Page 6 of The Rules of Courtship (Hearts of Harewood #3)

Chapter Six

Rule #6: Only ride with groups of even numbers, or one person will feel left out

When she set out that morning for the stables, picking her way along the path proved more challenging than Ruth had anticipated. The sun had not yet risen, and she wasn’t familiar with the estate or its grounds. She found herself in a walled garden at one point, tall hedges creating a barrier between her and what were likely fields and stables. But she located a gate in the hedges and made it to the stables in the end, where Oliver waited, standing between two saddled horses.

Her stomach gave a little leap when she saw him. “Good morning.”

“A cool morning, rather,” Oliver replied, glancing over her violet habit. She had repaired the tear supplied by the apple tree, but it had been a nuisance. There would be no more climbing trees in riding habits for Ruth. “I hope your jacket is warmer than it appears. ”

“It will suffice.” Ruth’s spencer was thick. If anything, she was worried she would grow hot once the sun arrived. She approached the horse outfitted with a sidesaddle, gently speaking as she ran her hand down the mare’s face. “What a beauty you are.”

“You would not believe some of the horses in there, Ruth. I’m not certain I’ve ever seen finer stables. Your father ought to have come.”

“I suppose now we understand why my father and Lord Rocklin are good friends.” She shot him an impish smile.

“Will your friend be joining us?” Oliver asked.

Her friend? Mr. Bailey wasn’t anything more than an acquaintance at present, but she did not miss Oliver’s meaning, nor the way he had phrased the question. It was not our friend, but your friend. Interesting. What could he possibly have against the man?

Ruth glanced over her shoulder, but no one came up the walk. Mr. Bailey could be lost in the garden as well, but she somehow doubted that. She lifted one shoulder in a slight shrug. “I suppose not. Shall we be on our way?”

The sky was already lightening, soft hues of gray and lavender spreading across the expanse. If they lingered too long, they would miss the sunrise entirely. They mounted their horses and started off at a leisurely pace, allowing themselves time to grow familiar with their mounts. Ruth glanced toward the house occasionally in case Mr. Bailey did intend to join them, but saw no movement.

“You must not regard his absence as a slight,” Oliver said. “The man likely overslept.”

“I’m not offended.” She held his gaze. “You needn’t worry about my feelings.”

Oliver did not reply to this.

They rode in the direction Mr. Bailey had described to her the night before until they found a shallow hill. The sky was slowly brightening, the grays and lavender making way for blue. Cold wind wafted over her face. Her nose tingled as she inhaled.

“A house party,” she finally said, her breaths coming faster as her horse climbed the shallow hill. “It is a good deal of socializing after a surfeit of isolation these last few months. How do you intend to cope?”

Oliver’s focus remained on the path ahead of them. His straight nose and strong jaw were especially highlighted with the sunrise. “With intention. I have not come here without a goal.”

A goal? Then Father had been right, and Oliver was searching for a wife. It surprised Ruth, but she did her best to cover her astonishment. Some small part of her believed he could not have been in earnest, for Oliver had not so much as looked at a woman with serious intent for as long as she had known him. He had been too preoccupied with horses and caring for his grandmother. “What goal is this?” she asked, hoping for further clarification.

Perhaps it had nothing to do with women at all. Maybe he wanted to buy a horse from Lord Rocklin.

Oliver kept his gaze ahead of them. “I thought it was time I found a wife.”

Ruth had been prepared to hear these words since receiving her father’s request, but they still managed to surprise her. “Did you single out Miss Temple prior to arriving?”

“Not exactly.” He ran a hand over his chin. “My research could have been better, I suppose.”

She stopped, pulling at the reins to command her horse to pause as well. “You mean to tell me you came here looking for a wife and you hadn’t any idea what eligible ladies would be in attendance? Gads, Oliver. Why put in any effort at all, then? You can save yourself a good deal of trouble by marrying the first quiet church mouse you come upon.”

He directed his horse to turn back until he was beside her. “ That is what courting is for, Ruth. I do not need to select my wife before I’ve met her based on a list of qualifications. I can meet women, find one whom I connect with, then determine if we are suited to one another.”

“You make it sound less like a business transaction than my father does.”

“Marriage is a transaction, but it far surpasses finances alone. We are to be parents together, to share our meals for the remainder of our lives—I’d like to know I have a wife whom I enjoy spending that time with, at the very least.”

It was not unreasonable. In fact, the very notion of courting in that manner was altogether enticing. Put that way, Ruth could see herself finding a husband. Until now, the notion of love was an out-of-reach ideal. It seemed good in theory, but while she had been attracted to some gentlemen, she had not yet felt that elusive romantic love for anyone. She had been too busy building up walls and barriers with her rules to keep unwanted suitors away that she had not yet experienced anything like Oliver described. She could not regret it, though. The rules, the walls, and the barriers had done their job very well.

They started their horses again up the hill. “We ought to be a team, Oliver.”

“In what way?”

“We can help one another find good matches. You know me better than anyone else at this house party, and short of Samuel, I’d like to think the same about how well I know you.”

“You want to help me find a wife?” he asked, his dark eyebrows rising.

Imagining him sharing his dinners with Catherine for the rest of their lives, or raising children at her side, gave Ruth the oddest feeling of discomfort. But that wasn’t unreasonable, given how a wife would take Oliver away from her even further. He would be out riding with his wife, not his friend. They had already spent the last nine months drifting apart, so she supposed she should be glad of this house party and the opportunity it provided for her to spend a few weeks with him again before things changed forever.

“Yes, I know. You needn’t help at all,” she said flippantly, hoping to cover the thick, heavy feeling in her chest with an airy attitude. What had Papa said? She should take advantage of her connection to the women to help Oliver. “I will be privy to the conversations that happen when the men are not around. I’ll have the benefit of insight into characteristics you cannot possibly see, as young ladies immediately become their best selves once the gentlemen enter the room. I am unfailingly honest with you.”

His eyes glittered with amusement. “Are you telling me you do not act your best self around me, Ruth?”

“Do not twist my words,” she said, looping the thin leather reins around her hand once more. “It is one benefit of being more similar to brother and sister than acquaintances. You know all my best bits and my failures. Besides, I trust your advice.”

He looked past Ruth, his eyes glossy, lost in thought. When he settled his attention on her once again, it was sharp. “I can see the benefit, certainly.”

“Wonderful.” They reached the top of the hill, and Ruth breathed in the fresh morning air, mist still clinging to the grass and hovering around plump oak trees. She turned her face toward the rising sun, enjoying the wispy pinks and oranges threading across the wide, cloud-dotted sky.

When she looked back at Oliver, her breath caught. She had found him watching her instead of the sunrise. His skin glowed from the warmth of oranges and yellows brightening the sky, the glare of the rising sun shining in his eyes. Her throat grew dry from the naked look in his eyes, so vulnerable and plain. She could not determine what it was, which was unsettling.

“What are your rules, then?” she asked, desperate to put their conversation back in the proper lane. Her voice was rich, husky, like she needed to quench the dryness.

“Rules?”

“For courtship. You know most of mine. Never court a man who chews with his mouth open. Never court a man who speaks of politicians for more than thirty minutes at a time. Never?—”

“Yes, Ruth, I do know most of them,” he cut in with exasperation. “But you cannot expect me to remember the nuances. You ought to do away with your rules and put your trust in me.”

She grew still. Do away with her rules? They’d been her guiding light for the last few years. These Rose cousins and their ploys to remove her protection were relentless. “Impossible.”

“Difficult, perhaps. But I do believe I could find you a husband that suited your tastes well enough. Even if he occasionally breaks a rule.”

“Who?”

“I do not know him yet . I’ve only just developed the idea.”

“It’s intriguing,” she said. He spoke as though her rules had been getting in the way of her finding love.

“Take Dr. Burnside, for example. What rule did he break that sent you up into the tree?”

Ruth felt her cheeks warm, which wasn’t usual for her. When phrased in that manner, he made her sound immature. She set her eyes on the surrounding lands, looking at the various trees, so she wouldn’t have to meet Oliver’s eyes. “He is kind, of course. But he lives in Harewood.”

Now she just felt silly.

“I see.” Oliver had the chivalry at least to not bring attention to her embarrassment. “Does he chew with his mouth open? Speak only of politics? Own at least one dog? Wear boots that squeak?”

“You are mocking me,” she said, narrowing her eyes at him.

“I am trying to prove a point. Your rules might have helped you once, but they also seem to create a wall between you and the possibility of making a connection with a decent man who has polite manners and no great love for politics.” Oliver looked away. “It is only a fortnight, Ruth. We can try for two weeks, and if you do not find a reasonably acceptable husband in that time, you can easily reinstate your rules.”

Ruth warmed to the idea. She trusted Oliver above any other man she knew outside of her family, and he knew her well. If anyone else could find a good husband for her, it would be him. If it did not work, then all she did was pass the house party without a marriage. Most people did that, so it wouldn’t be too large a sacrifice.

“Very well,” she agreed. “You will find me a husband, and I will find you a wife.”

“No rules,” he said.

“Well, I think there ought to be some rules.”

“Ruth—”

“No, listen. We ought to set acceptable parameters. If I find a woman I deem acceptable, you must be willing to give her a chance without argument.”

He leaned forward to run his hand down his horse’s mane. “I see. Then the first rule for you is this: if someone asks you to dance, you must accept.”

“And if I tell you to ask someone to dance, you must do it.”

“Fair,” he agreed. “The second rule: you must give each candidate three chances before striking them from your list.”

“Three?”

“Yes. If they spend the first meeting speaking of nothing but politics for the better part of an hour, you would typically discount them immediately. I am saying you must give them an additional two chances before determining they aren’t acceptable.”

Ruth narrowed her eyes, searching for his reasoning behind this idea. He had always provided sound advice in the past, and yet she hesitated. “Why do I feel I shall regret agreeing to this? ”

Oliver laughed, the deep sound ringing through the air. He straightened in the saddle. “Because you cannot abide anyone else telling you what to do. Everything about this plan is contrary to what makes you comfortable.”

She felt like an apple. He had sliced her in half, revealing the seeds and wormholes and brown bruised segments. She wanted to put both halves together again and hide her imperfections.

“This could be good for both of us,” he said into the silence, looking over her shoulder. Birds called in the distance, but the world was otherwise asleep, no witnesses to their agreement. “For your first task, I would like you to accept Samuel’s next offer, whether it is to take you in to dinner tonight or to partner him in a game of whist. Whatever it is, you will accept him.”

Of course. Realization dawned on her. This was his motivation. Ruth rebelled against the idea instinctively. She had spent years avoiding giving Samuel any hope. But Eliza had made a fair point when they’d spoken outside of the church, and perhaps this was what both Ruth and Samuel needed for Samuel to accept that they were not a good pair.

Ruth could even use that time to her advantage, expounding upon the Temple twins’ greater accomplishments and beauty in the hopes of directing him toward a suitable woman. A man who dressed as Samuel did surely wanted a wife who would match his enthusiasm for clothing, at the very least.

Agreeing to Oliver’s proposal could accomplish all the goals she had come here with. It was perfect.

“What are you scheming?” Oliver asked.

“Nothing.” She flashed him a smile. “Shall we race back to the stables? The sun is out now, so we should see well enough.”

He didn’t look convinced, but nodded. “Very well.”

“Go!” she called without giving him a chance to situate himself beside her. She commanded her borrowed horse to fly down the hill and over the fields. Wind whipped against her face, cleansing her troubling feelings and making her feel whole again.

Ruth was unfamiliar with the terrain, but the horse knew the grounds well. It was no match in strength and speed for Oliver’s horse, however. He overtook them just before they reached the house, taking the win by a nose.

Ruth laughed, her breaths heavy, energy coursing through her. She grinned at Oliver and found him smiling back, his green eyes bright from the exercise. Something happened in that moment, a tug on Ruth that tethered her to Oliver. Her feverish thoughts lowered to a simmer, her gaze caught on Oliver in a way she could not break. They breathed heavily in time, sharing a look that was heady and unidentifiable.

“Ah, it appears I’ve missed you,” Mr. Bailey said, stepping out of the stables and cutting through the moment with a scythe. His long, dark coat billowed in the gentle breeze. His dark hair was hidden beneath a black hat, throwing a shadow over his features. She could not easily see his eyes.

“We’ve been to see the sunrise,” Oliver said, further breaking the connection. “Ruth could easily be persuaded to continue riding, I’m sure.”

Mr. Bailey’s gaze swung to her, his head tilting back to make his deep chocolate eyes more visible. “Is that true?”

Her breaths were still heaving, her body jittery from residual feelings. She swallowed, doing her best to sound natural and not at all affected. “It is easier to keep me on a horse than convince me off of one,” she conceded.

“Splendid. Shall we ride toward the stream? It is a lovely bit of land. If the hill was your aim, you would not have seen it.”

“I would like that.”

Oliver started to turn his horse around, coming up beside her. He didn’t seem in the least affected by the moment they’d shared. In fact, she could easily believe it had been one-sided. “Shall we all go together?” he asked innocently .

Mr. Bailey looked prepared to object.

Ruth felt torn. Immediately, she wanted Oliver at her side. But if he was forever with her, how would she strengthen her relationships with other gentlemen? She used to ride frequently with Oliver. Sometimes they’d be accompanied by a groom, sometimes not. They’d grown closer over those rides, and a conversation without him present was more likely to make headway than if he joined them.

She opened her mouth to gently object when Mr. Bailey gave a nod of consent. “I will fetch a horse. If you’d be so kind as to wait for me.”

Ruth smiled until he disappeared around the corner, then turned a wide-eyed look at Oliver. “Join us? I thought I was meant to be courting all the eligible gentlemen.”

Oliver’s chin dipped down, his eyebrows lifting. “All of them?”

“The eligible ones,” she repeated, in case he had not heard that part.

“Yes, well, I cannot in good conscience allow you to ride off with that man without a chaperone. We hardly know him.”

“Yet we do not need a chaperone?”

“That is different,” Oliver said. “You said so yourself: we are more akin to brother and sister.”

Why did his voice sound like it held an edge of bitterness? Ruth stared, uncertain whether she disliked his implications or his control more. “You have no authority over my choices.”

“No, but I care about your safety, and I’d dearly like to see this stream.”

“Oh yes, I had forgotten about your great love of running water.”

“Any body of water, really. I do not discriminate against lakes or ponds.”

Ruth wanted to screech. His lazy speech was infuriating. He cared nothing for the stream, and they both well knew it. “Oliver Rose, if you?—”

“All ready,” Mr. Bailey called, coming out of the stables and approaching them on horseback. He rode an impatient, powerful black horse with beautiful lines.

Ruth drew in a quiet breath, impressed.

“What was that, Ruth?” Oliver asked.

She shot him a quelling look. It hardly mattered, for they both knew he had won. “Lead the way, Mr. Bailey.”