Page 40 of My Best Friend's Earl
“Not at all. Connie, for all intents and purposes, I’m a captive in my own home. Father has done everything short of posting a guard outside my bedroom door. No messages allowed in or out of the house. The only time I leave my room during the day is when Oliver calls to take me somewhere. Mother told everyone I have a knee injury and can’t dance at events. One of my parents sits beside me all evening when we’re out in society.”
This sounded like one of Caro’s stories. Minus the entertaining bedroom escapades, unfortunately. “Your father has become the villain we feared. Are you unharmed?”
“He hasn’t laid a hand on me, if that’s what concerns you. Father prefers to force his will on others—which doesn’t leave a mark to incite gossip.”
“You say Lord Southwyn escorts you about. So, he knows all this and has done nothing?” Constance shot a look at the man currently examining the lending library section by the front windows. Even with the backdrop of a world drenched in dirty mop water, he stood out to her as something rather brilliant and beautiful. The line of his back seemed tense in this public place. Not the relaxed posture he’d had at the breakfast table when she saw him last.
If he was as culpable as Althea thought, then the mantruly was a wolf in disguise. A small kernel of doubt stopped Connie from loathing the sight he made. His straight posture made her fingers itch to unwind him. To see Southwyn soften and smile for her in his shirtsleeves. Because that version of the earl struck her as honest, somehow. And Honest Southwyn might shed light on the situation. Hadn’t he said there were extenuating circumstances to discuss with Althea? The paltry words they’d exchanged within Connie’s hearing hadn’t been enough to clarify much of anything.
It was hard to comprehend how the suitor Althea described could be one and the same with a man who fed a kitten fresh kippers out of a porcelain dish and ensured Constance’s feet had a warm brick during a short carriage ride on a rainy day.
“You heard Oliver just as clearly as I did. He specifically questioned if I knew Father planned to withhold my dowry should I try to marry anyone other than his precious earl. Pretty promises about making me happy count for nothing when he’s cooperating with my parents.”
Horror held Constance’s mouth agape. She’d been so sure he was different. “That’s what he was talking about when he asked about your dowry?” She stared back at Southwyn, trying to merge what she knew of him into one image.
“Father is determined to get his way, even at the cost of making me unattractive to other suitors and knowing he ruins any chance I might have at happiness. I told my parents there was someone else I prefer, and this quasi-imprisonment is their response.”
Constance swiveled her gaze back to Althea. “You told them about Franklin? I recently realized I don’t know any details beyond his first name. Without more, I’m not sure how I can help.”
Althea clutched Constance’s hands in hers. “I promise I’llexplain everything when we have more time. As to how you can help, I have an idea. During the last dance we shared, before my fabricated injury, Franklin admitted he loves me too. However, I can’t write to him, and he can’t get near me at events with my parents standing guard.”
Constance nodded. “Yes, of course. Do you need me to deliver a letter? Perhaps use the shop’s mail system and communicate with him that way?”
“I can’t risk putting this debacle in writing and it falling into the wrong hands. Franklin says he loves me, but who knows how he will feel when he learns that I have no dowry and a family threatening to disown me if we wed. We will need to take drastic measures if we’re to be together—if he still wants me once he knows of my true circumstances.”
Constance grimaced. Promises and romantic declarations, no matter how heartfelt, were fragile things. Having been on the breaking side of those promises, she knew that more than anyone. “What can I do?”
Althea drew in a deep breath, and that was when Constance realized that whatever her friend was about to ask of her, it would be well beyond anything she’d mentally prepared for.
What the devil was Constance Martin doing here? Oliver craned his neck to peer around the dancers lining up as the music began. The damned woman was so short, it was nearly impossible to spy her head amidst everyone’s shoulders. Thankfully, even though she’d made a valiant effort to contain her curls in a fashionable coiffure, the sheer mass of her hair added several inches to her height. Rather than looking for her blue eyes, or that distracting dimple, he searched for a puff of blond curls.
Who knew how long it had been since she’d arrived at Lady Bellingham’s event, or how long she intended to stay, but her presence at all was highly suspect.
Over the next few excruciatingly long minutes, he tracked her progress around the perimeter of the ballroom by following the male heads turning in one direction. When she stopped on the other side of the dance floor, and he took in the full impact her, he understood why.
Fuck, she was beautiful. She’d been lovely in her simple day gowns and cotton aprons in the bookshop. And he’d seen her in a rather nice gown during that dinner party at Dorian and Caroline’s. Neither of those ensembles did her justice.
Coral-pink satin traced her curves and made her skin glow in the light of hundreds of candles overhead. Bountiful breasts pushed against the low neckline of her gown, framed and seemingly barely contained by delicate lace trim designed to draw the eye. As if her natural form wasn’t eye-catching enough.
With those wild blond curls pinned high on her head, her unadorned earlobes and neck seemed exceptionally naked, leaving observers little recourse but to imagine this delicious creatureactuallynaked. The whole effect made Oliver both ready to pant after her and growl like a dog with a bone at anyone who dared look her way.
And they were looking. Not just because she was stunning, but also because Miss Martin was a new face in a room of people well-known to one another.
She didn’t belong here. Not because she didn’t fit the part—she did. But because anyone raised in society would know that an unknown beauty walking into a ballroom would be the furthest thing imaginable from being incognito.
Teacup-size tempest that she was, Oliver doubted she’d thought through the unlikelihood of successfully sneaking into an event like this. And she’d definitely sneaked in, because Dorian and Caro weren’t in attendance, which was the only potential—albeit, highly unlikely—avenue to getting her hands on an invitation.
Althea once again sat with the dowagers along the wall, due to a weak knee that plagued her lately. Odd that it only flared during the evening, but her mother claimed that resulted from doing too much during the day.
Sir William and Lady Thompson had been more present than usual over the last week. Oliver suspected things were tense in their home, but no one seemed inclined to talk to him about it, even when asked directly. Althea put on a brave face, but he could tell she was still upset over the argument with her father. It appeared she’d resigned herself to the situation, though. With Lady Thompson determined to see them wed at the next available date at St. George’s, it was about time they both made peace with the reality in which they found themselves.
Like it or not, she didn’t have a dowry to speak of. Only debt-ridden properties of little value and no importance. If she wanted to get out from under her parents’ thumbs, becoming his wife was the best option. And Oliver had to do the honorable thing. He couldn’t abandon her to live out the consequences of her father’s recklessness.
Their open acknowledgment that theirs wasn’t a love match but a matter of business and compassion for her circumstances was the only thing salvaging his conscience. Each day passed and the only woman to visit his dreams and the one on his mind when he took himself in hand each morning—twice yesterday—was Constance Martin.
Right this moment, however, the physical pull towardAlthea’s friend wrestled with the worry over what would happen when someone realized she didn’t belong.
Oliver glanced back toward where Althea sat. Although far from genuine, she kept a smile on her face while listening to the woman beside her. If she knew Miss Martin was in attendance, she’d seek her out, even if only with her eyes. Like he was.
