“It was a fair exchange made in good faith. Just because Dorcas didn’t do her duty does not mean Althea can’t marry well. I’ll be damned if at least one of my daughters doesn’t become a lady.”
Instinct urged Oliver to leave. To stand, tell the man to sod off, then walk away from the entire mess. In the same situation, his father would have been out the door the minute he saw Dorcas’s name on that playing card.
And wasn’t that the sticking point? Oliver rubbed at the ache pounding at the base of his skull. When in doubt, he always chose to do the opposite of what his father would have, and that typically placed him on the path of doing the right thing. The honorable thing.
If he walked away, not only would he lose the river and ancestral lands surrounding it as a source of income, but Althea’s future wouldn’t be one of opportunities. Not when her father admitted to essentially gutting her dowry, then saddling her with debt-ridden properties and a nearly impossible timeline.
In all likelihood, she’d wed another poor bloke, more easily manipulated by her father. Or worse yet, Sir William would bring in a gambling friend with a title and an appreciation for young blond women. Althea, the now-grown girl who’d trailed behind him and Dorcas as they rambled about their estates, would still be a pawn for her father. Instead of marrying Oliver, she’d face some geriatric degenerate gambler.
Only a man without honor would abandon Althea to such a fate. Oliver could, at least, be a friend. He’d care for her, ensure she lacked for nothing. Perhaps in time, some sort of affection might even grow between them.
Oliver sighed, stuffed the ace of spades in his pocket, then placed his hat on his head. “Get me those marriage contracts, Sir William. Please have any wedding expenses sent to me for payment.”
As he marched from the house, Oliver did his best to erase the image of Althea’s father as he’d made his exit. SirWilliam’s face wore a smug smile as he’d released a bellowing gust of air. Relief, celebration, or satisfaction?
Whatever it had been, the sound made Oliver’s hands clench into fists as he marched through the drizzle toward the Duke of Holland’s home in Bloomsbury. He needed a friend and a drink.
Chapter Nine
Ask Caro about the dinner party we discussed
Pay and file invoices from vendors
Ask for help: how to stop these feelings
I’ve created a bit of a sticky situation for myself and could benefit from some advice.”
Caro and Hattie froze with their hands hovering over the tray of sweet treats as they glanced at each other, then turned their attention to Constance.
“Definesticky, darling,” Caro said.
“On a scale of running away from the altar, to burying a body, how sticky is this situation?” Hattie laughed when both cousins gaped at her. “What? You’re a whirlwind, Connie. It’s only a matter of time until we’re called on to move a body.”
Caro bit into a lemon biscuit and shrugged, clearly not inclined to argue the point. “Should that day come, I fully believe it would be an accident or a crime of passion.”
Hattie bobbed her head. “Absolutely. Nothing premeditated.”
While they laughed, Constance mustered a smile. It was on the tip of her tongue to ask for clarification. Did they think she wouldn’t plot someone’s demise due to a lack ofmurderous urges, or because of an inability to think ahead and stick to a plan?
She suspected it was the latter. Ironic, given her current situation, which resulted from a plan she’d concocted and was seeing through.
Given how uncomfortable Caroline had been in recent weeks, as the end of her pregnancy drew near, it was nice to hear her laugh so freely. Even if it was at Connie’s expense.
Besides, her cousins didn’t mean any harm with their teasing—Constance believed that to her bones. Hattie and Caroline would never hurt her on purpose. Should she push back on the topic, they’d blink confusedly from their place atop a lifetime of evidence, anecdotes, and amusing stories involving Constance’s ever-changing interests, difficulty being punctual, and inability to remember a damn thing unless she wrote it down.
It wasn’t worth making a fuss over. Not when anyone who knew her would agree she was a whirlwind. Hell, Connie agreed with them. Because despite the enthusiastic attention she gave some things, other arguably more important items collected dust in dark corners of her brain.
So she forced a laugh. “If I ever accidentally killed someone, I wouldn’t need help being rid of the body. I’d probably walk away for a moment, forget what I was doing, then go along my merry way.”
Once Caro and Hattie’s giggles subsided somewhat, she returned to the matter at hand. “I would welcome your advice, though. You see, there’s a man—” Another pause to let her cousins finish their theatrical groans. “I know what it sounds like, but whatever you’re thinking isnotthe case, I promise.”
“Darling, I’ll wish you happy as long as his name isn’t James. Hattie, do you remember that summer when everyoneshe flirted with was named James?” Caro wiped a tear of mirth from her cheek and reached for her cup of tea. “It was impossible to keep them straight. I think she rejected every James between here and Bristol.” Straightening on the couch made her wince and press a hand against the side of her belly. A moment later, the discomfort passed, and she sipped her tea as if nothing had happened. “Although it has been a while since you’ve mentioned a man.”
Hattie scrunched her nose. “You’re right. I thought she’d sworn off the lot and forgotten to tell us.” Like a bug beneath a magnifying glass, Constance squirmed under her cousins’ scrutiny. “Connie, you haven’t fancied anyone in a while. Why is that?”
Because running away from her own wedding had broken her parents’ hearts. Their shared look of disappointment in the church on that awful morning, silently commiserating over their daughter once again flitting away from something—or someone—she’d claimed she wanted. Except this time their embarrassment took place in front of friends and family, and involved the wasted expense of a wedding.
No wonder they didn’t trust her with the future of Martin House. After serious thought, Constance decided that morning that she simply needed to try harder. Especially given what was at stake. If she made a schedule and stuck to it, there would be specific times in which she’d address the mind-numbing paperwork side of the business. As an intelligent adult, there was no reason she couldn’t commit to a schedule. Then, her parents would see how dependable she was, and she’d never have to leave the only home she’d ever known.
