Page 2 of The Rules of Courtship (Hearts of Harewood #3)

Chapter Two

Rule #2: Only feed Rosaline one apple per week to avoid rotting her teeth, even if she begs. The same could be applied to men, for too much indulgence leads to ruin

Oliver let himself into Willowbrook House. It was quiet, the family and servants otherwise occupied, leaving him to make his way to the study alone. Wood paneling lined the corridor, punctuated by paintings. He paused just outside the study door to peer at a familiar depiction—one of Wycliffe’s horses Ruth had painted. Oliver recalled watching her outline the horse’s body before her older brother, Ryland, had called him away. Oliver had been forever in this house as a lad, finding family and friendship and refuge within these warm walls.

He was intimately familiar with this home, this family, and the woman he had found in the tree outside—but none of that had prepared him to speak the words aloud he had been planning for weeks .

Ruth, will you be my wife?

Six little words. No, not little. Enormous with weight and meaning. It should not have been so difficult a task to complete. The opportunity had presented itself like a freshly wrapped package. Ruth had been alone outside, no listening ears nearby. But then she’d had to repeat her blasted rule about not courting a man from Harewood, and Oliver’s proposal had frozen. The words were there, a chunk of ice on his tongue, refusing to leave his mouth.

He had spent weeks convincing himself he was different—their friendship was different. But what if he was wrong? What would he have done if Ruth had laughed at him? Rejected him out of hand? He knew her rules, of course, but some small part of him had wanted to believe that maybe she would flout them in favor of marrying him. Yes, he had been a little distant lately, but their shared love of horses had built a solid foundation, and their friendship was too old to so easily crumble. He had always been drawn to her vibrant personality, and he liked how he could make her laugh. None of that meant anything if a proposal would set him firmly on the friendship shelf beside Samuel and Dr. Burnside and the other men who had tried to win her heart. Fear had frozen him.

Foolish. He knew that.

Before losing cognizance, Grandmother had spoken to Oliver about finding a wife. After the reading of her will, he realized why: he needed to marry if he was going to save the estate from utter ruin, since his father’s navy fortune could not be relied upon. The man was likely to live for another thirty years, at least. Which left Oliver with a nearly ruined estate and a task: find a wealthy wife. The first person to come to mind had been Ruth—from there, the idea had grown on its own. Ruth was one of his closest friends, and he could see himself happy by her side .

Of course, he had been stubborn enough to try and save the estate without seeking a fortune these last nine months, but thus far, his progress had made a small dent in the debt left to him.

It was just as well Oliver had not asked for Ruth’s hand in marriage—his cousin Samuel would have taken personal offense if he had. The man had been in love with Ruth for as long as Oliver could remember. Oliver harbored similar feelings, but he had never told a soul. He’d thought…but no. It was a secret that would surely die with him.

He gave his head a shake and knocked at the study door before opening it.

“Come in, son,” Wycliffe said, waving Oliver into the room. He was seated in a burgundy wingback chair near the empty fireplace, lighting a pipe pressed between his lips. His dark hair, liberally peppered with gray, was neatly combed. Wycliffe was everything a father ought to be. Kind, welcoming, full of knowledge and glad to share it. He was here , instead of on a ship somewhere in the West Indies. Oliver’s father could not even be bothered to take leave and return home for his own mother’s funeral. He had not replied to a single letter in over a year. He’d been frustrated that his mother had asked him for money, evidently, but that was no reason to ignore his son. He was missing, and he didn’t seem to care that Oliver remained in Harewood, worried and alone.

Oliver couldn’t let himself think about that now. Suppressing his anger, he lowered himself in the chair across from Wycliffe.

“Trouble with the north field?” Wycliffe asked, his wiry eyebrows pulling together.

“No, the irrigation seems to work splendidly.” Oliver cleared his throat and rested his ankle on his knee. This man had stepped in and bridged the gaps in Oliver’s understanding of estates, helping him know what to do with his lands and providing a respite from the grief that plagued him after his grandmother died nine months ago.

After all Wycliffe had given him, had Oliver really had the gall to ask for his daughter as well? It was ridiculous. Presumptuous. He was addled of mind to even consider it. Oliver had not learned of the state of his grandmother’s finances or how she’d asked his father for money until she had been lying on her deathbed. Oliver had, in turn, only shared the truth with two people—his butler and Wycliffe.

“What can I do for you, son?”

Oliver needed to say something. He could not leave the question dangling, and the truth of his original objective today was going to die with him. The reality that he needed a wife had not changed, though. If he did not have the necessary funds soon, his estate would collapse and countless people would be out of work. Maybe it was time to begin looking for a wife in earnest.

He would overcome his feelings for Ruth eventually, surely. He was nearly thirty, after all, mature enough to manage this business without involving emotions.

The idea settled over his shoulders, taking root and growing more comfortable by the minute. Perhaps his original intent in coming here could be satisfied in another way. “I need a wife.”

“Ah.”

Oliver lowered his ankle and crossed the other leg instead. “The trouble is, the estate has taken all of my attention.”

“A hazard of being a landowner, my boy. Have you considered attending the Season in London next year?”

He would never be able to afford it by then. “Spring will be a difficult time to be away.”

“It will,” Wycliffe agreed, nodding. He puffed at his pipe, glancing up in thought, before his eyes raked over Oliver. Had he surmised Oliver’s intent to ask for Ruth’s hand? To beg use of his money on top of everything else Wycliffe had given him ?

Time to deflect. Oliver spoke the first thing that came to his mind. “I have been invited to a house party at the Rocklin estate in a fortnight’s time.”

“Lord Rocklin has two daughters of marrying age, does he not?”

“Indeed.” The viscount was also known to be incredibly wealthy. Oliver didn’t know the daughters well, but his cousin Samuel had mentioned their better qualities on numerous occasions. Until this moment, he had not considered attending the house party, but it was a natural step in his process. If he wanted a wife, he’d need to go in search of one. Where better to do that than a house full of young, eager ladies? Besides, Lord Rocklin had been a good friend of his father’s. Perhaps he could share insights that would help Oliver locate him.

Wycliffe patiently puffed on his pipe. He had a talent for allowing silence to sit in the room, providing space for thought. At present, however, Oliver wished he would fill it with something. Anything.

“I had hoped my father would be available, but he is still missing,” Oliver finally said. “I suppose I’ve come here because I did not know where else to go.”

Wycliffe lowered his pipe, frowning. “Nasty business, that.”

“We’ve not heard from him in over a year. My grandmother felt it wise that I wed quickly. Boone Park needs a mistress.” He felt his neck growing warm. Wycliffe knew that Boone Park also needed a fortune, but Oliver could not say so aloud.

“So you’ve decided to begin the hunt at the Rocklin house party?”

“Yes.” The decision was fresher than he allowed Wycliffe to believe, but that did not make it any less true. “Will you be home? I would like to know there is somewhere my men can go if they come upon any trouble. Someone to keep an eye on my property.”

Wycliffe’s eyes softened. “Of course. You know the new mare I intend to breed? We shall be receiving a visit from her stallion soon.”

“Wonderful news,” Oliver said. He hoped this venture was more successful than the last mare. Wycliffe had been having trouble with his horse breeding the last few years. “If anything comes up about my father, will you send word to me?”

Wycliffe gave a tense smile, a line forming between his brows. “You know I will, son.”

Oliver’s limbs felt heavy, exhaustion washing over his body. He wanted nothing more than a bruising ride that left him breathless and heaving, anything to push him outside of his body. He drew to his feet. “Thank you, Wycliffe. Your help has been unparalleled these last few years. How could I possibly thank you for all you have done?”

“It is nothing, Oliver. This is what neighbors do for one another.”

Oliver had other neighbors as well, and they hardly had a relationship. This surpassed neighborly guidance and kindness, and they both knew this. It was kind of Wycliffe to pretend otherwise for the sake of his pride.

“If there is anything I can do for you?—”

“I will ask,” Wycliffe promised. “You have not seen Ruth about recently, have you?”

“How long has she been missing?”

“Since the doctor began calling at odd hours.” Wycliffe took a final puff of his pipe. “I wish she had any desire for marriage at all. Perhaps you could talk some sense into…” His words trailed off, and he glanced up, giving Oliver an uncomfortably watchful look. “Say, this house party is not a terrible idea.”

“You would like to have your own house?—”

“No, certainly not.” Wycliffe laughed. “Far too much effort. I was thinking about the Rocklin party. We received an invitation yesterday as well, though I am not sure if my wife would like to attend without me. I cannot leave my mare at such a vital time, but if you intend to go, Ruth will have another set of eyes to watch over her.”

“Ruth has always been adept at taking care of herself,” Oliver hedged.

“Yes, but her spirit is a wild one, as you are perfectly aware. It would make me feel better knowing there is a man in attendance with her best interests in mind. Someone I trust with her life.”

The situation was spinning out of Oliver’s control. Could he search for a wife with Ruth at his side, watching his every move? He had spent the last few months believing she was the best option for a partner and convincing himself to be brave and ask her. Perhaps watching her court other men would free him from the pulling attraction he held for her. As the younger sister of his good friend, he could come to think of her as a sister, as well.

Besides, after everything Wycliffe had done for him, Oliver could not very well refuse the man.

“You know I would do anything for you and for Ruth,” Oliver finally said.

Wycliffe shot him a knowing smile. “Then it is settled. I will speak to Lady Helena and sort through the details.” He stood, walking Oliver to the door. “It will all work out for the best, son. You will see.”

Oliver certainly hoped so, but it was difficult to imagine how. Currently, he felt like he had been spun through a thunderstorm, still struggling to find which way was up.

When Oliver returned to Boone Park, Samuel was waiting for him in the drawing room. His cousin stood beside the billiards table, an eye narrowed on the ball he meant to hit.

“You were gone longer than I expected,” Samuel said, blowing a puff of air toward the dark gold locks falling over his forehead. “Your butler put me in here to wait, but that was nigh on an hour past.”

They were both fully aware Samuel would not have waited unless he wanted to. “I had business with Wycliffe.”

Samuel glanced up, his eyes brightening. He had been half in love with Ruth their entire lives. It was stifling, yet a good reminder of why Oliver had been mad to even consider asking her to marry him.

If he had gone through with it, he would have been sacrificing his friendship with Samuel, wouldn’t he? That was unthinkable. How had he convinced himself it was a good idea? He blamed the isolation in this enormous house.

“Is there something you need?” Oliver asked, picking up a second mace and rounding the billiards table. Samuel was his first cousin, but their relationship lingered closer to the boundaries of brothers. They had always been opposites—Samuel a fop where Oliver cared not a whit for what he wore, Samuel bent on marriage while Oliver wanted nothing except to ride. But they cared deeply for one another, and they shared affection for driving curricles. It was enough.

“I have not seen you since church last week,” Samuel said. “Can a man not drop in occasionally to see about the wellbeing of his favorite cousin?”

Oliver eyed the empty glass resting on the edge of the billiards table that had likely held whisky. “Perhaps, unless it is actually the contents of my cellar you’ve come about.”

Samuel gave a boyish grin. “Grandmother hoarded the best. It’s only fair you share your wealth.”

Oliver’s stomach tightened. It was meant in jest, but he worried there was a layer of truth to the words. When Grandmother had died and left everything to Oliver, skipping all three of her children in favor of a grandson, it had been a sore point. He had felt ashamed to receive the entirety of the estate when his cousins were left with nothing.

None of them knew that the estate was deeply in debt, that he’d been given a challenge and not a windfall. He needed three thousand pounds to be free of the bank, but with how slowly his growth had been over the last nine months, he was nowhere near having what he needed.

Oliver’s mother had died in childbirth and he’d been abandoned by his navy-faring father, forcing his grandmother to raise him. She had given up enough for him already. He didn’t understand why she had chosen him to inherit, but he imagined it had something to do with her believing he could save Boone Park from utter ruin. He had devoted every spare moment to the task these last nine months, but progress was painfully slow.

Oliver shook his head and put down the mace. “You can have anything you’d like, Sam, and you know it.”

Samuel hit the final ball and moved to put the mace on the wall rack. “I shouldn’t make light of it. I know it’s been uncomfortable for you.” His eyes glittered against the sunlight streaming through the tall windows. He didn’t know the half of Oliver’s discomfort. “How are you really?”

Oliver ran his fingers over the smooth wood of the billiards table. “I’d be better if we could find my father.”

“Yes, well…I did my best, but I think?—”

“I do not blame you,” Oliver said quickly. Samuel had gone to look for Oliver’s father when Grandmother had taken a turn for the worse. They’d heard the captain had been on leave from the navy and landed in Plymouth, but Samuel had no luck locating him.

Oliver needed to speak of anything else. “I am going to reply favorably to the Rocklin house party. Would you care to go with me?”

Samuel’s gaze flicked to the floor, his brows drawing together. “No, I don’t think I would. ”

Should he inform Samuel that Ruth would likely be in attendance? The words were there, on the tip of his tongue, but he said, “Would you like to stay here while I am gone? Watch over the house and land?”

A devilish smile came over Samuel’s golden face. “Watch over your cellars? I’d love to.”