Constance cocked her head in thought and licked crumbs from her thumb. “Lord Southwyn was engaged to your sister? Because you weren’t born when they wrote the contract.”
Nodding, Althea took a moment to chew and swallow her own biscuit. “Yes. However, Dorcas fell in love with someone else and eloped with him three years ago. I’m thrilled she’s happy. Less thrilled that I’m expected to fulfill the marriage contract in her stead.”
As enlightening as all of this was, more questions whirled through Connie’s brain. Had Lord Southwyn loved Althea’s sister? If so, was the man utterly heartbroken and shuffling through his days in a gray, emotionless fog—thus explaining his lack of reaction to Althea’s previous attempts at raising a fuss? Or, was the idea of reclaiming a lost portion of his ancestral estate so important, he’d marry anyone to get his hands on it? Constance ground her teeth in frustration. How maddening to not understand his reasons for insisting on this marriage.
“No wonder you aren’t thrilled with the match. Especially if he hasn’t made an effort to woo you. He’s had years to do so.” Putting pencil to paper, Constance wroteHow to Be a Matchbreakeracross the top of the page. “Now, what things does the Earl of Southwyn hate? What gets him riled and annoyed?”
Althea rested a cheek on her fist. “Gambling. Philanderers. Liars. Scandal. All because of his father, I’m sure. Um… messes. Impulsivity. Unpredictability. Emotions.”
“He sounds exceedingly dull,” Constance muttered. “Exceptfor abhorring philanderers and liars, of course. I agree with him on that point.”Messes and impulsivity. No wonder he seems so appalled whenever he sees me. He hates everything about me.An off sensation bloomed in her belly, but she didn’t have time to examine it right then. Althea’s footman could knock on the window at any moment, giving the signal that their time was up and she needed to return home.
A snicker caught her attention.
“Did you know he wears his waistcoats in rotation? The dark blue on Monday. Hunter green on Tuesday. Maroon on Wednesday, and so on. And they’re all soboring. No patterns allowed beyond a subtle stripe in a slightly different sheen.”
Constance stared out the window as ideas came in bits and pieces. On the street, London teemed with the usual congestion of carriages, hackney cabs, horses, carts, and people from all walks of life. Muted voices filtered through the wavy glass panes to where they sat. She could nearly make out the shapes of Althea’s servants inside her coach, keeping dry. Sir William would have a fit of the vapors if he saw his servants acting thus, but Althea was made of different stuff—namely, compassion. Althea cared about others. She would make a good wife one day. Countess, if it came to it.
The plan solidified. Constance’s cheeks stretched into a wide smile. “I think we need to change tactics. You’ve been trying to be unappealing as a fiancée. You say he doesn’t like messes or big emotions? You’re going to show him exactly how chaotic and smothering a wife can be.”
“What do you have in mind?” Althea leaned forward.
“Rather than avoiding all marriage talk, let’s turn you into a wife out of his worst nightmares. Can you get into his home? Talk to his servants?”
Althea shrugged. “Of course. Everyone knows I’m going tobe mistress there by the end of the summer, and Mother would be thrilled if I took more of an interest in his household.”
“Excellent.” Excitement thrummed under Connie’s skin, and she bounced a little in her seat. “Is he affectionate? Does he like to be touched?”
Althea curled her lip. “God, no.”
“Brilliant.”Touch him constantly, she wrote on the paper. “Is he meticulous and organized in addition to being generally stuffy? Items on his desk arranged just so?”
“Yes. It’s annoying.”
“Next time you’re in his home, I want you to go into his study, or wherever he works, and move everything from one side of his desk to the other. If he sees you, tell him you like it better that way, because it looks more appealing. In every room you enter, move the things on his shelves and tables out of place by several inches. Rearrange his books.” That hurt her heart to suggest, but it was a great idea. “And every chance you get, touch him.” At Althea’s distressed sound, Constance rushed to reassure her. “I don’t mean for you to throw yourself naked at his feet, darling. Fuss over him like a clingy wife would. Straighten his cravat when it doesn’t need it. Brush imaginary lint from his sleeve and tut over his valet not meeting your standards. Muss his hair. Not romantic touches—try to be deliberately annoying while adjusting his person. If he protests at any point, tell him you’re simply being a good wife now that the wedding is around the corner.”
Althea laughed, then abruptly straightened, eyes wide. “His waistcoats. They’re all solid colors, no bold patterns. What if I replace them with garish ones? I have the pin money to buy one or two, I think.”
“It’s well within a countess’s purview to ensure herhusband isn’t appearing drab in public,” Constance said primly, then dissolved into giggles and wroteDress him up like an ugly, stuffy doll.
A lowmeowcame from the doorway to the office, and her giant orange cat, Gingersnap, sauntered past a shadow she suspected was Hattie. Her cousin wouldn’t tell a soul, but Constance wished she wasn’t listening in. As for her cat, he appeared to be on the hunt. Rodents were hell on the paper and leather binding of books, so Gingersnap roamed free between the shop and their apartment upstairs during the night. “Does Southwyn have any pets?”
“No. His mother loved animals, so I’m surprised he’s never had one. Probably hates the mess.”
“What do you think would be more chaotic—a squirrel, a dog, or a feral cat?”
“Dogs are easy to come by, but it would have to be an ugly one. A cat could work, and I’d prefer it to a dog. Squirrels would escape out the nearest window.”
Grinning, she wroteGive him a pet.“Be sure you speak to it like a baby. Men hate that.”
A short while later, they’d addedSpend his moneyandFlirt with other mento the list. They must remember Althea’s reputation, so some things required circumspection.
Examining the sheet of paper, Connie grinned. “And just like that, we have created the bride of his nightmares. We can add to this, of course. If we manage every item on this list and he still wants you, he’s touched in the head.”
Althea beamed, then sobered. “You truly are the best friend. I know you’re on good terms with the Duke of Holland, and he’s Oliver’s closest confidant. I hope helping me with this won’t affect your relationship with His Grace.”
Constance considered that for a moment, then shook her head. “Dorian is a good man. He’ll understand why I’m choosing girl friends before his earl friend.”
Althea cackled. “Girls before earls!”
