you than Miss Hardwick, you don’t deserve her, anyway.”
Cal felt his mouth go slack. “You make it sound simple.”
Lottie reached for the leather satchel Higgins had brought in earlier. Reading the note attached, she arched a brow. “Wedding contracts, I assume?”
He nodded.
“It is simple. Burn them. Then go get your woman and tell her you’ll do absolutely anything to live out the rest of your days with her. Pass along my condolences to Miss Cuthbert on the loss of her handsome fiancé.” Lottie kissed his forehead in a sisterly gesture that struck him as both sweet and patronizing. “And next time my husband calls, please don’t turn him away. You are surrounded by people who love you and want to help you, if only you’ll let us.”
Lottie set the leather satchel, heavy with papers, in his lap. The door closed behind her, leaving Cal and the tempting flames crackling in the hearth.
Chapter Twenty-Five
After a night of tossing and turning, examining Lottie’s words from every angle, Cal finally came to a decision as dawn broke across the rooftops of London. With the resolution, he felt at peace for the first time in weeks. The solution had been simple, just as Lottie had said. Sometimes it took an outside perspective to help when one found himself stuck in a pit of his own making.
A handsome face was currency for his father, who’d always encouraged Cal to marry someone highborn, rich, and connected. Eastly himself had been using his looks to get what he wanted for his entire life.
Unfortunately, the marquess’s willingness to take advantage of those around him didn’t have a bottom. The more Cal gave, the more Eastly would take. It was simple math, and the sum would never be in Cal’s favor if he continued to do his father’s bidding.
At some point, there had to be an end to it all. He desperately hoped Phee would be at the center of that happiness, but even if she never forgave him, Cal had to try. One thing was certain: playing his father’s games would never lead to anything good.
After that bit of soul searching, he’d slept like the dead until Kingston woke him with coffee and a gentle reminder of the time. The coffee scalded his throat as he dressed in a hurry, bypassing his usual morning rituals.
Searching for a ribbon to tie back his hair, Cal opened the drawer in the table beside his bed. A piece of wood rolled forward and clunked against his knuckles.
Lifting it slowly, Cal caught his breath.
She’d left him the bird. Each feather was carved with exquisite detail, capturing the beauty of flight with wings outstretched. Before Lakeview, Phee had confessed that she’d carved a bird because she wanted to fly away.
And she had, hadn’t she? Phee had flown. She’d found a way to be free.
He was the one in a cage.
