Page 57 of My Best Friend’s Earl (Bluestocking Booksellers #2)

Reminder: sometimes hell should break loose

T he crowd at the double doors of the library parted for Oliver like the Red Sea before Moses.

Acutely aware of the many eyes on them, he focused on the only one who mattered, right beside him.

Blue eyes, wide with nerves, held his gaze as Connie’s grip on his arm tightened.

Guests closed in around them, so reassuring Connie with words was impossible without being overheard.

Instead, he raised one brow in a silent question. Are you sure?

She raised her chin, then gave a subtle nod. Hopefully she also heard the reassurance in his gaze. We’re in this together. I’m right here.

In the library, Oliver barely managed to turn his laugh into a cough. Giving credit where it was due, Althea and Franklin had taken pains to set the perfect scene.

Some elements were merely set dressing, as if the whole thing were on a stage.

They’d removed Wellsley’s coat. Unlike Oliver’s coat, which had been in a heap on the floor the morning after he and Connie fell on each other like ravenous wolves, Wellsley’s draped artfully over the back of a chair.

There’d been an effort to muss his hair, but the pièce de résistance was Althea.

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 silent wish 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 leveled him 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.”

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 fool in 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.

Oliver wrapped 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.”