Page 10 of The Rules of Courtship (Hearts of Harewood #3)

Chapter Ten

Rule #10: Never accept a gentleman’s arm unless you are willing to see the entire conversation through

Oliver noted the two women on the shore walking slowly along the path, and his heart skipped. He would know Ruth anywhere, but it took him a moment to place her companion. Miss Edmonds’ dark hair and beady gaze revealed her identity, the turn of her long, slender neck. There was something about the woman that did not feel entirely authentic, though he could not identify precisely what that was. She was polite, sometimes too interested, but then her attention would flee entirely, like she was only biding her time.

He had liked speaking to her beside the bookcase last night, but that camaraderie slowly dissipated. Her words felt too calculating, her attention too fleeting, for him to take her seriously.

Hopefully Ruth had gathered more information about the woman and could straighten out Oliver’s thoughts. He had hoped to spend some time that morning speaking to Lord Rocklin, but they hadn’t ended up in the same boat. He needed to find a way to inquire if Lord Rocklin had any memories of his father which might help him to locate the man, but it was a delicate situation and couldn’t be spoken about too openly. The scheme was a long shot, he must admit, but it was worth trying. But instead of furthering his search for his father in the boats, he’d been forced to endure a competition between Edmonds and Bailey, which neither of them won.

Samuel had reeled in the largest fish.

“Tell me, Rose,” Bailey said now, his gaze on the women walking slowly down the path. “Do you have any claim to Miss Wycliffe, or is she available?”

Why did Oliver’s stomach seize at the question? “We have no understanding,” he said truthfully. He wanted to protect her, but there was no reason for it. Bailey, by all accounts, was a well-respected gentleman with a tidy estate on the border of Surrey, close enough for Ruth to visit her parents but far enough away for her to have her independence. Oliver didn’t like how he felt around the man, but he’d admit to himself that it could very well be due to jealousy. Thus far, Bailey had not given him any true cause for concern beyond a marked interest in Ruth.

“Then my campaign shall commence,” Bailey said.

Oliver’s patience snapped. He needed to be out of this boat immediately. “I wish you the best of luck. You would be hard-pressed to find anyone who knows their own mind better than Ruth.”

Samuel glanced at him over his shoulder, his golden eyebrow raised. Had he noted the irritation lacing Oliver’s words? He needed to be better about concealing his opinions.

“I do not mind a challenge,” Bailey said.

“I have been trying to convince Ruth to allow me to court her for years with no luck,” Samuel said. “Hopefully you will have better fortune than I did. ”

Bailey looked thoughtful at this. He’d been described as a recluse when they met. Was he interested in obtaining a wife and returning to seclusion, or would he provide Ruth with the companionship she needed? The woman was far too social to accept such a quiet life.

The boat soon reached the dock. The men worked together to tie it off and bring their bucket of caught fish to the waiting servants.

“Did you have much success?” Miss Edmonds asked, coming to stand on the grass where the earth met the dock.

Ruth came up behind her, smiling at the gentlemen. Sunlight lit her pink cheeks and round, blue eyes.

“We caught enough for dinner,” Bailey said, grinning.

Miss Edmonds’s gaze dropped to the bucket on the dock, her nose wrinkling in distaste.

“Would you care to walk back to the house with us?” Samuel asked, stepping up the dock to approach the ladies. Servants were collecting the buckets of fish and equipment from the boats as the men all gathered together, moving toward the lawn.

Miss Edmonds glanced around the group of men before nodding. “We would love to.”

But there had been something that made her hesitate. A reason she would not wish to accept Samuel, perhaps? She seemed as though she wasn’t ready to return to the house. Meanwhile, Ruth was much quieter than usual.

Oliver looked toward Lord Rocklin and Mr. Kellinger, who were already walking away, deep in conversation with Mr. Watson. He would need to be more proactive in requesting an audience with the man.

For now, though, perhaps Ruth had gained insight when she was around the women that morning.

Bailey started walking toward the women. If Oliver didn’t act quickly, he would lose a chance to speak to Ruth alone. He stepped forward and offered his elbow. “Can I walk you back to the house, Miss Wycliffe?”

She looked at Bailey before giving Oliver a smile. “That depends. Are your arms covered in fish?”

He gave her an amused shake of his head. “Shockingly, they are not.”

“Then yes, I’d love your escort. We wouldn’t want me falling over my feet.”

“You speak as though it is an outlandish idea, yet I’ve seen you do that very thing more than once.”

“You ought to at least pretend I’m a proper lady when we are around the other men,” she said, tucking her hand in the crook of his arm. They started up the path toward the house.

He was vaguely aware of Miss Edmonds speaking to her brother behind them and felt it was reasonable to leave her safely in Edmonds’s hands. “There is nothing unladylike about you, Ruth. You needn’t worry on that score.”

“All the same, we do not want you pushing suitors away.”

“No, you do that well enough on your own,” Oliver said, thinking of her rules.

Ruth laughed, the sound joyful and loud, nestling warmly in his chest. She nudged him lightly with her shoulder, as though acknowledging a hit. It sent a flurry of feelings through him.

“How was your morning?” he asked, eager for a change in conversation.

“I learned I am still terrible at embroidery. My bird in no way resembles a bird.”

“But you can sew a set of angel’s wings to the back of your gown with skill,” he reminded her, thinking of the play they’d written and performed as children. “Which skill do you think is more useful on a typical day?”

He glanced down to find her beaming up at him, her glorious smile bright and amused. It hit him in the stomach .

“Well, angel’s wings, obviously,” she said. Her hand seemed to tighten on his arm, and he resisted the urge to pull her a little closer.

Gads, what was wrong with him?

“Handkerchiefs do not change their function when they become more beautiful,” she went on, “but an angel cannot fly without her wings.”

“A valid argument,” he agreed.

“Stuff and nonsense.” She laughed again and pressed his arm. “You are humoring me. Tell me about fishing. Was it enjoyable?”

“It was peaceful,” he said.

“And the men? Any new information you wish to pass on?”

This was why he had wanted to walk with her—to discuss her marriage prospects. Yet considering which of the gentlemen she ought to focus on left him uneasy. He did not feel as though he should share his misgivings about Bailey until he had identified a reason for them. If he was merely jealous that Ruth entertained the notion of courting the man, that was not a valid cause to drive him away.

Ruth was waiting for an answer, though.

Oliver said the first thing that came to his mind. “They are competitive.”

“What man isn’t?” she asked.

“I’d like to think I am not.” He’d never actively cared whether he won or lost a race or a game of cards.

She peered up at him. “Perhaps. But under the right circumstances, I think you would be.”

Oliver felt as though he had lost a layer of protective armor. She could see straight through his chest into his wildly beating heart. “Did you discover anything I ought to know about the ladies?”

She was quiet long enough to pull his attention. When he glanced down, her expression was concerned. They reached the top of the hill, and the garden stretched out before them.

“Should we walk a little longer?” he asked. The alternative was going directly to the house, but he wasn’t ready to end their conversation. He gestured toward the garden, its tall outer wall of shrubbery casting a long shadow over the grass.

“Yes, let’s do that—or my mother will expect me to finish my bird.”

They meandered down the path, away from the high shrubbery, and entered the walled Italian garden. The flowers were bright, and the roses sent a faint, sweet scent into the air. They followed the walkway toward the shrubs, skirting the outer edge until they found the cool shade.

“What are you afraid to tell me?” he asked quietly, in case others were walking by on the other side of the tall hedge. Oliver didn’t wish to be overheard.

“I promised not to repeat it,” she said, cringing. “I suppose I can give you a warning without breaking her confidence, if I am careful.” Ruth pulled her hand from his arm, and he immediately felt the loss. Lowering her voice, she said, “Do not consider Miss Edmonds with any great seriousness.”

That should have surprised him, but somehow, it did not. Despite the way she had seemed interested in his estate last night, her attention came in fleeting bursts. Today she had seemed to wake up and forget about him entirely. Her changeability led him to believe she was not to be taken seriously. “Does she possess a trait?—”

“No, nothing of that sort. I actually quite like her.” Ruth glanced around them again, lowering her voice. “Suffice it to say, her heart might be otherwise engaged.”

“Ah. So the woman has her eye on someone else. Consider me warned.” He gave her a smile. “I do not wish to fall in love with someone who cannot return the sentiment.”

Ruth peered up at him, the shadow of her bonnet shifting, making her blue eyes clear and vibrant. “Love? Is that what you’re looking for, Oliver?”

Funds were foremost on his list of priorities, but he did hope to have a wife he could come to care for, at the very least. If he was going to spend the rest of his life with a woman, he ought to feel something for her, to be able to discuss their children pleasantly and pass dinners in amiable companionship. When Ruth blinked up at him, though, his stomach constricted. He wanted to discuss children and enjoy dinners with her , but he was a veritable fortune hunter, looking for a wife to save his house, and he could not ask that of her.

Or of Wycliffe.

Ruth waited for a response. “I suppose it is not a requirement,” Oliver said, “but it would be ideal.”

“Well, I hope you find it.” Her gaze lowered to the grass at their feet. “On the same note, there might be a man who returns Miss Edmonds’s feelings, but she wouldn’t tell me who.” Ruth cringed. “Oh dear, I am sharing too much.”

“Not at all. Do you want me to discover who he might be?”

“I would like to save myself from foolishly falling for a man whose feelings are otherwise engaged. If you learn of anyone who might not be open to an arrangement, I hope you will tell me.”

“Of course, I will.” He reached forward and took her gloved hand, squeezing her fingers gently.

“I think I know who it is,” Ruth continued, seemingly heedless to his touch. “Unless you have something you wish to tell me about yourself.”

Oliver released her hand. She honestly wondered if the man in question was him ? “No, Ruth. I do not have anything to reveal.”

She glanced up at him, her eyes framed by dark lashes.

“What of Samuel?” he asked, desperate to remove the buzzing feeling in his stomach, like it had become home to an army of bees. “Have you enjoyed spending time with him?”

“There has been a measure of enjoyment, yes.” She smiled, though a small crease appeared between her eyebrows. “Perhaps I’ve been too eager to push him away before now. I’d forgotten what a lovely friend he can be.”

It took everything within Oliver to pretend he enjoyed hearing that. On the one hand, he liked that their friendship was mending. But it frightened him, too. “Perhaps this house party will be good for you both.”

“Do not mistake me, Oliver. I don’t think I will ever feel romantic love for him.”

There was a rustle behind them, and they turned to find Samuel standing in the walkway, half-hidden by the tall hedge. A carefully guarded expression covered his face.

Blast. How much had he overheard?

Ruth’s face flushed scarlet.

“Do not worry,” Samuel said lightly, offering a flippant smile as he took a step closer. “It is nothing I haven’t heard from you many times before, dear Ruth.”

So he had heard enough.

Ruth’s brows knit together, concern flashing in her blue eyes. “Oh, Sam?—”

“No, truly,” he said, holding her gaze. “I think we can all agree it is time I gave up the chase, eh?”

Silence, thick and full of unspoken things, hung between them like a heavy cloud.

Guilt washed over Ruth’s face. She closed her eyes and pulled in a breath. “It is time for me to return to my mother. She will be wondering where I am.”

If the woman preferred embroidery to speaking to them at present, her embarrassment was more complete than Oliver had realized.

The men watched her walk away, her skirts swishing from quick steps. When she was through the garden and mounting the shallow steps toward the back veranda of the house, Oliver let out a breath. “How are you?” he asked.

“Not in need of a nursemaid.”

“Samuel, I?—”

“Honestly,” he said sharply. “You know, I’ve wondered these last few days why you have not made your feelings quite known. Are you afraid of hearing the same rebuff she gives to me?”

Oliver’s heart thudded in his chest. Surely his cousin could hear the beating like a drum echoing through the garden. “Feelings? She is like a younger sister to me.”

Samuel gave him a look that implied how well he knew otherwise, his eyes narrowing slightly, his mouth flat. “I’ve seen the way you watch her, Oliver. You might be fooling yourself, but you are not hiding your feelings from me.”

Oliver sighed. His pulse thrummed, partly from the impulse to deny everything. Attraction aside, he didn’t have deep feelings for Ruth. He couldn’t.

Yet he had been prepared to ask her to marry him only a fortnight ago. Fear had held him back, yes, and the realization that he could not ask her to marry him simply because he needed money. But he had not regretted his change in mind after leaving her house and seeing Samuel again. He could not marry the woman his cousin loved. Did her rejection of Samuel change anything? No, not to Oliver. Not when Samuel still cared for her.

Samuel pulled a snuffbox from his pocket and inhaled a pinch with a flick of his wrist, affecting nonchalance. There was a tightness about his mouth that gave him away, though. He was not as unaffected as he’d like Oliver to believe. “Anyway, we don’t need to speak of that now. I’ve just had a letter from my father, and I’m afraid it bears ill news.”

The only news that would be relevant to them both was something regarding a member of their family, which was unpleasant. Oliver’s body tightened uncomfortably. “What is it, Sam?” The possibilities plagued him. There were far too many people he loved in Harewood.

Samuel watched him closely, his golden eyebrows bent in concern. “It seems your father has taken ill. Months ago, actually. He’s been recuperating in Devon—in a town called Thistledale. Have you heard of it?”

“Never.” Oliver swallowed, feeling shock overcome his system, as though the world had paused around him while blood pulsed in his ears. “How badly was he affected?”

“He’s been there for the better part of a year.”

The world seemed to tilt away from Oliver, but he closed his eyes and willed the sudden nausea to dissipate. It explained why they could not find his father when Samuel had gone looking in Plymouth, and why Father had not returned any of Oliver’s letters, but it presented a whole host of new questions—none of which could be answered here. “I’ll go to him.”

“That isn’t necessary. My father wrote to me because Uncle Charles received word of the illness with a request to convey your father home to Boone Park. They’ll set off tomorrow—no, what is the date today?” He screwed up his brow in concentration. “They set off today, I believe, and will return home with him within a fortnight. It’s unclear how fast they can travel or how often your father will need to rest on the return journey, so they’ve allotted themselves plenty of time.”

Home? To Boone Park? “I should go to them.”

Samuel lowered his chin, his voice growing more even. “There is nothing you can do that my father and Uncle Charles are not already doing. They will care for their brother and bring him safely home. If you return to Boone Park now, you will drive yourself mad waiting for them, and if you tried to follow them, you would be unlikely to find them before they return.”

“The alternative is remaining here and determining which of the Temple sisters I might enjoy courting?” Oliver scrubbed a hand through his hair. “It doesn’t bear consideration, Sam. I couldn’t do it.”

“I think the distraction of a few lovely ladies far surpasses the empty, quiet vastness of Boone Park.” Samuel rubbed a hand over his forehead, spoiling his perfect hair. “Give it two days, then leave if you must, and I will go with you. That will give your thoughts time to gather in order.”

There was wisdom in Samuel’s plan. Yet Oliver felt unsettled, ill, guilty. A multitude of feelings washed over him, mingling with fear and grief. He’d been hunting for his father for over a year, and now to learn he’d been ill all this time? How had he come to be there? Who was he with? Why hadn’t he written sooner?

It was enough to make a grown man swoon.

Samuel must have had the same thought, because he stepped forward, his arm raised in concern. “Should we sit on the edge of the fountain there, or will you lose your wits and fall into it?”

Oliver shot him a dry, flat-lipped look. “I am not as weak as that.”

“It is not weakness to be overcome by emotion, Oliver. You’ve just suffered a great shock. I think…yes, I know I can find some smelling salts if you need them. At least three of the women in the house are bound to have them nearby.”

It worked, whatever Samuel was attempting with his ridiculousness. Balance had been restored. Oliver took a steady, deep breath. He leveled Samuel with a grateful look. “Thank you, Sam.”

“It is nothing.”

“May I read the letter, or is it very private?”

“You know my father,” he said with a chortle. “The man is nothing but concise and to the point.” He pulled the letter from his pocket, opened it to ensure it was the right paper—or so Oliver assumed—and handed it over.

Oliver accepted it and read through the short letter, noting that Samuel had said nearly word for word what was written to him. They did not have much information to go on, but Samuel was correct, and a little time before leaving Rocklin would be good. A few days to sort his feelings with his cousin at his side. He would manage his emotions, then he would make a plan.

His father was coming home.