Page 85 of My Best Friend's Earl
Wellsley tugged a giggling Althea toward a set of glass doors on the far side of the room. Oliver wrapped an arm around Constance’s waist and followed, but her cousins stopped their progress for one more goodbye.
The duchess was pink faced and smiling widely as she wrapped her arms around Constance, then kissed Oliver’s cheek. “Be good to my cousin. Love her well.”
He held her dark gaze and nodded. “I promise.”
Dorian leaned in. “I’ll explain to Mary and Owen. They’ll want to welcome you to the family properly when you return.”
“Tell Mr. Martin I chose to grovel.” At his friend’s raised brow, Oliver grinned. “He’ll understand. And please apologize because I didn’t ask for his blessing. I intended to when I called earlier, then everything fell apart.”
Miss McCrae was next. “Lord Bixby told me what you did. If Connie had said no, you would have looked like a foolin front of everyone. I respect that. So, I’ll echo Caro and tell you to cherish her. Or else.”
Oliver studied her expression and was grateful Connie had this fierce friend on her side. “I believe you, because you’re a rather terrifying woman, Miss McCrae. I assure you, I’ll love and protect Constance with my last breath.”
The firm line of her jaw softened. “You may call me Hattie,” she said, then stepped aside.
“You weren’t kidding,” Wellsley hissed to Oliver, while staring in awe at Hattie.
Behind them, a gasp broke the rapt attention of the guests, followed by the distinctive sound of Sir William’s bellow.
Before Oliver could do more than calculate the length of time it would take to get through the doors, across the garden to the street, and then the pub, Lady Agatha Darylwrimple’s voice carried above the din. “Carry on, Lord Southwyn. I am proud of you, boy!” Then she said, in a far less friendly tone, “Sir William, I believe your wife requires some smelling salts. I am sure our hostess can provide them if you are unprepared. No, you may not enter this room. Tend to your wife.”
“Who is that?” Constance whispered.
Oliver searched the room and spied the older woman standing between them and Althea’s parents. “A friend. I’ll introduce you at another time, but I think you’ll like her. And I suspect she’ll adore you.”
Franklin held open the doors to the terrace.
“Come along, we need to leave.” Althea made a shooing gesture. Since her parents’ arrival, her happy glow was fading to anxiety.
Wellsley led them through the dark garden, where hedges and topiaries loomed like mythical beasts in the night. Oliverwrapped his arm around Constance’s shoulders to ward off the night’s chill as they hurried down Hill Street, toward the glowing lights of the Coach and Horses pub and his traveling coach.
“Connie, the invitation,” Althea wailed. “You poor dear. That must have been quite a blow.”
Constance didn’t prevaricate yet wasn’t unkind. Oliver loved that about her. “For a few moments, Oliver’s life was in danger. However, he’d asked for my trust, and your annoyingly vague message gave me hope for a better outcome.”
“In we go.” Oliver ushered them into the coach. “Extra cloaks and blankets are on the seats. There should be warming bricks for your feet. If you think of anything else you need or forgot to pack, please let me know and we will get it when we stop at the inn tonight.”
Althea and her soon-to-be husband settled onto one seat. Oliver handed Constance into the coach, then called up to his coachman. “All is well?”
“Aye, milord. We’ll join the other coach shortly, transfer baggage, then get out of London before stopping for the night.”
“Good man.” Oliver climbed in beside Constance, humming with satisfaction. “Excellent work, everyone.”
Althea giggled. “Yes, excellent work, Connie. You are the best matchbreaker a friend could ask for.”
Oliver glanced between the women. “Matchbreaker?”
“I needed help making your life uncomfortable, so you’d see we wouldn’t suit. Constance was perfect. In more ways than one, obviously.” Althea’s smile was smug.
Constance grinned, then leaned her head on his shoulder. Such a simple, trusting gesture. He dropped a kiss on the wild curls trying to escape their hairpins.
“If you ask very nicely, I’ll show you our matchbreaking list. Perhaps we should frame it and hang it somewhere,” Constance said.
“We’ll put it in the dressing room, next to my horrible waistcoats.” Oliver ran a hand over the pink and green one he wore. “Though I admit, I’m growing fond of this one.”
“You needed more chaos in your life.” She dimpled up at him.
Gazing down at the face he’d wake up to every day for the rest of his days, Oliver couldn’t imagine a future more perfect. “I needed more Constance in my life.”
