Page 41 of Deceiving an Earl
However, her long-held secret hung between them, and her fear of being discovered was very, very real. Why had she asked for Oliver’s help? Because there really was no one else to ask.
She spent the day floating between rooms with nothing to do. Or at least nothing that would stay her rambling thoughts.
As soon as Oliver had told her that he was picking Philip up at such an ungodly hour, she’d sent a footman to find her son. It was embarrassing, not knowing where he was.
The footman had found Philip with an hour to spare—drunk, with a black eye that had made her wince in mortification. She’d poured as much coffee into him as she could while explaining what he had to do.
He’d been furious, as she’d expected he would be. He’d argued and refused to change his clothes, while she’d fallen into the predicted pattern of wheedling and bribing him.
And sending him off with Oliver had been her greatest fear. How did others not see the resemblance? It was so clear to her that they were father and son. The cut of their brows, the solid jawline, the matching blue eyes. Philip had not fully grown into the man he would someday become, but Ellen could see he would be shaped like his father. Loose-limbed, wide of shoulders, slim of hips, and the same blond-leaning-toward-wheat-colored hair.
Evening turned into night, and the clock was striking nine when she heard a carriage outside.
Throwing off all sense of decorum, she rushed to the front window and spied Oliver’s curricle, but Oliver was alone, dismounting in a graceful leap and taking the steps to her front door two at a time.
She was at the door before the butler had time to open it.
“Where is he?” She was breathless, her heart hammering. What had Oliver done with her son?
His eyes were gleaming in amusement as he entered her foyer.
“He’s coming in through the servants’ entrance in the back. Trust me, you do not want him to come through your front door.”
“Why? What happened? Is he hurt?”
“Just his pride.” Oliver looked at her oddly. “Did you think I would let anything happen to him?”
Her shoulders drooped, and she passed a hand over her eyes.Pull yourself together, Ellen. You’re behaving like a fool.
“No. Of course not. I was just worried.”
She motioned for him to follow her into the parlor. In the better light she could tell that he was weary and there was dirt on his boots.
“Where were you?” she asked as she sat. Oliver chose to remain standing. “I was becoming worried that something had happened to the both of you.”
“We are fine. Philip needs a bath, and you will have to discard his clothes. They are unsalvageable, I’m afraid. I took him to Fieldhurst where he worked with Mr. Potter and the pigs.”
Her brows drew together. “The manor house? But that’s hours away. In the country.” And then the rest of what he said hit her. “Pigs? Philip worked withpigs?”
Oliver finally perched on the edge of the couch and leaned his elbows on his knees. “Yes, to the manor house and yes, he worked with pigs. The boy needs to know his land. Being an earl is so much more than the title, as I’m sure you’re aware. But Philip seems to think it comes only with privileges and no work.”
Her hands clenched in her lap, and she suddenly became defensive of her son. “His father loved him to the ends of the earth. In Arthur’s eyes the sun rose and set on Philip. Arthur tried to teach him how to be an earl, but he passed so suddenly.”
Oliver waved her words away. She remembered that about him. He made no excuses and accepted no excuses. But she wanted him to know that Philip had been loved by his father.
“Nevertheless, the boy has an unrealistic view of what being an earl means. He had an eye-opening experience with the pigs, and I daresay he learned something valuable along the way.”
“Arthur adored Mr. Potter. He used to help him when the sows gave birth.” How had she forgotten that about Arthur? He’d loved to get his hands dirty, to come home with calluses on his palms. He’d said he felt like he’d accomplished something important.
And how like Oliver to realize that this was what Philip needed.
“Has he seen the estate’s books?” Oliver was asking. “Has he met with the land manager?”
“I won’t let him. He needs to finish his schooling before he worries about those things.”
Oliver sat back and studied her. His eyes were hooded, his expression neutral, but she feared that he thought she was an inadequate mother.
“Maybe it’s time to let him do these things. Let him see that running an estate the size of Fieldhurst takes work. Hard work. Hard decisions have to be made, and they need to be made quickly.”
