Page 60 of The Rules of Courtship
His horse took another restless step away before he commanded it to draw closer to the old oak tree and dismounted. Tossing his reins over a low-hanging, gnarled branch, Oliver removed his hat and rested it on the saddle before tugging his hand through his hair.
Ruth did not consider the consequences of dismounting here. Her friend was grieving, and he needed her. She slid down Rosaline’s side, her feet hitting the ground with a jarring thud. Surely he would help her into the saddle again.
When she stepped closer, Oliver looked up, leaning away from her. “What did Dr. Burnside have to say?”
“Nothing different than the doctor in Thistledale who had already been seeing to my fa—to the captain.”
That was strange.
Oliver looked down into her eyes. “This is not easy to explain, but I think you understand my meaning. If the captain only has a little time remaining, then I will soon go into mourning, and we will have months to find a way to clear your name. Perhaps you will find someone else in that time. Or I can leave the country in my grief. You will be pitied in your abandonment and a broken engagement would be understood. There are many options available to us.”
“Oliver,” she said boldly, his name like a promise. “I do not intend to use your father’s death in any such manner. There is no reason we must make any decisions today. You needn’t think ofanythingbut being with your father.”
A sheen in his eyes betrayed his emotion, shocking Ruth. He had already lost so much, and now this. It was the outside of enough. Ruth would not press anything.
“We will remain engaged, then,” he said, his voice low and scratchy.
“For the time being, yes. We can pretend to be happy with the arrangement for as long as you need, then consider the matter again in the future.” The last thing he needed to do during his time of grief was plan a trip to the Continent in order to save her. It was ludicrous. The very notion of such an absence made her chest hurt.
She took his hand between both of hers, layers of gloves separating their skin. Squeezing softly, she willed him to look in her eyes. “We are friends first, Oliver. I am here for you.”
He closed his eyes. The sense of relief drawing his shoulders down made her yearn to take him in her arms. Ruth closed the distance between them, sliding her hands up and around hisneck and burying her face in the folds of his cravat. She breathed in the fresh smell of cedar and citrus again, letting it fill her with comfort.
When Oliver’s hands went around her back, his head resting on hers, warmth washed through her body like a flood. His stubble scratched at her temple as she shifted her head, bringing her lips up to meet his again. This kiss differed from before. Where the moment in the moonlit garden was fevered and quick, this was slow and delicate, the gentle pulling and pressing of his lips, the soft pressure of his hand on her back, the wind brushing her hair. She sank into this kiss, letting him hold her, letting it linger.
When Oliver stopped, he leaned back, his eyes remaining closed.
If he was not ready to face the world, then she would not require it of him. Ruth pulled him down for another kiss, and he guided her backward until her shoulder pressed into the tree trunk. He leaned against her, taking her head in his hands and tenderly guiding her. Ruth was uncertain how long they remained there, her sense of time lost to the feeling of his warm, soft lips devouring her. She had never felt so wanted, so whole, as she did in Oliver’s embrace.
And even while she stood beneath the tree, letting him pour his grief into her and accepting it with aplomb, she knew her heart was forever lost to him.
She loved Oliver.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Rule #22: If one must face the firing squad, it is better to do so with a friend at one’s side
Oliver was an utter fool.
By the time he returned to Boone Park, Harrison told him his father was deep in a laudanum-induced sleep, and he took the opportunity to escape from his gathered family and attempt an early night.
Sleep would not come, however. He had used Ruth poorly that evening. As the sun had begun descending, he had stood on her father’s land and kissed her until he could not think straight. She certainly deserved better than him, and if she did not want to be married to him—what had she said,permanently?—then he would grant her wish.
It was better this way, anyway. Now that he knew the truth about his parentage, he could not knowingly shackle himself to a woman he cared about. She deserved better than to ignorantly marry the natural son of an unmarried debutante. Oliver had nofather, not anymore. If it had been a ruse, then the woman he had believed to be his mother—Joanna Rose, a poor woman from France—could very well not exist. It certainly explained why Grandmother had never liked to speak of her.
The truth of his past was sordid and unfit for Ruth’s ears, but Wycliffe would need to be apprised of it.
Not yet, though. Once Oliver told Wycliffe the state of things, the man would certainly desire the engagement be broken immediately, and Oliver had meant what he had said to Ruth earlier. A state of mourning was imminent, and they could use that to their advantage. It would give them time to turn the blame of the broken engagement on Oliver somehow.
The following morning, his body was sluggish and weary. He dressed and took his horse out for a ride, breathing in the clean, crisp air in preparation for a day spent in Captain Rose’s stuffy bedchamber. He might not have a father anymore, but the man was family—had stepped in and played the role for nearly thirty years. It was a strange position to find himself in, but Oliver could not very well abandon the man now.
When Oliver returned to Boone Park, exhausted from pushing his horse and riding hard through the fields, he came upon a visiting carriage he recognized and cursed under his breath. Samuel stood in the entryway of his home, an apologetic look on his face.
“Your mother is here,” Oliver said.
“Indeed. She is up with Captain Rose now.”
“Will you join us, then?”
