Page 12 of My Best Friend's Earl
This rapid turn into pet ownership made more sense now. Althea wasn’t enthusiastic about their marriage, and she’d been honest about that. The cat was a test of sorts. It was the only thing about this damnable situation that aligned with the future she wanted for herself—a house full of pets. And she was entrusting him with it.
The kitten disappeared into the shadows under a carved wooden table. Oliver glanced at the window above the table, and the view of the garden beyond. “It will need to relieve itself outside. If it doesn’t trust men, how am I to make sure the damned thing doesn’t run away when I let it out?”
Althea blinked, then bit her lip, as if holding back a smile. “I suppose you have your first challenge. A man of logic like you should be up to the task.” She bent down to peek under the table and cooed, “Be a good kitty. I’ll see you soon.” Rising, she gave Oliver a hard look. “Don’t lose our cat.”
And with that, she left the room, closing the door behind her.
“Well, fuck,” he said to the empty room.
A growl sounded from under the table.
“If that’s a commentary on my language, you and I are not going to get along at all.”
Owen Martin wasn’t a tall or imposing sort of man. He was kind, bookish, usually soft-spoken except for the bark of laughter that often took people by surprise. He and Constance’s mum were a perfectly patched pair, complementing the other’s strengths and weaknesses. Constance frequently thanked fate, or the gods, or whoever was responsible for handing out parents, that she had been lucky enough to get these two.
Especially when, from an early age, she spent so much time comparing herself to Betsy. The first person to explicitly point out Connie’s strengths, rather than her failings, was her father. And the one she could rely on to come to her rescue when she found herself in a scrape, or to finish her abandoned projects, was her mum.
That didn’t mean they were oblivious to her faults. Of course not. Anyone with eyes and ears would notice the many ways Constance was different—and not in a good way—from her twin. Her mum used to say it was a blessing that one of their children was easy and uncomplicated. What went unsaid was that Betsy’s way of sailing through life, smooth as butter, allowed them to be on hand to deal with Constance.
It wasn’t until she turned twelve that she realized boredom was the enemy, making impulsiveness her default ally. Before then, her oddities had been frequent, if benign, things like forgetting tasks, having to write everything down (then lose the list, find the list, and promptly lose it again), and being physically incapable of keeping her dress clean, or her body unbruised. Betsy frolicked and danced around the shop. Constance ran into stationary objects and corners, be they walls or counters.
After a while, Connie accepted that whatever wasdifferent about her wasn’t temporary. Since her strangeness was permanent, she could choose to castigate herself constantly, or smile through the pain of being different. Usually, she chose to smile. People appreciated her sunny disposition, and they came to expect it.
Which led to the men. Once she was old enough to begin courting, her parents grew accustomed to Constance’s busy social life.
Betsy fell in love with the first man who courted her, married him, moved to his home village in nearby Kent, and settled into a peaceful existence as the wife of a barrister.
Constance, on the other hand, endured heartbreak after heartbreak—either as the breaker or broken. Things came to a head when she finally agreed to marry someone, then ran from her wedding. After the abandoned nuptials, Constance’s decision to stay home rather than go out in the evenings shocked her family.
Leaving Walter in that church put so many things in perspective for her. On that day, she’d embarrassed not only herself, but also her long-suffering, loving parents. Not only that, her actions cost them dearly financially, since she’d insisted on a huge wedding breakfast for the entire neighborhood.
So, she’d stayed home. Lived quietly. Tried her best to learn the inner workings of the business.
After two years of such behavior, her parents believed that Constance had turned over a new leaf. Owen taught her about things like paying taxes, inventory control, and how best to negotiate with publishers and printers. Mary stopped asking if Constance had met any interesting young men lately.
Her father poured himself a cup of tea, then joined her at the kitchen table, snapping Constance from woolgathering.
“Poppet, do you have a moment to talk?”
She raised her cup to her lips, only to find it empty. “Yes, of course. Let me just refill my cup.”
The pot was still hot, and soon the dark brew was ready to work its magic. By the time she resumed her seat, her mind had returned to the present rather than mulling over her disastrous life choices. Constance frowned, then tucked her hand into her pocket. In addition to her ever-present list was another piece of paper.
Without opening it, she recalled the contents. A chatty missive from a friend down the street full of gossip about Walter marrying last week.
Constance hadn’t heard about the match before today. Which in itself was both a mercy and a miracle. Gossip was practically currency, and the fact that not one person in her life knew about Walter’s engagement struck her as highly suspect.
Fixing a neutral countenance, she studied her father. Had he known and kept it from her? If so, he must believe he acted in her best interests. But that kind of coddling suggested he thought her fragile.
Honestly, Walter getting married came as a relief. Maybe now that he’d found happiness, the universe would remove the guilt she carried for hurting him. Even if he had acted like a horse’s arse during their last argument, he hadn’t deserved the humiliation of being left at the altar. She ran her finger over the outline of the letter in her pocket and silently wished him well.
“You seem awfully deep in thought,” Owen said.
Constance blew on her tea before answering. “Walter has married. I suppose it made me contemplative.”
“Does this news upset you?”
No surprise on his part. He’d known and stayed silent on the matter. “Not the way you’re probably thinking. There’sno jealousy or anything like that. I feel bad over how I ended things, not because I ended them.”
