Page 33 of My Best Friend's Earl
Caro and Betsy had never been close. But in this moment, Constance watched them connect in a way that made it seem like they were growing away from her.
“There’s a lovely property for sale a short walk from our house,” Betsy said with a teasing grin. “Wouldn’t it be nice to raise the cousins together?”
Caro laughed quietly. “I can’t imagine giving up my perfect little cottage in Kent. That’s our oasis for most of the year. I don’t think our place is far from yours, though. We should try to see one another more often.”
Caro’s snug cottage was the opposite of this grand house. A handful of colorfully decorated rooms, with comfortably worn furniture. Not a servant in sight. And more of a home than these marble floors could ever aspire to be. Caro had fallen in love with the property on sight and purchased it with funds she’d earned as an author. That Dorian so readily welcomed a simple, quiet life outside London was one of the things that convinced Connie of the duke’s love for her cousin.
Now Betsy would bear witness to their adorable domesticity, when Connie remained hours away. She didn’t likehow the discomfort of her thoughts chafed against the inherent joy of the moment. How petty and small of her to worry over feeling like an outsider among people who had never done anything but love her. Yes, it might seem as if they’d forgotten she was present. But that problem had an easy solution. Constance scooted her chair closer to them. Caro and Betsy greeted the movement with warm smiles, and the ache she’d been wrestling with eased.
“Georgia, you are doing such an excellent job holding him. I think he appreciates how gentle and calm you are.” Connie reached over and stroked a finger over the baby’s plump cheek, then brushed the tip of Georgia’s nose, eliciting a giggle from the girl. “Well done, darling.”
“I love ’thaniel,” Georgia whispered. The adults shared a smile. Tension eased from Connie’s shoulders when they included her in the moment.
Dorian’s low voice rumbled from the hall, and two seconds later, he entered the room. The back of Constance’s neck prickled until she glanced back toward the door.
Lord Southwyn stood beside the duke but wasn’t staring spellbound at the baby. Instead, he looked between her and Betsy over and over, wearing another expression she couldn’t interpret. The mystery was short-lived, because he murmured, “Oh God, there are two of them,” in an appalled tone. He studied Betsy for a moment, then shifted his attention to Constance. “One of you needs to speak, so I can hazard a guess as to which is the new one.”
Constance bit her tongue against an urge to end his confusion. It wasn’t what he’d said, but how he said it. As if there being two of her was such an awful reality. Unfortunately, she’d heard the sentiment more than once over the years. A glance at Betsy showed her sister watching her with a devious glint in her eye.
“You have fifty-fifty odds,” Betsy said, with the same chipper lilt she’d used when they’d entertained themselves by switching places in the bookshop. That’s how Constance spoke, according to her sister. Although it had always struck her as sounding a bit manic.
Knowing her cue, Constance tried to mimic Betsy’s impression. “Do you like those odds?” She almost addressed him by name but caught herself just in time. Betsy wouldn’t know who he was, and Connie wouldnotbe the one to give away the game.
Southwyn narrowed his eyes, studying them both. “You’re not inclined to offer me a hint?”
“And ruin my fun?” Betsy and Constance said in unison.
Caro and Dorian laughed, while the sisters shared a grin.
Southwyn took a seat in the nearest chair, then rested his chin in his palm. “There really are two of you,” he mused. Perhaps he was growing accustomed to the idea, since he didn’t sound nearly as dismayed as a moment ago. Turning to her niece, he asked, “And who might you be, little miss?”
“I’m Georgia, and this is my cousin ’thaniel.” Her arms tightened around the baby as if afraid the newcomer would make her give him up.
Southwyn’s gentle smile made a sigh stutter in Constance’s chest. Damn the man for being so appealing.
“Lovely to meet you, Georgia. Would you please tell me which of these women is your mother?”
“Cheat!” Constance cried.
He grinned, triumph lighting his eyes. “Never mind, Georgia. Your aunt gave herself away.” Lord Southwyn dipped his chin toward Betsy. “It’s a pleasure to meet you and your daughter. I was unaware Miss Martin had a sister, let alone a twin. The resemblance is remarkable.”
Betsy flashed her dimples, amused by the whole interplay.“I’m Mrs. Tilford. And don’t worry about telling us apart. Constance and I may be identical, but our personalities make identifying us easy.”
Constance forced a grin. “Yes, if you encounter one of us and she’s serene, organized, and holding still, it’s Betsy.”
On cue, her sister, cousin, and the duke chuckled. As they should, because she spoke the truth. Since one of the laws of the universe decreed that hearing truth would either be painful as hell, or make you laugh, Connie did her best to make them laugh.
The earl, she noticed, didn’t crack a smile. Instead, he studied her with a pinch between his eyebrows and merely said, “I see.”
What he saw, she didn’t know. But she suspected it was more than she wanted him to. Because it might be more than her poor heart could take if a man she wanted, but couldn’t have, truly saw her.
Chapter Thirteen
Subtly snub him in public (try not to cause a scene)
Lady Agatha Darylwrimple, an intimidatingly tall, nearly geriatric leader of the ton, possessed the unique ability to be Oliver’s favorite person in the room one moment, and the very devil the next.
Right now, she was the devil. Oliver raised his champagne glass and drank rather than risk saying something he might regret later, once he remembered he actually liked this woman.
