Page 47 of Deceiving an Earl
“Is she?”
Oliver sat up straighter. “What do you know about any of this?”
“Nothing at all. But what does it matter if she’s being courted by Needham? It’s not as if it’s official or anything.”
Oliver waved his hand in the air and sat back. “I’m not interested.”
Ashland tilted his head and studied Oliver in such a way that made Oliver uneasy. In his former life, before he’d become an earl, Ashland had been a solicitor. His mind was astute, and he was quick to draw mostly correct conclusions.
“By your admission, she meant something to you a long time ago, before she wed Fieldhurst. I don’t believe you’re not interested.”
“That was a long time ago. Affections die. People move on.” Or so he’d once believed, but now he wondered if that was entirely true.
“I just find it interesting that she asked for your help. Why you?”
Oliver felt himself bristling over the inquisition. “Why not me? I have good standing at Eton. I’m well respected in Society.”
“Of course you are, but so are many other men.”
Oliver didn’t dare think of Ellen approaching any other men to ask for their help. That idea was not at all appealing.
“Have you accomplished anything with young Fieldhurst?” Ashland asked, changing tactics.
“I took him to the pig farm on his estate and made him work on it for a full day. At first he was angry, and when I picked him up he was exhausted. I don’t know if it opened his eyes to the life of his tenants or not.”
“What were you trying to prove to him?”
“That he is no better than a pig farmer.”
Ashland chuckled. “I am fairly positive that did not change his opinion but rather reinforced his belief that he is happy not to be a pig farmer.”
Oliver sighed. “I don’t know what to do with him. I’m not a father to tell him what he should do and not do.”
“Pretend you are. If he were your son, what would you do to turn him around?”
“I would tan his hide.”
They both grinned, but Oliver’s faded first. If he were the lad’s father he would have taught him from the cradle what it took to become an earl and the responsibilities it would entail.
And for a small moment he suddenly yearned for a son to teach and pass all of this on to.
In his head he knew that someday soon he would need to wed and produce an heir. His mother reminded him every time she saw him. But his heart had never grabbed onto the idea, and he had yet to meet someone he wanted to bear his children.
Ellen.
No. Not Ellen. Maybe at one time, but no longer. She had her own life. Her own son and an enamored surgeon.
He should probably make more of an effort to find his elusive countess.
“So what are you going to do?” Ashland asked, and for a moment Oliver thought Ashland was asking what he was going to do to find a countess, but then he realized that Ashland was referring to Philip.
“I am going to do what I did with you. We’re going to sit down and go over the books, and he will learn about profit and loss.”
Ashland groaned. “The poor lad.”
…
Oliver entered his childhood home just in time for breakfast. His mother and sister were in the dining room, eating and discussing whatever it was they discussed in the mornings.
