Page 67 of The Rules of Courtship
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. Hepushed 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 aseager 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 theydeservedthe 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.
