Page 28 of The Rules of Courtship (Hearts of Harewood #3)

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Rule #28: Never value money above family, love, or marriage

Oliver slept well for the first time in weeks. There was much about his life he had not been able to predict—the state of his inherited house and finances, what would happen with the reading of Captain Rose’s will, how he would face Jacob Ridley and inform the man he was his half-brother. But the trials that had seemed insurmountable just yesterday now felt manageable. Knowing Ruth loved him, that she wanted to stand beside him through all the madness embroiling him, had a massive impact on the state of his emotions.

He felt more whole, more capable.

But he still hoped Captain Rose had not left him entirely out of the will, or how would he justify a marriage to Ruth? Wycliffe had made it clear he did not want his daughter marrying into financial ruin, which had the dual purpose of informing Oliver that Wycliffe would not save the estate with a marriage settlement above the dowry Ruth already had .

It was fair but presented a problem.

Oliver took tea in his room as he dressed for the day, then went directly to the study to await the solicitor. He settled in with the estate books, desperate to hit upon a scheme to save himself, when a knock came at the door and Harrison let himself in.

“Mr. Dale is here, sir,” the butler said.

“See him in, please.” Oliver closed his books and pushed them aside.

The door was opened wider and Mr. Dale, the solicitor hired by each member of the Rose family, entered. He wore a gray coat and thin wired spectacles on his large nose. His white hair was combed neatly, his hat removed, and he looked no different from the last time he entered this study to read Grandmother’s will ten months ago.

Oliver rose to greet him. “Good day, Mr. Dale. You may have the desk.”

“Thank you, Mr. Rose.” He pulled his case onto the table and opened it, retrieving a set of papers and sorting through them to ensure everything was in order.

“Shall I gather the family now?” Oliver asked.

Mr. Dale looked up from his papers, his spectacles sliding low on his bulbous nose. “Mrs. Esther, uh, Rose, is here?”

“She is.”

“And her daughters?”

“They are, as well.” Oliver swallowed. With so many beneficiaries, he could hardly expect a penny left in his name. He found Harrison in the corridor, who left to gather the family and bring them to the study. Within a quarter of an hour, the study was filled to the brim—Esther and her daughters, Aunt and Uncle Harding, Aunt and Uncle Charles, Samuel, Eliza and Jacob Ridley, Mary Rose and her daughter, Emma, all filled the space near to bursting. Oliver leaned against the wall just behind the desk, careful not to glance over Mr. Dale’s shoulder .

Eliza sat near the back wall beside her sister Mary, with Jacob Ridley standing at her shoulder. Oliver did his best to ignore Jacob’s eye. Learning they were half-brothers had been a blow, and he did not quite know how to inform Jacob. It was a delicate matter, and he wasn’t familiar enough with the man to predict how he would take the news.

“I will not leave you in suspense any longer,” Mr. Dale said dryly, his voice carrying over the packed room. He cleared his throat and began to read. After the legalities, he said, “Four hundred pounds to each of my nieces and nephews, Mary Rose, Eliza Rose, Samuel Harding, and Oliver Rose.”

Samuel caught Oliver’s eye and gave a flat smile. If ever there had been any doubt, now the truth was plainly in front of them. Oliver glanced at Eliza and found her eyebrows pulling together, her gaze on him. She looked more concerned than surprised, but she would surely have questions for him later. He looked away.

Mr. Dale continued. “My watch is to go to my brother, Charles Rose, with a sum of eight hundred pounds. My pipe is to go to my sister, Theresa Harding, with a sum of eight hundred pounds.

“Five thousand pounds to each of my daughters, Arabella and Penelope Rose, to be settled upon them when they marry, or if they do not marry, when they turn twenty-nine. The remaining sum to be left in its entirety with Briar House and all my earthly possessions to my wife, Mrs. Esther Lowell Rose.”

Mr. Dale glanced up, his gaze sweeping along the faces in the room before continuing. He finished reading the legally binding document, signed with a flourish by Captain William Rose, as Oliver could plainly see from where he stood behind the desk.

Four hundred pounds. Of the great fortune his uncle had amassed overseas, it was a pittance. But four hundred pounds was no small sum. It would not save his estate, but if put to good use, perhaps it would be enough to give him adequate time to find an answer to his financial woes.

“A pipe?” Uncle Harding said scoffing. “Those chits receive five thousand pounds, and we get a pipe ?”

Had he already forgotten the eight hundred pounds?

“It was our father’s pipe,” Aunt Harding said, moisture in her eyes. The gesture had clearly touched her, and it was obvious she was not as greedy as her husband.

“Worthless,” Uncle Harding muttered. “Where is their proof?”

Oliver wanted to take him by the neckcloth and drag him from the room, but he kept his hands to himself, inhaling for patience.

“I suppose you’ve brought the marriage license for proof?” Uncle Harding continued, his beady gaze on Esther. “We must know you are who you claim to be.”

Mr. Dale removed his glasses, looking from Uncle Harding to Esther with surprise. “If you believe me to be derelict at my occupation, you may see me privately, sir.”

“No, that is not what I—that is, I only meant that she could be an imposter.”

“Yes, we all gathered as much,” Mr. Dale said crisply. “I would recommend you see yourself out until your emotions are under control, Mr. Harding. I have taken care to ensure each person in the room is precisely who they claim to be. William Rose brought his wife with him to sign the will. Now, if there is anyone else who needs further clarification, I am happy to assist you.”

The room was silent.

“That does not prove marriage,” Uncle Harding said. Was he thinking about how William had falsified a marriage before for the sake of Oliver? What was to say the man would not do so again? It did not feel right to Oliver, but he could see the wild leaps his uncle was making. “She ought to produce proof . ”

Mr. Dale let out a slow exhale and faced Esther. “Have you brought proof, Mrs. Rose?”

Her face was ashen, her mouth pinched, sending a disquiet through the room. “The church where we were married in Thistledale was lost to a fire some years ago,” she said. “The registers were destroyed.”

Someone inhaled sharply nearby.

“But I can produce witness statements?—”

“I knew it,” Uncle Harding spat. “She is nothing but an imposter. She convinced William they were married so she could have his money. He was not right in the head with that illness.”

“When did he bring Mrs. Rose to your office, Mr. Dale?” Uncle Charles asked, in an effort to settle the matter.

“Six months ago.” Mr. Dale pulled at his cravat. “The will had not been updated in some time, and he wanted to make changes.”

“Did they include leaving less to us and more to her ?” Uncle Harding said.

“We have a letter of certificate from the rector,” Esther said, her shoulders back proudly. She held her daughter’s hand, however, and Oliver was struck by how difficult this must have felt for her. “But it was in William’s possessions, tucked within the folds of a blue journal. I have not seen it. If we can locate the book, then you will have your proof.”

The blue book. Captain Rose had told Oliver to find it, had he not?

“Stuff and nonsense!” Uncle Harding shouted. “There is no journal.”

Oliver inhaled. “There is,” he said, drawing every pair of eyes in the room to him. “He told me of it—asked me to look for it. But it was not among his things. The only place I could not look was the locked compartment in his trunk. There was no key.”

Esther sighed in relief, her shoulders falling. “I have the key.”

Oliver recommended the group move to the parlor where tea and a late breakfast were laid out while the matter was sorted. He removed to Captain Rose’s chamber with Mr. Dale, Esther, and his two uncles. The stale air was made marginally better by opening the drapes, bathing the room in light. Together they watched as Esther unlocked the compartment in the lid of the trunk and produced the book, finding the signed statement from the rector folded within the pages and yellowed with age.

She passed it triumphantly to the solicitor. Oliver had believed her claims—indeed, she had not had the aura of deceit about her. All the same, he was glad the proof had been found to put his uncle’s tactics to rest.

“If you require further proof, you can read the order of events as they happened in William’s own hand.” She held the journal toward Mr. Dale.

He shook his head, reading the statement. “This will suffice. Thank you, Mrs. Rose.”

She nodded, looking uncomfortable as she glanced around the chamber. It was not much changed since the room of Captain Rose’s youth, since Grandmother had insisted on it remaining ready in case Captain Rose dropped in unexpectedly. The men filed from the room, so Oliver approached her, touching her arm. “You can remain as long as you would like. I will see to it Miss Rose and Miss Penny are made aware if you’d like for them to join you in here.”

She gave him a grateful, watery smile. “Not just yet. I will bring them up later, if that suits.”

“Of course.”

“Thank you, Oliver.”

He dipped his head in recognition and left her standing in the center of the room, clutching the journal in both hands.

When Oliver made it to the first floor landing, he could hear his Aunt and Uncle Harding arguing near the front door. He looked around the supporting pillar, debating whether he should continue on or retreat.

“I will have tea,” Uncle Harding spat, his cheeks mottled from anger.

Aunt Harding, a tall and formidable woman, glared at her husband. “I am as disappointed as you, but nothing further can be done. You have embarrassed me enough for one day. Come home with me now, or you will be sleeping with the pigs tonight.”

Oliver stepped back into the corridor to avoid being seen, waiting until their footsteps had retreated and the front door had closed with a thud. Goodness, but he was glad his aunt had finally stepped in.

When he made his way toward the parlor, he found Eliza and Jacob standing outside the door, deep in quiet conversation. Eliza’s hand rested on her rounded belly, and her husband spoke to her in concern.

“Oliver,” she said, noticing him. “I hoped we could have a moment of your time. But if today is not—” She grimaced, sucking in a breath and pressing her other hand into her husband’s arm.

Alarm swept through Oliver. He recalled her telling him she expected the baby to come in August. It was far too early for her to labor now. “What is it? Is the baby well?”

Jacob slipped an arm around her. “We need to go home. I think your time has?—”

“No,” she said through her teeth, her eyes closed. “I cannot move just yet.”

“How long has this been going on?” Oliver asked, disturbed he had not noticed before now .

“She was very quiet during the meeting,” Jacob snapped. “I will carry you, darling.”

“Please do not make me ride in that carriage again so soon,” Eliza asked, her voice quiet.

Oliver realized two things in quick succession: his cousin was having her baby, and she was going to do so at Boone Park. He straightened, glad to have an objective that had nothing to do with false fathers or inheritances. “I will see about a room and Harrison will send someone for the doctor. Would you like tea, Eliza?”

Jacob looked at him gratefully.

“I cannot have this child here,” she said through her teeth. “I am not ready. I have weeks to go.”

“You do not have the luxury of choosing when your child comes, love,” Jacob said. “And you insisted on being here this morning.”

She scowled up at him. “The pains were not so bad an hour ago.”

“Take Grandmother’s room,” Oliver said. “It is the only chamber I know to have clean sheets. It was prepared for Esther, but she did not feel comfortable… Anyway, you can go there directly, unless you’d like to wait for another bed to be made up.”

She nodded, and Jacob lifted her tenderly in his arms, moving toward the stairs.

“Oliver,” Eliza said, forcing her husband to look back. “When you are finished sending for the doctor, will you be so kind as to inform my mother and sister of the situation? I would like for Ruth to know as well.”

“Of course. I will see it is done.”

“And Peter,” Eliza said. “Aurelia and Ryland are minding him. They must be informed.”

“I will see he is brought here,” Oliver promised.

“Anne!” Eliza said. “I need my maid. I need Anne. ”

Oliver fought his amusement at Jacob’s exasperation. “She will be here,” Oliver promised.

Jacob caught his eye briefly. “Thank you.”

Oliver nodded, unable to reply. There was a grateful, knowing look from Jacob that made Oliver wonder how much he knew about the nature of their true relationship, but he shook the thought away for now. He had tasks. A baby was coming.

It had taken the better part of an hour for Oliver to send for the doctor, locate Aunt Rose and Mary in the parlor and tell them of Eliza’s situation and whereabouts, write a note to Ryland about Peter and have it sent to their house, send a groom to fetch Anne, and have his horse saddled to ride for Willowbrook. Mr. Dale had verified he needed nothing further from Oliver, and that bank draughts would be prepared shortly for each of the beneficiaries.

That still left Oliver without the money he needed to save Boone Park.

He could take his inheritance and invest it, but that was either a slow gain, or he had the potential of losing it all. He’d thought of purchasing horses and attempting to breed them, but he had watched Wycliffe struggle for the last few years, losing foals and mares alike. It was not a guarantee of funds, either.

No, he was still without a plan. The idea that he could lose Ruth over this sent his body into a fit of nerves, his hands shaking as he pulled his horse up to the front of Willowbrook House. Because now that he had her—now that they each admitted their feelings, now that he’d tasted her lips and knew her heart belonged to him—he could not imagine a life without her by his side.

There was an answer. Oliver just needed to find it .

The front door flung open and Ruth hurried out, unceremoniously coming to his side after he swung down from the saddle, his boots hitting the gravel with a thud.

Her beaming smile reached through his chest, further hardening his resolve to do whatever he must to be worthy of her.

“You’re here,” she said, smiling widely. Her brown hair was pulled back, but a few wayward locks fell loose, lifting in the soft warm breeze.

Oliver handed his horse off to Jameson and allowed Ruth to pull him up the steps to the front door. His chest glowed when she took his hand. It was not until they were heading down the familiar corridor toward Wycliffe’s study that Oliver realized why Ruth thought he was here—to have the second meeting with her father. He had forgotten. His mind had been on Eliza and carrying out his tasks.

They stopped before the study door. The painting of Wycliffe’s favorite horse, one that Ruth had painted in her youth, still hung in the same place, arresting him. He stared at the horse, his mind awhirl after all the things that had happened recently, after all the ways his life and understanding had altered. He’d come here that day to ask for her hand. How differently would things have gone had he done it then? Oliver couldn’t regret waiting. The decision was stronger, his love surer now.

“Wait,” Ruth whispered, squeezing his fingers. Her deep brown eyes bore into him. “Are you well? Is everything well?”

He gave her a hint of a smile, his thumb brushing over the back of her hand, and determination flared within him. “It will be.”