Page 57 of My Best Friend's Earl
“I assume you’re certain of her affections.” Constance had told him as much, but he wanted to make sure Althea was being forthright with her beau.
“Yes. That she was so determined to warn of the consequences we’d face if we elope confirms it. Althea wants the best for me, even if it’s not her.” A smile tilted Wellsley’s mouth. Oliver heard the unspoken words. There was no one better than Althea for Franklin Wellsley. And damned if this visit didn’t convince Oliver of that.
“You’re a younger son, correct? Do you have prospects, or an income to support a wife?”
Wellsley rested his elbows on his knees, cradling the glass between his palms. Light from the window illuminated the whisky swirling in the tumbler but wasn’t bright enough to cast the crystal into prisms on the floor. Oliver missed those days when the sun sent rainbows through this room.
When his mind turned back to Wellsley, it was to see the man draining his glass with a tight expression on his face. In matters of his finances, things weren’t looking bright, then, if Oliver had to guess.
He allowed the silence to fill the room, and took another taste of his drink. Finally, Wellsley spoke. “I need a year. I’m not just a younger son. I’m the fifth son.” Oliver winced in sympathy. “Exactly. I’ve no patience for the law, haven’t the faith for the clergy, and with the war over, there’s no place in the army.”
That narrowed the usual options significantly.
Unfortunately, twelve months was entirely out of the question, given the complication of Althea’s father and hispressing debts. “What would you accomplish with your year, if you had it?”
“I’m interested in estate management. Particularly the latest farming innovations. Rather a shit season in which to find a position, I must say. Everyone is in a panic, and rightly so. However, we’ve dealt with bad harvests before. I have to believe there will be a need for land stewards in the future. Within a year, I hope to have work that will provide me with a house. It wouldn’t be a grand life, but it’s honest labor, and stable. I could support Althea.”
An idea germinated, and that earlier sprig of hope grew. “Do you know anything about canals and locks?”
Wellsley shrugged. “A bit. My grandfather built one in our county when I was a boy. It was quite the undertaking, but the benefits have been enormous.” An eager spark lit his eyes, and he leaned forward. “Two years ago, Mr. Stephenson built an amazing steam locomotive and ran it on the Killingworth Railway. I read that his engine successfully hauled eight coal wagons, weighing thirty tonsuphill. Just imagine what the combination of canals and tracks could do for England. We might see the transport of goods entirely revolutionized within our lifetime.”
Oliver smiled. Young Mr. Wellsley might do just fine with the right resources. If he was eager to learn, and genuinely loved Althea, there might yet be a way out of this damned marriage. Pulling the ace card from his pocket, Oliver ran a thumb over the weathered surface and studied the single pip. If this card was anything as fanciful as a sign, one spade could mean one right path, rather than one logical path forward. They were not always the same.
“Unfortunately, I can’t give you a year. However, I have an idea. I’m not comfortable sharing specifics until I know itwill work in our favor. It would be cruel to raise your hopes. But I will say, that if we ensure your financial stability, I have no issue with stepping aside so you and Althea can marry. Sir William is another matter altogether.”
“We will probably need to elope, which eliminates her dowry. Sir William wants a title for Althea. I’d give her the moon if I could, but I can’t make her a lady. Simply being part of a noble house isn’t enough for him.” Bitterness colored his words.
“I am on your side, Mr. Wellsley.” Hope grew a little more as details fell into place in his mind. “I have an appointment with my banker tomorrow and need to visit my solicitor. Hopefully, they will agree that my idea holds water, then you and I can sort the details.”
The fates might not be so unkind as to tie Oliver and Althea together when they’d given their hearts elsewhere. The thought was illogical to the point of being whimsical and made him smile. It was just the sort of thing Constance would accept as fact, without blinking. The kind of thing his mother wouldn’t have questioned, despite her love of the scientific method.
Oliver focused his attention on his visitor once more, on alert for any sign of insincerity. “You’ll love her, provide a safe home for her, and protect her heart with your life?”
Not a wince, a smirk, or even an eye twitch betrayed doubt in Mr. Wellsley. “It would be an honor and a privilege, milord.”
Oliver nodded and stood. “Then, Mr. Wellsley, I will be speaking with you soon.”
The young man rose, a grin splitting his face. “Lord Southwyn? Thank you for not drawing my cork. In your place, I wouldn’t have handled this conversation so civilly.”
Oliver cleared his throat. How could he explain the allureof the mere possibility of having Constance Martin? “Thank you for calling. Let’s work together to make a way out of this for both of us.”
At the door, Mr. Wellsley looked back. “I’ll hear from you soon?”
“You will. I’ll call on my solicitor today.”
Wellsley’s smile was almost childlike with his happiness. God, he was young. Yet probably a few years older than Althea.
Oliver blinked. The highs and lows of the last few hours were aging him like Methuselah.
Two days later, Sir William frowned down at the papers on his desk. “Why would I agree to this?” He plucked one page off the polished wood to wave it in the air. “A trust? I don’t think you understand how marriage settlements work, son.”
Oliver crossed his legs, resting an ankle on one knee. “When my father died, he left financial chaos in his wake. Not a huge surprise to anyone who knew him.” He leveled a scowl at the man who’d been the late earl’s closest companion. “The only reason the Southwyn name isn’t synonymous with debtor’s prison is the trust set aside in my mother’s marriage contract. With her death, it passed to me. Father couldn’t touch it.”
“That whole separate trust nonsense was the bane of his existence. Hated the bloody thing,” Sir William grumbled, reading through the text again.
Oliver smiled wryly. “Because it worked as intended, and didn’t name my father as the trustee. In the end, that document saved me and the Southwyn holdings. I wouldn’t be in a position to support my cat, much less a wife, if not for Mother’s family funds.”
“You realize, if I sign this, you’ll never have your ancestral lands back. Your father sold me those acres with the agreement they’d return to the Southwyn estate eventually. You may be the trustee, but you’ll only be managing the property, not owning it.”
