Page 9 of West End Earl
It was official. Calvin wanted to throw Roxbury into the Thames just so he could enjoy his coffee and toast in peace.
Cal had called on the bounder four different times and each time had been told at the door that he wasn’t home. He’d looked for him at the club but come up empty. Roxbury always seemed to show up and call on Emma when Cal was out of the house, so he’d managed to take Emma for a drive several times over the last few weeks. When Cal instructed the servants to turn the man away, Emma bumped into Roxbury while out shopping, or at the museum with her Saint Albans friends. There was no escaping it—Cal was being outmaneuvered.
With such focused attention from Roxbury, everyone suspected an offer would be imminent.
Like hell. If there were even the slightest chance the man’s intentions toward Emma were honorable, Cal might wish them happy. But he’d bet the pot of Cook’s delicious strawberry jam in his hand that Roxbury was only toying with Emma. Entirely unacceptable.
The talk had to happen today. Even if he needed to run the man to ground like a fox, Cal would finally have a one-on-one discussion with the reprobate. Then perhaps he wouldn’t have to sit at breakfast enduring yet another monologue on Roxbury’s charms.
Reaching the end of his patience, Cal threw his serviette onto the table and grabbed his cup. “Excuse me.”
Coffee in hand, he marched down the hall, past the library, and through the front doors and kept walking across a narrow lane to the residence of his best friend Ethan and his wife, Lottie. Dawson, their butler, would be horrified if he simply went inside, so Cal knocked, then took a sip of his steaming coffee while he waited. The street wasn’t too busy yet, but a man pushing a cart of wooden crates gave Cal a questioning look as he walked by.
Because of the exceptionally long term of Parliament, the newlyweds had spent more time in Town this year. Typically, Lord and Lady Amesbury preferred the country, doing whatever country dwellers did. Something to do with sheep and hops—that was what he’d say if Ethan asked him to explain the workings of their estate. Cal knew damn well Woodrest crafted delicious ale and would eventually sell to the finest houses in London.
Building a production and retail endeavor from the ground up with Ethan had been a unique challenge. Their efforts were looking to pay off nicely as long as this year’s crop yielded the projected harvest. Not that Cal ever willingly or enthusiastically discussed such things. Ethan and Lottie could go on and on about crop rotation and not even notice that Cal was on the verge of dying of boredom. That was why he handled the business side of things—because playing in the dirt sounded awful.
Cal took another sip. Dawson’s knees must hurt today. That would explain the wait.
Another moment passed before Dawson opened the door and stepped aside. The butler was as ancient as Methuselah, with jowls that hung from his face as if exhausted from years of clinging to the sharp edges of his facial structure. “My lord and lady are in the breakfast room,” he said.
“Thank you, Dawson.”
A floral arrangement on the slim table by the door caught his eye. Little touches like that told everyone that this home belonged to a lady who cared about the details. Without Lottie, Ethan would have been content to let the place exist as a vast echoing marble chamber with a random distribution of half-read books piled on every available surface.
The smell of breakfast led Cal to the sunny room where the pair preferred to start the day. Pushing through the wooden door, he immediately felt better. No one here would rhapsodize about damned Roxbury’s shoulders.
“Good morning,” he said.
Lady Amesbury gave him a wave, and Ethan jerked his head toward the sideboard, where platters of breakfast options lay, making a silent offer.
Moments like this reminded him that his family was pretty brilliant. They didn’t share blood, but they would do anything for each other.
Cal loaded a plate with all his favorites and topped off his coffee. He might be a disgrace as an Englishman, preferring coffee over tea—and Ethan assured him regularly of this—but they always had coffee on hand for Cal during breakfast. Sometimes he smelled coffee on Dawson’s breath, so he was fairly certain he wasn’t the only one who appreciated the black nectar of life.
“Are the Lords not meeting today?” Cal asked.
Ethan took his role in the House of Lords seriously, although he wasn’t as politically active as some. Calvin assumed his seat in the House only when he had nothing better to do. Which admittedly wasn’t often.
“I’m not going tae sit through whatever Whitfield is goin’ on about today. Besides, I was, er, detained longer than expected before breakfast.” Ethan grinned and Lottie smirked, obviously proud of herself. “Did you have a particular reason for stoppin’ by, or are you just here tae eat my sausage and kippers?”
“Your bacon, actually. I’ll leave your sausage for your wife to enjoy.” Grinning at the choked laughter from Lottie, Cal sat across from them and swallowed a hearty bite before continuing. “I need to talk about my sister, otherwise I may not survive her Season. Or she may not survive. Lord Roxbury might not make it out either. Regardless, one of us will have to go. I’m going to hunt him down this afternoon and finally talk to the man. He’s raising expectations, and anyone with a brain knows Roxbury isn’t the marrying kind.”Maybe Emma liked a challenge.
Fine, he might be indulging in a bit of dramatics. Thankfully, his companions didn’t comment on that. Lottie bit her lip as she smeared strawberry preserves on a piece of toast. Ethan shook his head and grinned over at his wife, then leaned back in his chair. “The papers called her an Incomparable. A diamond, even. The lass has her pick of anyone. What could possibly be the matter?”
God, their bacon really was amazing. Amidst his general annoyance with life at the moment, the salty perfection stood out as a bright spot. “My cook needs to talk to your cook and discuss this bacon. It has to be something in the curing process they do differently. As to Emma—she could choose anyone. So why the bloody hell is she so focused on Roxbury?”
Lottie grimaced in sympathy. “Some women are drawn in by pretty charmers.”
“Can’t she see beyond the face? He’s a handsome fellow, I’ll grant you that. But there has to be more to a man than appealing shoulders.”
Cal tried not to roll his eyes when Lottie stared at Ethan’s impressively wide shoulders and her expression evolved into a heated look more appropriate for their bedroom.
The two of them were adorable in their own twisted way. As sentimental as it sounded, Cal supposed love made all the difference. His parents hadn’t exhibited the concept of love—not with each other at any rate. If he could find what Ethan shared with Lottie, he might consider the institution of marriage.
Preening like a peacock, Ethan winked at his wife before returning to the topic at hand. “Will you think anyone is good enough for Emma?”
“I offered Puppy two hundred pounds to marry her and keep his hands to himself. But his morals are too firmly entrenched, I fear. He laughed at me, then drank my liquor and left.”
