Page 24 of The Rules of Courtship (Hearts of Harewood #3)

Chapter Twenty-Four

Rule #24: Do not give more credence to the opinions of Society over those who truly care for you

Oliver couldn’t face people . He had believed he was capable and ready to attend church that morning, but even the familiar congregation had pushed him far past comfortable. He had known for less than a week of his true parentage but had hardly been able to think of anything else. Each face in the parish looked at him with pity, but which of them knew he was losing an uncle and not a father, in truth? Surely the men on Captain Rose’s ship had known he never married. As much as his family had wanted to keep this secret forever, could they truly have managed it as well as they had believed?

Had Lord Rocklin known the truth when he had invited Oliver to his house party? No. Certainly not, for he would not have approved of an illegitimate man courting either of his daughters .

That gave Oliver the oddest measure of relief. At least he could safely assume the majority of England was unaware.

He sat at the dinner table late Sunday night, swirling wine in his glass while his food remained untouched.

There was one family who needed to be informed of the true state of his birth, but he could not bring himself to do it. Over the previous days, he had consistently found the simplest reasons to avoid visiting Willowbrook and having the conversation he needed to have with Ruth’s father. Oliver could not expect Wycliffe to approve of a union between Ruth and an illegitimate man. He knew this. But still, every time he told himself it was time to ride to Willowbrook and speak to them, he balked.

Above that, he had learned he had a half-brother in the village, but he could not bring himself to approach him either. How did one go about sharing that information? Good day, Mr. Ridley. Did you know we share a father?

Oliver swallowed more of his wine and pinched a bite from his roll.

“Mr. Rose?” Harrison said, quietly waiting by the door. “Captain Rose is asking for you.”

“Now?” Oliver asked.

The butler nodded.

To be interrupted during dinner made concern wave like a flag in his chest. Oliver drained the rest of his wine, then tore another bite from the roll so his stomach would not be entirely empty, before following the butler from the room. The rest of his family had gone home for the evening, but he knew his uncles intended to return in the morning. He could hardly refuse them, not when it was their brother who lay in bed ill.

The room was still overly warm, stuffy from the fire and closed drapes. Oliver went directly to the side of the bed. In the last few days since the truth had been revealed, he had found his anger toward his uncle dissipating, leveling into something far more comfortable. Where he used to wonder why he could not enkindle more love from his father, he now recognized his uncle treated him exactly as an uncle ought.

They had reached an understanding with one another. He only wished he had known sooner.

“Can I fetch anything for you?” Oliver asked, taking the chair closest to the head of the bed.

“My book.”

Oliver glanced at the shelf in the far corner of the room. “Which one would you like?”

He shook his head, closing his eyes. “The blue book.”

Oliver made to rise when Captain Rose wheezed, his eyebrows drawing together.

“They will argue,” he rasped. He was having trouble speaking, each word breaking forth with enormous effort. Then he opened his cloudy eyes and looked at Oliver. “Blue. Book.”

The feeling in the room shifted, growing warmer, as Captain Rose held his gaze a beat longer before his eyelids drifted shut. Oliver’s breathing quickened, perspiration gathering on his temples, his heart pattering rapidly in his chest. Captain Rose did not open his eyes again. He grew still, his chest unmoving. Oliver reached for his uncle’s wrist and held his pulse, recognizing the end had come. He had waited long enough to pass on something of value, but what did it mean? The stillness around him was complete, as though the room itself had released its final breath.

After saying a prayer over his uncle’s body, Oliver rose and went for the bookcase. If Captain Rose had spent his final few moments providing that information, then it was of great importance to him.

Only, Oliver could not locate a blue book on the shelf. The only spines were various shades of brown leather with the occasional black—no blue to be seen. He moved to the foot of the bed and knelt before the captain’s trunk, lifting the lid open. He pushed aside folded clothing and a small box of jewelry, but there were no books in the trunk. Oliver tried to open the compartment in the lid, but it was locked, and he could not find a key.

He sat back on his heels, looking over the bed at his still uncle, and exhaled. Part of him felt the grief of losing a father figure, but there was a sense of peace in the room as well.

Rising, Oliver moved toward the bell and pulled. He had a funeral to plan, and he needed help.

No one had been quite as eager for the reading of the will as Aunt and Uncle Harding. The same had been the case after Grandmother died, and Oliver felt history repeating itself in the days following Captain Rose’s passing. Mr. Chatham, their vicar, had come to Boone Park directly, helping him to make arrangements and plan what he needed to do, but the will would not be read yet.

Uncle Charles had written to the solicitor and his contact in the Navy to provide the information that Captain Rose would never sail again. He had brought his daughter Eliza to visit Oliver briefly and lend her support, but she did not stay long. She was too pregnant and uncomfortable to be far from home for any length of time.

Aunt Harding took up residence in the drawing room, accepting visitors and weeping at regular intervals. It would have been slightly frustrating for Oliver if he was not so grateful to be spared the mourning visits.

Now, over a week following the death, he had grown weary of the relatives roaming his halls and the constant inquiries into the state of his mind. He needed a reprieve from the demands of his family. Ryland’s birthday dinner was that evening, but it wasn’t appropriate for him to attend .

There were only a few days until the will would be read and his relatives would return to their homes and leave him in peace. He could hardly manage a few more nights with them sponging off him, but at this point, he could not admit his lack of finances. He feared a repeat of his grandmother’s will, that while they had been under the impression Captain Rose had a fortune, he would instead reveal a depth of debt and leave it in Oliver’s hands to set to rights. It had happened once before, so it was not impossible. If Captain Rose did anything of the sort, Oliver would be utterly ruined, and Boone Park would be lost to him.

He did not allow himself to think about the opposite—what a lump of money would do to help the estate. Three thousand pounds and he would be saved.

Oliver needed to dress for dinner. He pried himself from the solitude of his study when a familiar voice reached him from the stairwell, halting him in his tracks.

Uncle Harding whispered, though his voice carried. Agitation amplified his words. “If your brother leaves everything to the boy, we will have grounds to fight the will. Surely we can prove a lack of paternity.”

“You are borrowing trouble,” Uncle Charles said calmly. He had been the only reasonable person throughout this entire ordeal.

“Do you think Oliver deserves it? He received everything from your mother already,” Uncle Harding spat. “He is not even William’s son.”

That was rich coming from a man who was no blood relation at all to Captain Rose. His greed and expectation sent fiery hot anger through Oliver.

No one could predict what Captain Rose had planned for the fortune he had allegedly amassed during his years overseas, but it was out of their control. For anyone to feel they deserved the money was repulsive and arrogant .

Oliver inhaled, continuing toward his room with a singular motive in mind. He was in no way required to dine with a group of adults who were plotting his financial ruin. The piece of him that had craved the solace of an ordinary evening surrounded by his friends throbbed in his chest, and he wanted to be with them, celebrating a man who deserved to be celebrated.

The decision had been made in Oliver’s mind before he had consciously considered any consequences. Without consulting his family members, Oliver dressed for dinner. He pulled the black band onto his arm and wore his black gloves, taking extra care to ensure he appeared healthy and well dressed. Society would expect him to mourn for six months—twice as long as one would wear black for an uncle. But he did not care to think about that yet. The people who could be found at Ryland’s celebration tonight would not gossip nor spread about Harewood that he had broken with convention.

Oliver quietly slipped downstairs and outside before he could be found by any of his uncles, then requested his horse be saddled. He could not remain in Boone Park a moment longer, and the grooms would certainly tell his butler of his disappearance the moment he rode away. “Will you inform Harrison that he need not wait on me to serve dinner?” Oliver asked, taking his horse’s reins from his groom.

“Of course, sir.”

Moments later, Oliver was free.

Ryland’s home was brightly lit, candlelight glowing in the windows as Oliver rode down the gravel drive. He left his horse with a groom and walked inside the familiar stone house. He trusted these people more than anyone, and yet anxiety creeped in, making him wonder how he would be received. Ryland had mentioned it would be a small party, but what if Aurelia had invited more guests? People from Harewood who would look down their noses at Oliver’s lack of convention and perceived disrespect ?

He closed his eyes and shook the thoughts from his mind. For tonight, he did not care.

By the look of the gathering waiting in the drawing room, he had been correct about the small size of the party. He stepped inside, immediately seeing Jacob Ridley, and his gaze fled the man. He could not broach their newly discovered relationship here—not yet.

He drew in a sharp breath when his gaze landed on Ruth, standing directly across from him, her eyes pinned on his. Her striking figure was clad in a burgundy gown. Flashes of how she felt in his embrace swept over him, filling his mind. Oliver’s blood heated, his mouth going dry. He dragged his attention away from her before he could make a mistake and do something ridiculous like stride across the room and take her in his arms.

But he craved her. He craved the feelings she ignited in his chest. The comfort she provided.

Oliver knew better than to want her, but he could not help himself. If he was being honest, it was the reason he had broken convention and come tonight. To see Ruth.

“Oliver,” Ryland said, crossing the room and clapping him on the shoulder. His deep brown eyes were filled with concern. “We did not expect you.”

“Have I ruined the numbers?”

“You know we care little for that nonsense. If you would like to be here, we are glad to have you.”

Aurelia joined them, sliding her hand over her husband’s arm. Her eyes dropped to the mourning band tied around Oliver’s sleeve before looking warmly at him. “I, for one, am very glad you are here. The boys have worked hard on their surprise, and I think you will find it entertaining.” Her smile was compassionate, and Oliver was glad to be reminded that not everyone was as selfish or greedy as his family. He was surrounded by good people in this room .

Samuel appeared at his shoulder, closing their circle. “Were my parents aware that they’d pushed you out of your own house tonight, or did you slip away quietly?”

“I took the coward’s way,” Oliver said, his lips quirking into a smile.

“It is what I would have—no, what I have done many times. They can be overbearing. I hope the solicitor plans to come soon so the matter can be settled. Then they will no longer have an excuse to stay at Boone Park.”

“They are sleeping there?” Ryland asked, surprised.

“I cannot be trusted to be left alone in my grief,” Oliver said flatly.

“It is far more likely that my parents believe once they vacate Boone, they may never be invited to return, which would make it dashed more difficult to try and take a piece of Captain Rose’s fortune for themselves.”

Oliver looked at his cousin sharply. None of this was a secret, but he had not yet heard Samuel speak so plainly about his parents before in company. The edge of bitterness lining his words was not as worrisome as his lack of tact.

“What of Eliza’s parents?” Aurelia asked, smoothing back a lock of blonde hair.

“Her father, our Uncle Charles, likely only remains at Boone Park to soften the effect of my parents,” Samuel said. It was a fair assessment. “He is not such a leech as they are. Aunt Rose has not bothered to visit.”

“Dinner is ready. We ought to move through to the dining room before it cools.” Ryland turned to Oliver. “We already announced this, but there is no particular seating tonight.”

Oliver nodded, glancing over the room again. Ruth was still where she had been before, standing with Lady Helena and Eliza. Jacob—Oliver’s half - brother —was still speaking to Wycliffe near the fireplace, his arms crossed and nodding along. It was not the time or place to hold that conversation, but he felt the pull to speak to him, to watch him closely for possible similarities. Did they look alike? Share any features?

Oliver found Ruth again in the room, her smile like an anchor for his soul.

The lads were nowhere to be seen—likely enjoying a dinner of their own—and would join the group again later. There had been a perfect number of couples before Oliver joined them, which meant the servants must have scrambled to add a place setting for him. He did his best to swallow his embarrassment. No one had said anything to indicate he shouldn’t be there, and he hoped he had not caused any offense by his lack of respect in breaking mourning this way. But his heart had needed this room of people. He followed Samuel into the dining room and took a chair at the end of the table, finding himself between Samuel and Eliza. Ruth had ended up so far away from him, he could not look her way without being obvious.

They were engaged, for heaven’s sake. It would not be absurd for him to have wanted to sit beside her, but he feared if he spoke to her, he would steadily unwind. Like a carefully coiled ball of twine, he was only one wrong move away from coming completely undone.

Putting his focus on his plate of food, he ate, listening to the conversation move smoothly around him, and counted down the minutes until he could speak to Ruth at the end of the meal.