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.
He’d give anything to have her beside him now, using that same quiet confidence to guide him through this dinner party.
Dorian vacillated between hovering protectively over his extremely pregnant duchess and preening with pride when Caro said something particularly witty.
The Dowager Duchess Holland, never an easy woman to decipher, seemed overjoyed at the expected child itself, but only a hair beyond tolerant toward the woman carrying said child. Even this long after the wedding, the dowager appeared determined to shape Caro into a proper duchess.
Which allowed ample opportunity for Caro’s cousins to tease and generally poke holes in the illusion of haute ton the dowager desperately attempted to create during what was supposed to be a relaxed family dinner.
For Althea’s part, she’d thrown her lot in with the cousins. While not actively poking the bear—in this case, the dowager—Althea was happy to laugh encouragingly at their antics and jest with Miss Martin.
Fascinated, and feeling much like he had as a boy petting a zebra for the first time, Oliver chewed a mouthful ofroast beef and listened intently to the conversations whizzing about the table with the speed and accuracy of bullets.
“Your Grace, you simply must eat. The child needs red meat,” the dowager was saying.
“If I eat another bite of meat, Iwillcast up my accounts. That, I can promise you.” Caro winced for a long moment and held her breath before releasing it slowly. “Someday, I will exact revenge for the way this child is digging its toes into my lungs.”
Miss Martin tsked and shook her head in feigned disappointment, and Oliver felt a preemptive shot of amusement at whatever would come out of her mouth next. “I’m not a doctor, but I’m fairly certain your baby isn’t floating around inside you, and able to tickle your lungs. Do I need to bring you an anatomy text from the shop? I found the most interesting book last week. The illustrations are incredibly detailed. Especially the reproductive bits.”
Dorian closed his eyes while he drank deeply from his wineglass.
The other cousin, Miss McCrae, muttered, “Oh God, must you antagonize her?” and set down her fork with a clatter of metal on china.
Althea’s head swiveled to watch Caro’s reaction, but her eyes went a bit swimmy. Likely from how much wine she’d consumed.
The duchess glared daggers at her blond cousin, who sat across from Oliver. “This child doesn’t tickle. It jabs. It spears my insides with its sharp little knife fingers and toes. And all that isafterit forcibly ejects everything I eat from my body. I can’t wait for you to be with child, Connie. I plan to mock you without mercy while you suffer, and the revenge will be sweet.”
Miss Martin grinned. “Luckily, that’s a dish best served cold, since I don’t have plans to procreate anytime soon.”
“Especially not if you insist on running away from the altar,” the dowager intoned.
Red blotches colored Miss Martin’s cheeks as her smile tightened at the corners. Before she could reply, Caro pointed a finger at her mother-in-law. “No. You won’t be vile to my family. I may tease and threaten. You may not.”
“That’s quite all right, darling,” Miss Martin said, then addressed the older woman. “Better to run away and be happy alone, than marry someone who would turn me into a miserable old woman.”
Althea raised her glass. “Hear, hear!”
The dowager quirked a silvery eyebrow at Oliver. “Perhaps, Lord Southwyn, your bride is entertaining second thoughts.”
Or twenty-second. Miss Martin caught his gaze, and he feared for a moment that she saw too much. Oliver looked away, forcing his attention back to Althea, who held her empty glass out to a footman while flirting rather shamelessly as he refilled her wine. From his place beside her, Oliver had a clear view of her fluttering eyelashes and overheard her quiet comment about how large the servant’s hands were, and how… generous… he was with the pour. Subtle, she was not. The footman’s cheeks turned pink, and Oliver couldn’t help but pity the man as he cast worried glances in his direction.
Jealousy, or any number of other emotions, might have reared their head at her perfectly delivered inuendo. Oliver noted, as if observing himself like an animal behind bars, he felt… nothing.
Ironically, the utter lack of emotion concerned him more than Althea’s indiscreet behavior. There were nofeelings upon which to apply logic and navigate the awkward moment. Just absolute apathy.
