Page 54 of My Best Friend's Earl
Thoughts raced, searching for an explanation and finding none.
Southwyn still hadn’t looked in her direction, while the others glanced around with a distinctly sheepish air. Yearsof being told she was sensitive and took things too personally stopped Constance from asking outright why they’d excluded her.
Instead, she reverted to her usual carefree chatter. “The sun came out, so Gingersnap and I are taking some air. Are we interrupting anything?”
A chorus of guilty-soundingnos confirmed her anxiety. Fine. She could pretend there wasn’t anything suspicious about all of this.
Nathaniel slept in his father’s arms, wearing the hat she’d knit for him. The wool was remarkably soft, one she’d bought from a lovely woman at the market. Well, Constance began the project, then passed it on to her mum to finish—who’d done an excellent job as expected. The hat fit his adorable little head perfectly.
Dorian smiled at his son before handing him to Constance when she held out her arms and made a silent grabbing motion.
There. Armed with a sleeping infant to provide comfort and something to do with her hands, she turned and realized the only available seat was beside Oliver on the tiny settee.
Althea waved from her chair but didn’t seem inclined in the least to move and sit beside her fiancé. But then, Althea wanted to throw Connie and Oliver together as often as possible. If she only knew how little assistance they needed to develop feelings for one another. There was nothing to do but perch next to him and pretend that the last time she’d seen him, they hadn’t been closing the book on Althea’s hopes.
Constance offered Southwyn a tight-lipped smile as she snuggled Nathaniel close to her chest and sat as far from the earl as possible. Which, she noted with a resigned sigh, wasn’t far enough to escape her thrumming awareness of him.
The Hollands had boatloads of money. They could afford larger furniture.
“It must be the day to call on the duke and duchess,” Althea chirped. “Oliver arrived a few moments before you. What happy luck.”
Constance risked a glance at Southwyn and caught him watching her before he looked away. But not before she noted his closed expression. That ability to lock away emotions behind cool reserve was something she wished she possessed. Especially when she feared her heart bled on her sleeve for everyone to see.
Thankfully, Nathaniel’s soft baby snores distracted her from mulling over the effect Oliver—no, Southwyn—had on her feelings. A soft grunt escaped her when Gingersnap landed on her lap with a heavy thud.
“Are you jealous of the baby? Apologies, but you can share me for a few minutes,” she told the cat, cradling Nathaniel closer. Goodness, he was such a delightful weight in her arms.
After fleeing her wedding, she’d accepted that Georgia might be the closest she’d get to having a child of her own. Which was a little bittersweet, but fine. After all, she’d never longed intensely for a child, or felt like her life would be somehow incomplete if she wasn’t a mother. But right then, she understood women who desired that. Especially when long, strong fingers she knew felt delicious on her skin entered her vision and gently plucked the orange cat from her lap.
“Young man, Nathaniel doesn’t need fur up his nose. You can share your mother this one time. Come here.” Southwyn placed Gingersnap on his thighs and petted him with a long stroke that made her temperamental cat reconsider the immediate instinct to bolt. When a deep, rumbly purrrattled from Gingersnap, Southwyn exchanged a look with her. He didn’t even fully grin—more a quirk of one side of his mouth. That devastatingly imperfect smile.
It was a mere second in time. A minuscule blip in the day everyone else missed entirely. But in that instant, she experienced a flash of what could have been. In another lifetime, when Lord Southwyn was plain Mr. Oliver Vincent and within the realm of possible marriage options. A man who spoke to their pets as if they were people. A man who came alongside and helped. Who would gaze adoringly at the child they’d created. He’d stare at their baby the way Dorian watched Nathaniel. And he’d greet her with kisses and a private, uneven smile he saved just for her. And every morning, she’d wake with her head on his shoulder, as she had this afternoon.
The mirage of another life gripped tight enough to make swallowing a challenge. Constance allowed the time it took for a single deep inhale to enjoy the fantasy, then shoved it aside. “Gingersnap likes you. Not that I’m surprised after you successfully earned Prince’s affections.”
“Winning over that kitten was impressive,” Althea interjected. “Ladies, don’t you find it attractive when men are kind to animals?”
Caro and Hattie agreed, while Constance held her tongue and brushed a fingertip over Nathaniel’s perfect cheeks.
“Does that mean we need to get a cat?” Dorian asked his wife.
“I’ve always wanted a dog,” Caro said.
“Father keeps hounds in the country. I can send you a puppy the next time there’s a litter,” Althea offered. Then she grimaced at her watch pin. “Speaking of my father, I should depart for home. My parents’ goodwill only extends so far.”
Wait, Althea said Southwyn arrived a minute beforeConnie. Which meant he and Althea hadn’t arrived together. She’d been here first. “How did you manage to escape the house on your own without them?” Constance asked.
“They could hardly say no when I was calling on a duke and duchess. My parents are, if nothing else, eager for connections to the highest levels of the ton.” Althea wrinkled her nose in a silent apology to Caro and Dorian. “I lied and told them I wanted to speak to His Grace regarding a wedding gift for Oliver.”
Southwyn’s face pinched. “I’m so sorry, Althea. I didn’t realize they’ve been restricting your movements. I feel awful for not recognizing what was happening.”
Althea’s lips thinned to a flat line. “Didn’t you find it strange that my turned knee only makes appearances when there’s dancing? Or that I haven’t been out with my maid running errands or making calls? My parents stay at my side every moment I’m out of our house.”
An intriguing muscle at Southwyn’s jaw ticked with tension. In fact, tension radiated from every inch of him. Even the cat stopped purring and stared in concern. “I wasn’t paying attention. I apologize.”
Before she could think better of it, Constance placed a comforting hand on his arm and found it rigid and tight under her fingers. Realizing what she’d done, she jerked away.
“Her father is a villain.” Hattie turned to Caro. “Can we kill him in your next book? I think Sir William would make a brilliant character everyone could hate. He’ll have to die in a particularly gruesome manner, though. I insist.”
