Page 71 of My Best Friend's Earl
A frown crossed Wellsley’s face. “That sounds wonderful. But even with her sister nearby, will Althea be happy in Cornwall?”
That his first concern was for her happiness confirmed she’d be well loved. Oliver remembered a much younger Althea running barefoot through the estates, climbing trees, and playing in the dirt. Once upon a time, she’d loved the country and cried when they went to London. Even after she could take part in the Season, she complained about missing rural life.
In short, beneath her polished exterior, Althea Thompson was a bit of a hoyden.
“I think so, but don’t take my word for it. Ask her. Since Sir William is a horse’s arse, I doubt he’s told her about any of this. Would you like to do the honors? Take the papers to her so she can examine them for herself. With this in place, she doesn’t need to resort to a publicly compromising situation.”
Wellsley grinned. “I don’t know how I can ever repay you. This is more than I thought possible.”
“Just be kind to my childhood friend. Ensure she laughs every day.”
“You have my word as a gentleman,” Wellsley promised.
That should have been the end of it. Althea could haveeloped to Scotland, then moved on to Cornwall. Except, she didn’t.
I should know better than try to predict anything with these women.If Constance was Head Chaos Coordinator, Althea could be Assistant Chaos Instigator, because she stormed into his study an hour later, waving the sheaf of papers. An amused Wellsley followed at her heels. “Oliver, you wonderful man!”
At least she liked him again, Oliver thought when she hugged him.
Althea pulled back with a serious expression. “I still want to cause a fuss and compromise myself.”
Oliver’s gaze went heavenward. “Why, for the love of God, when you have a perfectly reasonable, logical, and legally sound way to quietly elope?”
Wellsley wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “You might think me mad, but I’m inclined to agree with the idea.” Seeing Oliver’s face, he urged, “Hear her out.”
“If we make our attachment public, Father can’t make up his own version of events. After the way he’s treated us, don’t you want everyone to see what he’s really like? Think about it. Even if Franklin and I slink off into the night, you’re still here, facing the scandal. That isn’t fair to you. Creating a spectacle lets us have some control over what people say. Besides, for the last three years, I’ve been a pawn in everyone else’s game. I want to control the way this ends. Father doesn’t get his precious title, and Mother doesn’t get her society wedding.”
They were valid points, much as it pained him to admit it. But two glaring problems needed addressing. “I don’t want you taking on the majority of blame, Althea. Also, when we eventually build this projectliterally right besideyour father’s land, if his temper hasn’t cooled, he will be unbearable.”
Althea shrugged. “He’ll always be an arse. If he’s still angry, I’ll take delight in inflicting the mess and noise of construction on him. Becoming wildly successful will be even sweeter.”
Oliver considered her, feeling his smile grow. “Have I ever told you what an interesting woman you’ve grown to be?” Arguing with Althea was as successful as pissing into the wind, so he threw up his hands in defeat. “Fine. You two put on a show. Serve Sir William a generous helping of consequences. If we can’t avoid a scandal, we might as well use it to your advantage. However, I can’t in good conscience let people frame you as a jilt. If you’re willing to share your moment of victory, I have a request.”
By the time they left, his good mood was back in force. For once, he and Althea were not only intent on the same objective, but also in agreement about how to go about it.
Which meant he needed to visit Lord Bixby, London’s most notorious purveyor of personal information. If the society sharks wanted to swarm at the scent of blood in the water, Oliver would need a shark of his own.
Lord Bixby lived in a tidy, if sparsely decorated townhome in a genteel area of London. A housekeeper opened the door at Oliver’s knock, then escorted him through a warren of hallways and identical doors, keys jangling from the chatelaine at her waist.
Gold-shot burgundy silk covering the walls had faded with time. Darker squares and rectangles showed where art had once hung. The Bixby barony came with a mountain of accumulated debt that grew as the family mausoleum filled.
The current baron had thus far managed to tread waterand stay afloat, but he’d made his motives clear to anyone who cared to pay attention. Lord Bixby had younger sisters, and the man was determined to see them married. Not only well, but happily. Not an easy feat when their dowries were pitifully small.
Essentially, Bixby bartered information for entrée to the best society events.
“His lordship will be with you shortly,” the housekeeper said.
“Thank you.” Oliver sent her a respectful bow.
Lord Bixby didn’t keep him waiting. “Southwyn. This is a surprise.” His tone offered no clues as to whether he considered the surprise a happy one. He likely didn’t know if Oliver calling for the first time ever was a reason to celebrate, or duck and cover.
“Thank you for seeing me, Lord Bixby. May I beg a few minutes of your time?”
His host motioned to a sofa, upholstered in faded blue damask. Like almost everything else in the house, the furniture was old, but of good quality.
Oliver clasped his hands together until his knuckles shone white. So much depended on this. If Constance wasn’t happy with what he planned, he’d be a laughingstock. But asking her about it would ruin the surprise, and he wanted to give her what she wanted—the opposite of a boring life.
“Something is going to happen. Everyone in the ton will be talking about it. That’s deliberate. While I understand what the people involved intend to gain from the chatter, I want to lessen the negative impact on them.”
