Page 72 of My Best Friend's Earl
Bixby’s eyes gleamed. “Well, well, well. You come bearing gifts, don’t you, Lord Southwyn? May I ask what you expect in exchange for this information?”
“Your help in guiding the conversation, as it were. I giveyou two pieces of information. The ton will pick apart one like vultures. The other, only you will know. I need you to spread that story far and wide. Offer something juicier, so to speak.”
Lord Bixby crossed his legs in a graceful movement that struck Oliver as nearly theatrical. “So, I’ll receive two nuggets of information—one of which is an exclusive morsel—and all I have to do is talk about it? You may not fully understand the concept of bargaining, milord.” An amused smirk made him appear younger than usual.
“How so?”
“Usually, you give me something in exchange for something else. It sounds like, in this instance, I get everything.”
Oliver smiled, even though his heart galloped at a breakneck pace. This whole madcap plan fell outside his realm of experience. But that was the point. Wasn’t this what heroes in romantic novels did? He’d read a few of Blanche Clementine, or rather Caro’s, books. The hero made a public, grand gesture before they lived happily ever after.
Still, it wasn’t a comfortable thing. Decades spent walking that narrow road of honor and unobjectionable behavior made putting his heart on his sleeve difficult. Constance was well beyond what society consider an appropriate countess. Despite that, Oliver had no doubt she’d be perfect for the role. She cared. She was adaptable, intelligent, and already had the Duke and Duchess of Holland in her corner.
What scared him was not knowing if she’d think this grand gesture came too soon. He wasn’t the impulsive sort. But she was, and he hoped she’d see his heart in this, as well as welcome the chance to lessen Althea’s scandal. Oliver’s gut told him she’d think it a great romp and a wonderful story to tell their children one day. The tension in his neck eased, imagining the way she’d eventually spin the tale.
“Your cooperation in spreading the counter-story is my only request. No need to suppress the other gossip. Merely add to it. Are we in agreement?”
The baron chuckled. “I see no reason we wouldn’t be.”
Oliver nodded, feeling resolute. Down in the depths of hell, he hoped his father wailed over Oliver throwing everything at the feet of one woman. And his mother? She’d applaud how fiercely he loved Constance.
“Right, then. Day after tomorrow, the Forsyths will host their annual soiree. During that evening, Miss Althea Thompson will be compromised by someone who is decidedly not me.”
Bixby’s eyebrows lifted to nearly meet his hairline.
No going back now. “When that happens, I need you to counter the story with the rest of the truth. No only do I wish them well, but I’m in love with a bookseller and intend to elope with her that same night.”
Bixby laughed aloud. “Is there something in the brandy you’re sharing with Holland? You’ve both lost your heads over booksellers.”
“When you meet my new countess, you’ll understand. She’s sunshine and chaos, and leaves smiles in her wake.”
“Jesus, you are a goner, aren’t you?”
Openly talking about marrying Constance was a unique kind of relief. “Yes, I am. Now let’s hope she’ll agree to have me.”
A knock sounded at the door, and Bixby called for them to enter. A maid appeared, pushing a cart bearing a teapot and a small decanter. Equipped for every eventuality.
His host thanked the maid, then poured a finger of amber liquid into two glasses.
“In that case, let’s drink to your upcoming nuptials.” Lord Bixby handed Oliver a tumbler, then raised his own. “Mayyou and your bookseller enjoy many years of happiness. And may Miss Thompson find love elsewhere.”
Oliver grinned. “I’ll drink to that.”
Despite the run-down air of the man’s house, his brandy was exceptionally smooth as it rolled down Oliver’s throat, leaving a mellow trail of heat in its wake.
Chapter Twenty-Six
If you’re silly enough to fall in love, don’t forget your friends
Constance nibbled at a dry cuticle, then forced herself to stop and return to work. Creating a new display would keep her hands busy. And lord knew she needed busy. Nervous energy hummed under her skin.
The prior evening, the cousins and Dorian sat down with her parents to discuss the future of Martin House. Owen and Mary listened intently and asked seemingly endless questions. After two hours, everyone was in agreement.
Dorian and Caro would purchase the store once Connie’s parents were ready to live closer to Betsy. The cousins decided they’d equally share ownership of the shop, as well as the responsibility for major decisions. Since Caro’s role as Blanche Clementine, mother, and Duchess of Holland took a considerable amount of her time, they’d add a staff member to take over the bookkeeping.
Connie’s relief at that particular item in the discussion had been acute.
At her parents’ insistence, everyone agreed to one stipulation. If Hattie or Connie chose to move on at any point in the future, they’d hire someone to take their place in theday-to-day running of things, without risking their share of ownership. Owen didn’t want anyone to feel trapped. Regardless, Martin House stayed in the family and would be there for the next generation.
