Page 84 of My Best Friend's Earl
Althea understood the finer points of weaponizing her appearance for maximum impact. Not an inch of gown lay out of place. Which didn’t matter one whit with her hair tumbling down her back in long blond waves.
While he’d known she was intelligent, with a tactical mind, Oliver had to clench his free hand so he wouldn’t accidently applaud. The goal for this evening was to make a spectacle, and she’d succeeded.
First on the scene appeared to have been Connie’s cousins and Dorian, with the ladies assigned their own roles. The duke joined Oliver, sending him the silent support of a shoulder bump.
Miss McCrae’s lips pinched in a convincing approximation of distress as she fluttered around Althea, making a grand show of “putting her to rights,” thus cleverly creating the illusion of misconduct.
A tug on Althea’s bodice made onlookers think her bodice needed adjusting. After ensuring that everyone had witnessed the fuss required to restore Althea’s modesty, Miss McCrae set about gathering hairpins from the floor, announcing each one, lest any bystanders miss the way pins had been flung about in the heat of the moment.
Caro’s exclamations were so loud, stableboys in the mews could probably hear every word. “Oh, Althea! What have you done? There is no way you can marry Lord Southwyn now! Will you do the honorable thing and wed her?” Caro dropped the faux concern to level an intense scowl at Althea’s beau until he nodded.
At Oliver’s side, Dorian whispered, “I’m happy she’s a writer, because she’s a terrible actress.”
Oliver covered a snicker and hoped the result was an attitude appropriate to the situation. Stepping forward, flanked by Constance and the duke, Oliver sent a silentwish out to the universe that he’d say and do the right thing. Because later, when everyone shared details with their friends and picked through memories for things they’d initially overlooked, he didn’t want his actions to counter Althea’s goal.
“Mr. Wellsley, is it your wish to marry Althea? To love her for all your days?” Oliver asked.
“Yes, milord.”
Oliver turned to Althea. “And Althea, do you love him as deeply and want him as your husband?”
Her smile glowed as she clasped Wellsley’s hand. “I do.”
The exchange was oddly reminiscent of wedding vows, but it felt right. Whispers from the crowd behind him grew, swelling to a shocked hiss of disapproval. Dorian sent a quelling glare at the assembled onlookers.
“Althea and Mr. Wellsley, I wish you both a lifetime of wedded bliss.” Oliver gave them a shallow bow. “And I hope you’ll return the sentiment, as Miss Martin has just agreed to make me the happiest of men.”
This elicited genuine gasps from everyone. Constance’s cousins rushed to hug her, and her beaming smile was one he’d remember until his last moment on earth.
“Darling, congratulations!” Caro wiped away happy tears.
Miss McCrae’s response was more reserved, but no less earnest. “He’s a lucky man, Connie love.”
Dorian clapped him on the back. “Congratulations, friend. You’ve chosen well. Welcome to the family.”
Oliver brought him into a hug. “Thank you.”
As soon as Connie’s cousins stepped away Dorian joined them. The three stood by, seeming quite pleased with themselves.
Constance reached for Oliver’s hand. Joy nearly leveledhim at the way she so naturally threaded her fingers with his. Even their hands fit. As he’d told her moments ago, locked together in passion—he was hers, and she was his. The crowd’s murmurs surged again.
Not wanting to steal Althea’s thunder, Oliver tore his eyes from the stunning woman who’d agreed to be his bride. “If Sir William and Lady Thompson had been willing to listen to our wishes, we could have both been happily married weeks ago.”
Althea welcomed the conversational volley with a faux grimace. “Unfortunately, my father cares more for refilling the depleted family coffers, than the happiness of others. When I told him I love Franklin, he put me under guard and denied me a dowry unless I married you, Lord Southwyn. He’s a villain of the highest order and I’m ashamed to share his blood.”
Since she’d brought up the rocky Thompson family finances, Oliver filled in a few missing facts. “Having seen the marriage contracts, I don’t think you’d want the dowry anyway. Sir William is deep in dun territory. Excluding the river land, of course, the properties in your dowry are acting as collateral to violent moneylenders. That’s why he pushed for us to marry this season. He dodged debtor’s prison by paying his taxes with money borrowed from cent-percenters, then planned to pass along the debts—and threats—to me.”
Althea’s eyes went wide, but she regained her composure quickly. “That’s appalling!” She glanced around at the gathered guests. “You’re all witnesses to Lord Southwyn and myself joyfully ending our engagement and following our hearts elsewhere.”
Constance spoke up. “So, if you received a wedding invitation today, feel free to use it as kindling.”
Again, Althea’s jaw dropped in surprise. “Oh dear. Mother wasn’t supposed to send those until tomorrow.”
Wellsley placed a soothing kiss on the side of her head, but Oliver could tell the information had distressed Althea.
“Since I hardly expect Sir William or Lady Thompson to be as happy about this development as we are, you’re also all witnesses to something else.” Mr. Wellsley waved Oliver over, inviting him to play the final part they’d put in place a mere hour earlier. Oliver and Constance joined the other couple, then turned to face the guests.
“Thus far, our luck has held and Althea’s parents are not part of our merry group. When they arrive, please inform them she is safe and soon to be married. Because my new co-conspirator and I”—Oliver sent a friendly wink toward Wellsley—“are wasting no time in making off with our brides. Farewell.”
