Page 22 of Deceiving an Earl
“Ah.” The lad was a handful. He’d seen so the night he’d picked him up from Scotland Yard. “Maybe he’s feeling his oats.”
“I think it’s beyond that,” she said quietly as she studied her clenched hands. “I tried talking to the headmaster. I actually resorted to begging him to take Philip back early, but he refused. He hinted… He hinted that they might not take him back at all.”
This was serious, indeed. Eton was known for producing the finest men and doing whatever was necessary to do so. All sorts of punishments were not unusual, but to be kicked out? That was unusual and a scandal that would follow Philip his entire life.
“What would you like me to do?” Take a strap to the lad? Because that’s what Oliver felt like doing after seeing the devastation in Ellen’s eyes. The damn kid. Didn’t he know what he was doing to his mother?
“Would you talk to the headmaster? You’re a fine product of Eton. Maybe he will listen to you.”
Oliver tried to remember who the headmaster was but couldn’t recall. If he were someone who had been there during Oliver’s time, then Oliver might not be the best one for this particular mission. He had hardly been a saint himself.
“What exactly did young Fieldhurst do for such a stiff punishment?”
Ellen looked away. Her throat moved in a swallow. “I’d rather not say.”
“I very well can’t fight for his reinstatement if I don’t know what he did. Maybe the headmaster is right in not taking him back.”
Her head jerked back, and panicked eyes met his. “But they must take him back. He needs the structure of Eton. As much as I am loath to admit it, he needs the strong hand and constitution of a man. He doesn’t listen to me. He blatantly ignores my rules. He’s out of control, and I don’t know what to do anymore.”
A lone tear slipped down her cheek, and Oliver’s heart twisted. He hated to see women cry, but seeing Ellen cry was a special kind of torture. She’d cried their one night together because she’d not wanted to marry Arthur, and he’d made all sorts of plans and promises to her.
“Tell me what he did,” he said, banishing the memories.
She covered her eyes with her hand. “He… He was found…in the linen closet with a maid.” She lowered her hand and looked at him. There was defiance in her eyes, mixed with the tears.
“I see. Well, I can assure you he isn’t the first lad in that closet with a maid.”
Her lips quivered in an almost smile. “Do you say this from experience?”
“I’ve heard stories.” He was admitting to nothing. “Let me see what I can do. I might have to enlist some help.”
She shook her head. “No one else can know about this. Please, Oliver. Tell no one.”
“There is only one other man I would trust with your secret and believe me when I say, he tells no tales.”
Oliver had met Ashland at Eton. Ashland had been a colleger, what everyone considered “poor,” but poor had been irrelevant. His parents had not been able to afford the tuition, but Ashland had easily passed the entrance exams, so the college had paid his tuition fees. Oliver had been an oppidan. His tuition had been paid for by his parents. He had been a future earl. His admission had been secure.
Oliver and Ashland had met under bad circumstances that had ended in Ashland being beaten by some sixth form boys and Oliver suspended and sent home for a week. They’d become best friends after that.
The faculty at Eton had loved Ashland, because everyone could see he had a solid future ahead of him. Having Ashland in his corner could only help Oliver in this situation.
“You will help Philip?”
“No.”
Ellen’s face fell and her shoulders rounded. “I understand.”
“I will not help Philip, but I will help you. I will ask the headmaster to take him back, but Ellen, that boy needs a firmer hand.”
“I know.”
“There has to be an uncle or someone he can go to for the summer who will straighten him out.”
“There is no one. At least no one young enough. Arthur has one brother who is in his seventies and a sister who is approaching seventy.”
“What if I fail?” he asked. “What will you do then?”
“I don’t know,” she whispered.
