Page 20 of My Best Friend's Earl
He hadn’t the stomach to wear it, so he’d grabbed the first waistcoat at hand. Now, the entire week’s wardrobe was topsy-turvy and he was wearing blue. At the moment, he had to wonder if he should have just worn the bloody thing, if only to restore order to the rest of the week.
Unfortunately, Althea wasn’t the only woman haunting him. Miss Martin’s little tantrum at the end of her visit continued to intrigue and baffle him in equal measures. Moving the inkwell? Tossing his papers? What had that been about? Unless of course she simply loved creating chaos everywhere she went. The woman was a whirling dervish. Maybe that’s why her words circled round and round, mingling with Althea’s until a continual chorus of female displeasure accompanied him wherever he went.
I’ve told you what I want. I’ve been telling you for three years.
I think of you as a brother, not a husband.
I’m beginning to see why she isn’t looking forward to marrying you.
We are not the unknowable mystery poets make us out to be.
Meeting with Althea’s father seemed a reasonable course of action to escape the chastisements in his head. If he could examine the actual agreement their fathers wrote all thoseyears ago, Oliver might find a way to honor his word and the spirit of the promises made, while avoiding marriage to a woman who didn’t want him.
Sir William entered the study wearing a wide grin. “Oliver! Good to see you, lad. To what do I owe the pleasure? My little Althea isn’t causing you grief already, is she? Women and weddings, am I right?” His chuckle grated on Oliver’s nerves.
Sir William tended to put him on edge, even when he wasn’t being a condescending nodcock. That he’d so easily maintained a close friendship with Oliver’s father—a man of dubious worth as a human, and low value in general as a companion—always seemed like a mark against his neighbor. Besides the knight’s questionable friendships, he refused to see Oliver or his own children as grown adults.
That he couldn’t foist them onto nurses and governesses these days was likely a great annoyance. That thought cheered Oliver somewhat. However, he’d rather eat glass than tell Sir William about the various challenges he faced in his relationship with Althea. He wouldn’t risk making her a target for the man’s wrath.
“Althea is her usual charming self.” Absolute truth. Althea was as lovely as ever—just not toward him. Her moments of acting like a brat were alarmingly frequent these days. Yet, when she wasn’t trying to annoy him, he caught glimpses of the young lady he’d once considered a friend.
“Happy to hear it. I’d hate to think of you carrying tales of cold feet now that we’ve set a date. Her mother and I are eager to see this whole thing done after so long. Anyone would agree I’ve been more than patient.”
As if the delays had been Oliver’s idea, and not the product of both of Sir William’s daughters stalling or outright running away. It was enough to make a man doubt hisappeal to the fairer sex. Oliver bit his tongue and laced his fingers behind his back.
“Now that we’ve set a date, I thought it time you and I looked over the specifics.”
Sir William’s jovial expression froze. “Meaning?”
Instincts went on alert, like a hound scenting prey—the same feeling Oliver experienced when a problem was a hairsbreadth away from unraveling to show its core issue. The smile he offered Althea’s father felt more natural this time, albeit a bit wolfish. Sir William’s reaction to a perfectly reasonable question struck him as wrong. Was there an obvious weakness in the contract, and Althea’s father knew of it?
After all, Sir William couldn’t have been friends with Oliver’s spendthrift, dishonest father without having something in common with the blackguard beyond also being something of a bully. Oliver considered himself more than qualified to recognize that particular trait.
Which raised the question—what if he wouldn’t actually benefit from a match with Althea’s family, beyond restoring the entirety of his ancestral lands? He’d hoped the dowry would help finance the eye-watering expense of building a canal system. Counted on it, to be honest. Especially given the unexpected expenses of maintaining the estates this year.
If her dowry was a pittance, would owning the river be enough incentive to push forward? However, if he backed out, what would happen to Althea?
Taking a step closer, Oliver tried for a casual, friendly air. “The marriage contracts, Sir William. I’ve yet to see them, or the agreement you made with my father. Given it’s my future at stake, anyone would agreeI’vebeen more than patient.”
Hearing his words repeated back at him made Sir William curl his lip. Within seconds the forced jollinessreturned, as if the sneer hadn’t existed. “You’ve always been a good boy, seeing to the obligations Lord Southwyn made.”
Ah, there was the defensive patronization again. Oliver took another step toward Sir William’s desk, that feeling of anticipation thickening his blood. “If you need a moment to gather the documents, that’s understandable. I’ll wait.”
“Well, I don’t have the contracts, you see?” the man blustered. “They’re still with my solicitors.”
Oliver took a seat and made a show of getting comfortable. “I imagine they won’t be that different from the contracts you drew up for Dorcas a few years ago—which, come to think of it, I never saw before she eloped. Surely you have those lying around.” Placing his hat on one thigh, Oliver smoothed his soft leather gloves over the top, admiring the contrast of camel leather against black felt.
In his peripheral vision, Sir William moved around the desk, then took his seat. “I burned those contracts. When Dorcas abandoned her duty, she brought shame on the family. I haven’t spoken to her since.”
Thompson family holidays during these last few years must have been brimming with joy and good cheer, Oliver mused wryly. “Then let us take a look at the agreement you made with my father. I’m sure you can recall details of the marriage contract from memory. I’ll have my solicitor assess the final papers before I sign them, of course.” Dorian had sponsored the private practice of Caro’s solicitor friend, Gerard Bellmore. With that man’s sharp eyes and keen mind, Oliver was confident the contract would be ironclad by the time they’d hashed out the specifics.
Assuming there was a marriage at all.
“Of course. Yes, of course.” Sir William opened and closed one desk drawer, then a second, muttering under his breath. “It’s here somewhere.”
After several minutes of more of the same, Sir William placed a piece of paper no larger than the palm of Oliver’s hand on the desk. “Here it is. See, told you it was here.” Sir William pushed the paper across the desk with one finger.
It took a moment for Oliver to comprehend what he was seeing.
