Page 19 of My Best Friend’s Earl (Bluestocking Booksellers #2)
Act nonchalant in his presence
Dinner party at Caro’s! Don’t forget
Althea: act intoxicated, flirt with the footman
H onor dictates I keep my word—” Lord Southwyn was saying.
“Honor is a cold bedfellow. Let others suffer the consequences of their actions for once, Oliver.” Dorian spied his wife, and such clear affection lit his eyes, it nearly hurt to watch.
“There you are, love.” He glanced around.
“Ladies, I didn’t know you were here. Good to see you, of course.
” Surveying the nearly decimated tea cart, he grinned.
“I intended to make sure Caro ate something. If she goes too long between meals, she feels unwell. I see you have the matter well in hand.”
“Meaning I vomit into random vases, because this child is determined to make me uncomfortable until the very last second,” Caro explained cheerfully.
“That lovely soup tureen I liked so much will never be the same, I fear.” To her husband, she said, “My girls are keeping me company, lest I grow too bored. Cook has me well-fed. Don’t worry so much. ”
Dorian shook his head. “Impossible. It’s my responsibility and privilege to worry over you. I’m sure it was somewhere in the marriage contract.” He dropped a kiss on her mouth, then sat beside her.
Constance envied the adoring way the duke teased his wife.
When Dorian had been no more than a customer in their bookstore, she’d thought him handsome, if sad.
The thick melancholy he’d worn like a cloak back then always made her want to pat him on the head like a child, then offer treats until his outlook brightened.
She peeked at Lord Southwyn, only to catch him looking back at her. They stared for a moment, and something shifted inside her. Or perhaps between them?
Caro addressed him, and he veered his gaze away with a jerk.
“Please forgive my lack of a proper greeting, Oliver. I’m afraid it would take an act of God to heave me off this sofa to do the thing correctly. Would you care to join us?” She waved a hand toward the remaining chair beside Constance.
“Thank you. I can spare a few moments to visit,” Southwyn said.
He claimed the chair next to her. Constance tried and failed to ignore how the arm closest to him tingled with awareness. Nip it in the bud. Limiting herself to a vaguely polite smile, she asked, “How fares the little prince?”
The corners of his eyes creased in an alarmingly attractive way when he grinned, sending butterflies aloft under her ribs. “Happy to report he’s no longer destroying my study. The maids successfully removed the smell from the carpets. The drapes are beyond saving, I’m afraid.”
“He’s adjusted to the boxes then?”
“With one in nearly every room in the house, yes.” Oliver glanced at the others. “Sorry. Althea brought me a cat,” he explained.
“A kitten,” Constance corrected.
“A hell spawn,” he countered, making her laugh.
“A scared kitten, who’s clearly been mistreated by men, and therefore had a difficult time trusting you at first.”
Lord Southwyn nodded, although she was fairly certain he rolled his eyes. “That’s accurate. A sympathetic explanation of his behavior doesn’t invalidate his status as hell spawn.”
She’d let that go, since she was enjoying this conversation.
A conversation she might have with anyone, without a single flirtatious comment.
He hadn’t admired her cleavage, and she hadn’t touched him in a faux innocent manner—not so much as a graze on his arm, she thought smugly. “Is he letting you pet him yet?”
Everyone in the room remained silent, watching the interplay.
“Shockingly, yes. When faced with starvation or eating fresh meat from my hand, he chose to risk my attention without inflicting bloodshed.”
“There you have it. The prince decided your touch is better than death.”
“A ringing endorsement, indeed,” Southwyn drawled. “In all seriousness, though, you saved the day. Prince and I are both indebted to you.”
“I am so confused,” Caro said from the couch.
“I’m entertained and baffled in equal measure,” Hattie interjected.
“Althea gave him a kitten, then left him to his own devices,” Dorian said.
“After several days of trying to convince the bloody thing to tolerate me, I sent for the only cat owner of my acquaintance, Miss Martin. She kindly came to call, and saved the situation,” Southwyn said.
“Interesting. You must have been in quite a state.” Caro’s character study expression was back, this time directed at Lord Southwyn, and a wave of foreboding swept over Constance.
“I was indeed,” he answered.
“You know what would make me happy, Dorian?” Caro’s attention shifted abruptly to her husband.
“It’s been an age since we’ve caught up with everyone.
Let’s arrange a picnic on the heath with all our friends.
Something big and packed with everyone we know.
Even your mother, if you think she could endure the idea of eating with insects. ”
Constance bit her lip. Having a huge party, as well as the Silver Dragon—the moniker they’d given the Dowager Duchess of Holland—on hand to witness Althea’s attempts at driving Southwyn away had not been the plan.
Dorian shook his head. “Not the heath. I need you close to the house if you go into labor, not rattling about in a carriage. Besides, the weather has been abysmal with this incessant rain.”
Caro curled her lip militantly, but Dorian held firm. “If the baby comes while we’re out of the house, the only person with any experience in childbirth is my mother. Do you really want her lifting your gown to deliver our child in the mud?”
“Oh God.” Caro looked so appalled at the idea, Constance hid a snort behind her hand. Beside her, Southwyn coughed to disguise his own laugh, and she felt a surge of satisfaction at their shared amusement.
“Rather than a picnic, let’s host a dinner party. Nothing elaborate or formal. I won’t have you tiring yourself out with the details. Let’s keep it small. Your family, Althea and Oliver, Mother if she’s available,” Dorian offered, clearly used to these kinds of negotiations.
A smile flitted around the edge of Caro’s mouth, and Connie realized that she’d just witnessed a master at work.
Having her husband suggest a dinner party had been the plan all along, the devious woman.
Otherwise, it was highly likely the duke’s worry over her health would have made him reject the whole idea.
Caro nodded. “I accept your counteroffer, with the condition that if the weather’s fine, we move the table to the back garden. If I have to stare at these same rooms for much longer, I’ll need Bedlam rather than a nursery.”
“Then go for a walk,” Hattie suggested. Constance silently agreed, even though her brain had already jumped ahead and connected all the dots.
In their world, pregnancy was a part of life. But in the ton…
“I look as if I could sneeze and give birth on the pavement, so I can’t exactly walk in the park without making a fuss. Society refers to this stage of pregnancy as confinement, and they take that word far too literally.” Caro’s tone turned downright grumpy.
Dorian smiled at the group. “It sounds like we are having a dinner party as soon as possible.”
“Hattie and I are available any day after the shop closes,” Constance said.
“I’ll ask Althea if she has plans. We’re committed to an event tonight. Then the schedule is fairly light,” Southwyn said.
Caro clapped her hands, then grimaced and pressed a hand to her belly. “Oliver, if you’ll send a missive this evening, detailing which evenings work for you and Althea, I’ll make invitations. Thank you all, for indulging my need for a distraction.”
Especially as the pregnancy caused increasing discomfort, Constance felt guilty for asking her cousin to play hostess.
Even if it was only a simple dinner. Of course, if the Silver Dragon joined them, that could make things interesting—as would Caro’s crankiness due to growing an entire human inside her.
At least the gathering wouldn’t be boring.
Oliver wished, a few days later, that it was possible to categorize people and their actions, as easily as one might within the animal kingdom.
Animals had been a source of endless fascination for his mother.
Her interests went beyond the desire to snuggle every cute beast—although that did result in a rather epic row when she’d campaigned to bring home one of the baby kangaroos Queen Charlotte gifted to friends.
Not that the Southwyns could claim Queen Charlotte as a close connection.
Rather, they were friends of friends, and his mother had glimpsed an opportunity.
No, the late countess had also harbored a scientific mind. Oliver liked to credit his mother for planting the seeds of his logical way of thinking. God knows the inclination hadn’t come from his father.
The differences among species, the vast variety within the animal kingdom, had been of particular interest to his mother.
When she died right after Oliver’s tenth birthday, her most prized possession had been the skull of a gorilla.
Macabre as it was, he still had the thing, tucked away on his bookshelves in the study.
In fact, he’d had a moment of panic that morning when the skull had somehow migrated off its usual shelf, and onto a side table near the fireplace.
It was a lucky thing the cat hadn’t taken a fancy to it and knocked it to the floor. Having a pet was an adjustment.
His father hadn’t permitted anything as domestic as pets, but when they were away from Birchwood Court, he’d allowed frequent visits to the Tower menagerie, the Exeter Exchange, and various animal collections around London.
Oliver’s favorite had been the trips to the Talbot Inn on the Strand to feed the camels.
Those were some of his fondest childhood memories. Mother, cooing over different species, sharing her knowledge with him in hushed tones.