Page 2 of My Best Friend's Earl
Constance smirked. “That piece of gossip would be worth a pretty penny to the likes of Bixby. Maybe this Lord H doesn’t have anything London’s friendly neighborhood blackmailer needs.”
Lord Bixby’s barony suffered notoriously from generational debt, which led him to find—ahem—alternative means with which to secure his unwed sisters a place at the finest tables.
Blackmail.
The Duke of Holland, now married to their cousin Caro, had needed the man’s help to find his first wife’s lover. The lover was Bixby’s cousin. Since there’d been no love lost between the two, the baron had happily shared every bit of damning information he’d held on the man. And there’d been a lot.
Although they’d never laid eyes on Bixby, Constance and Hattie had been fascinated by him ever since learning of his existence.
“No matter how difficult the day, we didn’t begin it by waking up half naked in a public place,” Connie mused.
Hattie clinked their mugs in a silent toast. “Hear, hear. Offers perspective, I suppose, when I’ve been pouting over having finicky customers this morning, and no one to fob them off on because you were busy with your own. I realize it’s not the same as ‘waking up to people laughing at your penis,’ but in the last hour I’ve endured impertinent questions about Caro’s career and marriage, disposed of a dead mouse your cat left us by the window, and gone on a wild goose chase for a man who saw a book last week, couldn’t recall the title, and now desperately needed to buy it.”
“Let me guess, the book was blue?” Constance grinned,then stifled a moan of pleasure when she finally sipped her tea.
Thank God she hadn’t seen the mouse first. She and Hattie had a strict “you see it, you deal with it” policy when it came to Gingersnap’s gifts.
“Red, actually. You have the right idea.”
“Did you find it?”
“Of course not. He bought a sketch pad for his niece’s birthday though, so he didn’t entirely waste my time.”
Caro wrote salacious erotic novels and had the audacity to not only be a lowly clergyman’s daughter, but also be married to a duke in a rather public love match. People were going to talk, no matter what. Especially after everyone pieced together the clues and realized the Duke of Holland was her hero inspiration. Aristocrats nattered on about one cousin, while the laborers fed on stories of another. You couldn’t say the women in their family didn’t provide conversational fodder for the masses.
With the Duke and Duchess of Holland recently returned to London, the gossips were greedy for fresh information. Especially once it became known that the duchess was due to give birth to their first child very soon.
The bell over the shop door signaled another customer’s arrival, and the cousins turned to greet them. A familiar blonde shook droplets of rain from her cloak and sent them a smile. Miss Althea Thompson craned her neck as she looked around, as if expecting danger to spring out from behind a bookcase. “Good morning. Connie, may we speak privately?” That was when Constance noticed that despite the welcoming smile, Althea stood stiffly, with her fingers knit together at her waist.
“I’ll go chip away at the stack of paperwork on the desk,” Hattie said to the room at large. “I really miss Caro,” shemuttered to herself. Caro had kept the office in pristine order when she’d worked at Martin House. The cluttered desk with its pile of ledgers and papers was proof enough that things weren’t the same these days.
“Althea, the kettle should still be warm if you’d like some tea,” Constance offered.
Her friend shook her head, then blew out a breath and flexed her fingers as if pushing blood back into them as she sat in front of the window. Constance rounded the counter to join her, taking the other chair. “You seem out of sorts. Has something happened?”
“We’re friends, aren’t we?”
“I would say so. Granted, we haven’t known each other for long, but I think of you as a dear friend.” When they’d met in Caro’s drawing room a month prior, Connie had liked the young woman immediately. Althea was engaged to the best friend of Caro’s husband, so in the weeks since their initial meeting, Connie and Althea had ample opportunity to deepen their acquaintance.
“And I can trust you.”
Constance nodded, concern mounting by the second. “Of course. You’re worrying me, darling. Whatever is on your mind, I’d like to help.”
Taking in another gulp of air, Althea released it with a gush of syllables that ran together so quickly, Constance needed a moment to decipher what she’d heard. Surely, she’d misunderstood.
“I beg your pardon. Could you repeat that?”
“I need you to help me break my engagement. There’s no one else I can ask. Connie, you were brave enough to run away from your wedding—literally from the altar.” Color rose in her cheeks as she spoke. “If people can hire matchmakers, why can’t I hire a matchbreaker? That would beyou. I trust you. Please say you’ll help me. If I have to marry Oliver, I’ll just die, I know it.”
For once, the loud clutter in Constance’s mind quieted, leaving few rational thoughts. No words. She had no words for this situation. Her mouth opened and closed around silent questions that simply wouldn’t form.
“I see you may require some time to think about my proposal.” Humor crept into Althea’s voice for the first time. “It’s unusual, I admit.”
Finally, one word pushed through. “Why?”
“Why do I want to break my engagement, or why am I asking you specifically?”
“Yes.”
