Page 54 of My Best Friend’s Earl (Bluestocking Booksellers #2)

Remember: girls before earls

H attie’s face had gone pale the instant their carriage arrived at the Forsyths’, and the pinched lines around her mouth deepened with each passing moment. Crowded inside the house with a swarm of guests, her wide eyes looked haunted. “How does one become used to this?”

Caro placed a comforting hand on her arm. “Believe it or not, you will grow more comfortable the more you’re out in society.”

Constance stood on her tiptoes, attempting to see over the shoulders of everyone in front of her.

After taking several minutes alone in a quiet room at Caro’s house, she was feeling more like herself.

A lifetime of experience taught her that she could stumble over that tipping point into fully overwhelmed again if she wasn’t careful tonight.

“Pretend you belong, and most won’t question you,” Caro told Hattie.

“If anyone does question us, we will smile and apologize for forgetting their name, then say we enjoyed meeting them last month,” Connie said.

“Thank God I’ll never need to do this again,” Hattie muttered. “Repeated exposure will not be necessary.”

Dorian brought them back to the task at hand. “The house is filling fast, but I don’t see Althea or Oliver. With this crush, we could stay all night and not find them.” He checked his pocket watch. “We’re meeting in the library in one hour. If we’re separated, assemble there.”

“We should split up and search for them.” Caro linked her arm through her husband’s.

“I’ll stay here,” Hattie said, still resembling prey in a room full of predators.

Constance stepped to her side and waved the others on. Helping Hattie feel comfortable served a secondary purpose of giving Connie something constructive to do. “You two go. We’ll meet you in the library if we don’t cross paths sooner.”

Forcing herself to stand tall—or as tall as her petite stature allowed—she gently straightened the lace along the low, square edge of Hattie’s neckline.

“Look at us. We’re beautiful. We blend in perfectly.

Pretend we belong and no one will throw us out.

” Searching the room, she spied a clock on the fireplace mantel.

“We have fifty-seven minutes to find Althea and the man I may or may not strangle before the end of the night.”

“Since we don’t know where the library is, let’s scout the terrain and time how long it takes to get there,” Hattie said.

“I adore your tactical mind, darling. That’s something you share with Oliver.”

“Speaking of Southwyn… When we see him, do you know what you’ll say?” Hattie remained close to her side as they wove through the press of bodies.

“I hope something brilliant and witty will occur to me in the moment. Right now, all of this”—Connie gestured vaguely to her head—“is a muddle.”

A thought made her pull Hattie to a stop.

“I hope you don’t think I’m creating reasons to push him away.

This isn’t like what happened with Walter.

I adore Oliver, but I still think I deserve answers to why he didn’t warn me they’d set a wedding date.

If he’d considered my feelings at all, he would have shared that information and reassured me there was still an escape route for them to get out of this. ”

“Of course you deserve answers. Granted, your situation is unique. Due to the odd nature of your circumstances, he should be even more transparent with you about what is happening.”

“All right. I didn’t want you to think I’m flitting away, like he’s an abandoned quilting project, or some such nonsense. I want him. I also want to rail at him over what his silence during these last few days has put me through this evening.”

Hattie scowled. “Connie, loving Southwyn and wanting to occasionally wring his neck for being as communicative as a rock are not mutually exclusive. Whether you two are destined for wedlock, or merely enjoying each other for a short time, communication must be honest and consistent.”

Constance nibbled her bottom lip. “Not that it excuses his silence, but I wrote him about our meeting with my parents and warned that Althea is up to something. I’ve been annoyed all day because he never replied, but I forgot to send it .

And now I can’t help wondering how long it will be before things like that make a logical, centered man like him realize I’m utterly daft at times. ”

Hattie, with hands on hips, scowled. “You’re the most confident woman I know. Where is this self-doubt coming from?”

A nearly hysterical laugh bubbled from Constance as her eyes burned.

God, she would not make an utter cake of herself in public and cry simply because she couldn’t handle her own ricocheting thoughts.

“Confident? Hattie, I question everything, most of all myself. You and Caro are my dearest friends, and family. Still, I wonder what you think during moments like tonight, when I needed to burrow under your cloak. I dread what would happen if you two ever realize exactly how messy it is inside my head. Would you stop loving me, or decide you don’t trust me with Martin House?

Everyone thinks I’m feckless, but I truly am doing my best. And even my best efforts lead to things like hiding under my cousin’s cloak, or walking around in a huff because I never received a reply to a missive I forgot to send .

What need does an earl have for someone like me?

If Betsy were available, she’d be a much better match for him.

They could be calm and rational together and build a perfectly serene life.

” But would Besty appreciate the way he unraveled behind closed doors?

She thought not. That part of him belonged to Constance, and she wouldn’t share.

Not even in her unhinged emotional ramblings.

Hattie tugged her toward the relative privacy of the room’s edge.

“When you give your heart, you’re doggedly faithful.

Southwyn is damned lucky to have earned your regard.

No one is a more loyal friend or goes so far above and beyond expectations.

This whole madcap escapade with Althea is the perfect example.

Who else would be her—what did she call it?

Matchbreaker? Connie, your mind might feel like a jumbled, inhospitable place at times.

And I hate that you have to live with that.

But I promise, those of us who love you are lucky to do so. ”

As Hattie squeezed Constance’s hands, a sliver of that lifelong crack in her heart, from which all these painful words leaked out, began to heal. “Thank you, darling. I wish I could see myself as you do.”

“I do too. Because you’re such a beauty. Inside and out. We love you exactly as you are, even when that means you need to hide away for a few minutes under my cloak and breathe. I hope, in time, you’ll come to appreciate the gift your unique way of thinking can be. Because we already have.”

Constance threw her arms around her cousin in an impulsive hug. “Thank you,” she whispered. After a moment, she added, “You really don’t think I’m Inconstant Constance?”

“Never. You’ve bravely searched for the right person to love, instead of settling. If that’s Oliver, you’ll stand by him with the same strength and loyalty you show me and Caro, and now Althea.”

The reminder made her jerk back. “Althea! What time is it?”

They craned their necks, trying to see the clock on the mantel, but it was too far away. A man stopped beside them and withdrew his pocket watch. “It is quarter till the hour, ladies.”

“Thank you,” Constance said.

He nodded but didn’t move on. In fact, he stepped closer and lowered his voice. “Please forgive me, but I couldn’t help overhearing.”

Hattie stiffened and gave him a withering glare. The newcomer stood several inches taller than Hattie and had a face made remarkable only by a scar at the corner of his mouth that pulled his lip slightly out of symmetry.

“This is a private conversation, sir.” Hattie’s voice could have frosted glass.

He offered a small bow, appearing shamefaced. “Lord Bixby at your service.”

“Bixby?” Hattie repeated, exchanging a shocked look with Connie. This was the man who’d unknowingly provided hours of entertainment as they read the scandal sheets.

“Indeed. Again, I apologize most profusely. I heard nothing except your friend inquire about the time, and the name Althea, which I assume refers to Miss Althea Thompson.” He bit at that scarred bottom lip, and despite the way Hattie had appeared ready to breathe fire moments before, Constance caught her cousin watching the movement with reluctant fascination.

“From your tone, I assumed you already heard what people are saying. Miss Thompson will need her friends now more than ever,” Lord Bixby said.

“I’m not sure to what you’re referring, milord,” Hattie gritted out.

He openly assessed her now, that scarred mouth tilting in a subtle grin.

“You’re wise enough to protect your friend and not reveal what you know.

Admirable, but ultimately useless. Soon enough everyone will hear about Southwyn jilting her because he’s in love with another woman.

” Lord Bixby leaned closer, but Constance noticed he didn’t lower his voice.

“And we understand how the ton works. They’ll be all aflutter because not only is he throwing over a lovely woman like Miss Thompson, but he’s doing so for a commoner.

She’s a bookseller, of all things. First the Duke of Holland, now the Earl of Southwyn. ”

Despite her frayed emotions, Constance’s reserves of sarcasm ran deep. “Oh no.” Her patently false dismay made Hattie smirk. “Well-read women are infiltrating the ton? What is England coming to when such a thing is possible within the hallowed halls of Mayfair?”