Page 62 of The Rules of Courtship
Samuel dropped into the chair, his eyebrows reaching for his hairline. “Then who is?”
“That is what I would like to find out.”
“Perhaps we ought to start at the beginning,” Uncle Charles said.
Oliver lowered himself in the chair beside Samuel where he could see everyone, including Captain Rose, who lay on his bed, his eyes closed, his brow furrowed. “That would probably be best.”
“Your mother was in love,” Uncle Charles said. “Diana. My sister. She was in love with a man who worked on our estate, and our parents didn’t approve of the union. When she discovered she was with child, she and the man intended to elope, but my father discovered the plan and put a stop to it. The man was dismissed, and Diana was sent to the Continent on a Grand Tour so she could have the child in secrecy and return without anyone the wiser.”
“But she died in childbirth,” Oliver said, guessing at the truth.
“Yes, which presented a problem. William was already a captain in the navy, so he picked up the child—you, Oliver—and brought you to Boone Park under the guise of asking our mother to care for you. They falsified his marriage and claimed the woman he had married abroad had died in childbirth so you could be brought up legitimate.”
“And my father?”
“He was unaware of your existence,” Uncle Charles said.
Oliver had never wondered if his parents had loved one another. Indeed, he had spent his life believing his mother had been married to his father, that she had died bringing him into the world. But the question had crossed his mind on occasion why his father had been so distanced from him—why he did not choose to come home more often, to write more letters, to begenerally more interested in Oliver’s life. The answer was plain. Because Captain William Rose was not his father. He had been shoved into the role without much choice—or so Oliver imagined—and in so doing, had saved Oliver from a lifetime of judgment for the way he had come into the world: to an unwed mother.
But now, nearly thirty years later, the truth was both a balm and a fresh source of pain. It explained why Captain Rose had not seemed to care as much about Oliver as one would expect a father to, but it also meant he could have a real father out there, and the man might not know.
“This is mad,” Samuel said, looking from his parents to Oliver. “How long have you known?”
Aunt Harding’s eyes were steel. “It was best for everyone involved to keep the secret.”
“Within the family, perhaps,” Samuel agreed. “But Oliver had a right to know.”
Weak, raspy coughing sounded from the bed, garnering everyone’s attention.
“We’re upsetting William,” Uncle Harding said, rising to his feet. “That is enough for now.”
Oliver agreed with his cousin. If they allowed the matter to drop for the time being, would his questions ever be answered? It felt like there was a ticking clock on this information, and if he did not learn everything while Captain Rose was still lucid, would he remain forever ignorant? “I deserve to know if my father lives nearby,” Oliver said. “Is he still alive?”
Silence sat in the room, only broken by Captain Rose’s wheezy breathing.
“Last I heard, yes,” Uncle Charles said, standing. “But he does not live here anymore. He took most of his family to America years ago.”
“Who is he?” Oliver pressed. He was warm, his cravat too tight. He needed another ride, but he had only just returned from one and it had not helped as much as he had hoped. Hewas veritably suffocating with anxiety, with the overwhelming smell of decay and incoming death, with the heat in the room and the waxy candles. It was overbearing.
Uncle Charles shared a look with Aunt Harding. “Come, Oliver. Let us leave William to rest and carry this conversation on in another room.”
A fit of coughing rent the room, killing the sound and causing everyone to watch the bed. “We should send for Dr. Burnside again,” Uncle Harding said.
If they left the room, they could say anything, knowing Captain Rose was not listening. The man who had spent thirty years pretending to be Oliver’s father seemed to be the only one who wanted him to have the full truth. But Oliver could not very well carry on a conversation that was causing the man distress, either. “I want to know where I come from.”
Uncle Charles nodded, passing a hand over his face. “Very well. You will. Come with me, Oliver. I will tell you everything.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Rule #23: Brothers can always be trusted to keep you humble
Ruth wasn’t certain she would ever experience anything as wonderful as the kiss she’d shared with Oliver in the garden, but when he had kissed her beneath the oak tree during their ride, she learned how very wrong she had been. The second kiss had been even better, and she had a feeling that would continue to be the case, so long as they remained engaged.
Their ride together had occurred two days ago, yet still her lips tingled when she thought of him.
She wasn’t fooling herself into believing their embrace had been a declaration on his part. Oliver had already been going through a difficult time. Coming home early from the house party to find his father already at Boone Park and so close to death’s door must have been a blow he had not been equipped to manage. She understood he had reached for her in a moment of need to help him forget everything else. She was a distraction. Despite herself, she liked being the person he ran to.
And, even further, she enjoyed being in his arms.
