Page 58 of My Best Friend's Earl
Oliver shrugged. “As my wife, Althea would own that acreage, then pass it on to our children. It will become part of the Southwyn estate.”
Sir William sputtered. “Why not dower her with it? It’s the same in the end.”
Because the laws of coverture meant everything Althea brought to the marriage, except items set aside as separate estate trusts, would become her husband’s. If Sir William deeded the property to Althea now, the property would only remain hers until marriage. However, he was a horse’s arse and wouldn’t do anything so generous without knowing he’d get something in return. So, the solicitor had drawn up the document to name Oliver as the trustee immediately. Upon her marriage, that property would remain hers, giving her as much control as the law allowed.
Instead of explaining that, Oliver said, “This continues the legacy my mother left, of the Countess of Southwyn being an heiress in her own right.” Since discovering how Althea’s parents treated her, and the subsequent conversation with Sir William, anger had simmered within Oliver. Now, he let it flare hot, although his voice remained icy. Years of dealing with the late earl had trained him to handle bullies like Sir William.
The concepts were simple. Successfully manipulating a manipulator depended on preparation. Bullying a bully meant being willing to at least appear bigger, stronger, and meaner than them.
Now, Oliver wrapped his words in steel and allowed hisdispleasure to show clearly on his face. “Sir William, if you don’t sign these documents, I will walk out that door and tell everyone what an utter disaster you’ve made of your finances. Then, I’ll spread the tale of how you and your wife have essentially been imprisoning your daughter. No vendors will extend you credit. Doors will slam in your wife’s face all around London. Every creditor will stampede to your door.”
The threat hung between them as Sir William’s skin turned a rather alarming shade of purple. “How dare you—”
The time had come to be bigger and meaner. Oliver shot to his feet, slamming his hands on the desk. “No, how dare you? How dare you treat your own flesh and blood in this manner? Even when I initially confronted you about your mistreatment, all you cared about was making Althea the Countess of Southwyn. But you underestimated one thing.No onetreats my countess with anything less than respect. So, here.” He shoved the inkwell toward Sir William, who scrambled to catch it before it tumbled into his lap. “Sign the fucking papers and ensure your daughter’s future. After this meeting, if I hear one word of you restricting Althea’s movements or correspondence, I’ll make sure you are persona non grata in every house in London. By the time I’m done sullying your name with the truth of your actions, you won’t even be welcome in the rookeries.”
Silence fell in the room. Finally, Sir William flipped open the inkwell and picked up his pen. “You’ve a bit of your father’s temper, don’t you, son?”
Oliver didn’t answer. It was wiser to hold his tongue and allow his heart to calm back into its usual rhythm. Besides, Sir William had it wrong. It wasn’t the late earl’s temper on display.
Unlike his father, his mother used her position and power to protect others. The last Countess of Southwyn had oncethrown rocks at a man who’d been beating his horse in the street. Oliver remembered being scared until he’d seen her determined, warrior-like visage. Later, she explained that if the man had turned violent toward her, their armed footmen would have stepped in. In the end, she’d paid the man for the horse, then brought it back to their stables.
His mother would have applauded today’s actions. The late earl would have equally appreciated the cunning way Oliver gathered everything into a leather folio without adding his own signature to the marriage contracts.
Outside, Oliver ducked between the carts and carriages clogging the street. Next, he needed to write several of his managers and find the right position for Wellsley. It wasn’t just a vocation the couple needed, but a house and the right environment for them to thrive. Once he secured those necessities, he’d lay out the whole plan to Wellsley. Today’s task had been the largest, trickiest piece of the puzzle.
Althea’s father had not balked at the deliberately vague language defining the trustee. Sure, Oliver was the trustee for now. Upon her marriage, the document stated that her husband became the trustee. Which meant Althea was now the proud owner of a property she could use to create a lucrative transportation canal if she wished. Not only that, but she’d legally retain control over that property and have a source of income for life—no matter who she married.
Chapter Twenty-One
Lay your cards on the table
Follow your heart. Even if it leads to disaster
Constance suspected a master moved them about, like pieces on an invisible board. Except, the manipulator didn’t play chess. No, far worse. They were at the mercy of a novelist.
Lord Southwyn’s carriage thumped over a rut in the road, and Connie instinctively braced to anchor herself to the seat. This wasn’t the carriage he’d bundled her into after kissing her soundly. This was a traveling carriage, comfortable and luxurious. And she suspected if the roads had not been in their current state from the abysmal weather, it would be a wonderfully smooth ride.
A less cushioned equipage would have left bruises on her bottom.
The duke’s carriage—where she was supposed to be right now—had been equally luxe. Between Dorian, Caro, Constance, and Nathaniel in his sleeping basket, there hadn’t been room inside for Southwyn as well. Besides, the men reasoned, with two carriages, they’d be free to explore the area around the property and surrounding area without leaving Caro and Constance stranded with an infant.
It had all sounded so terribly logical. She’d never suspected a thing.
Until Caro complained of a headache during their mid-journey stop. The headache had struck rather suddenly, and Connie agreed that Caro looked a bit worn around the edges. Purple smudges shadowed her eyes, and she seemed rather pale, in addition to wincing and shifting occasionally on the seat. When asked if she’d mind moving to the other carriage, so Caro could lie down and rest for the remainder of the drive, Connie hadn’t hesitated.
Now, alone with Lord Southwyn for the foreseeable future, she wondered why Dorian hadn’t been as concerned about Caro’s comfort as one would expect. The man doted on his wife to a nearly ridiculous degree. Usually, the duke would have been brimming over with solutions or demands that they take a room at the inn and allow Caro to nap until she felt better. Instead, he’d nodded sympathetically and said Connie moving to the other carriage sounded like a fine idea.
At times, it was only with reflection that things made sense. Sure, Constance bubbled and smiled through most social situations, but often she’d think back and realize she’d been too chatty, or out of step with the emotions of the others. This was one of those times. As each mile passed, she began to wonder if the meeting she’d interrupted the other day at Caro’s had actually been her cousins and Althea devising a way for Connie and Southwyn to be alone together.
Such as inviting them on a road trip to Kent after the weather wreaked havoc on the roads, then fabricating an excuse to put them in a carriage by themselves.
Southwyn was oblivious. In fact, during the brief times she’d seen him today, he looked more cheerful than usual.Smiling at Constance, drawing her into the conversation, and even touching her hand at the inn—twice.
While she’d never begrudge the man a fine mood, Constance was vexed that his grief over ending their relationship before it began had been so short-lived.
“I hope Caro feels better by the time we arrive at the cottage,” Southwyn said.
She pursed her lips. “Oh, I’m sure she will be right as rain by then.” Although, if Constance were writing this plot, she’d make sure the young lovers had more than an hour or two in a carriage together. If she were a betting woman, she’d play the odds on arriving at the Hollan home to eat and check on the condition of the cottage, as planned. The day’s schedule called for them to head back toward Betsy’s house and assess the property for sale. However, Constance expected she’d arrive at the cottage with Southwyn, then learn shortly thereafter that the duke and duchess wouldn’t be joining them.
