Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

Ruth had rules. The purpose of those rules was to protect herself—and others—from uncomfortable situations. Namely, Samuel Harding and his relentless attention. Could the man not understand her gentle efforts to rebut him? Was it all a game to him?

She could not help it if she didn't love him that way. That was not the sort of thing that could be forced.

Ruth had too many good examples of true love in her life to accept anything less for herself. Despite seeing matches in Society made from necessity or poorly paired couples, she knew love was an option. Her father's marriage to Lady Helena when she was young had shown her the importance of finding a man who adored and respected her. Ryland's marriage to Jane had shown her the importance of finding someone who could laugh with her, who brightened her days. Twice in her family she had watched the men she loved fall in love—she would accept nothing less for herself.

Samuel adored the idea of her, but he had not incited any feelings of romance in her bosom. She wanted to be swept into a storm of passion. She wanted to see a man across the room and feel him deep in her bones.

The only thing she felt when she looked at Samuel was the frank desire to walk swiftly in the opposite direction. A pity, really, when they used to be such good friends.

Perhaps he would find a woman who matched his feelings and he could return to being Ruth's friend again.

She walked from the stables to the rambling stone house alone, Edmund having run for the house the moment his feet hit the ground. When her stepmother had become pregnant with Tom, it had been a surprise, but Ruth welcomed having another sibling, and she loved her younger brother with all her heart.

That did not mean she enjoyed his antics or the mischief he made when he grew restless—which seemed more often than not. Having Edmund in the house to keep Tom occupied provided a respite to them all.

The front door to the house swung open and her family's butler held it while Ruth stepped inside, peeling her leather riding gloves from her fingers. "Is my father here?"

"In his study, Miss Ruth. He has a guest."

She paused, turning back to the aged butler. "My mother?"

"No. Lady Helena is in the schoolroom with Master Tom."

"And Edmund," she muttered.

Forbes's lips flickered in the barest hint of movement, signaling amusement. "Yes. Given his speed when he came inside, I am certain Master Edmund has joined them by now."

"Who is with Papa?"

"Mr. Rose."

Ah, her dearest friend's father, Oliver Rose's uncle. Mr. Rose was a quiet man, but he met with Papa on occasion, though she had no idea what they spoke of. Probably whisky or horses or some other manly thing. "I had better not disturb them."

Forbes dipped a nod to her. "Shall I send Sarah to you?"

She certainly couldn't find her way out of the riding habit without her maid's assistance. "That would be wonderful. Thank you, Forbes."

Ruth had started toward the stairs when the door to Papa's study opened. She slowed her gait, hoping to catch him once his guest left. He'd bought her a new horse a few months ago and she finally felt connected to the animal on the ride home from Ryland's house. She was ready to jump hedges with the mare. Papa liked to be present when she did so, and she understood his desire to monitor her more potentially dangerous activities.

"You will come to me with a full proposal soon, I hope?" Papa said, stepping into the corridor and waiting for Mr. Rose to follow. She knew the Rose family well, their daughter Eliza being her dearest friend.

Only it was not Eliza's father who left the study after Papa. It was the other Mr. Rose. The younger, more handsome, extremely eligible—and entirely forbidden—Mr. Oliver Rose. Samuel and Eliza's cousin. He was level-headed and handsome, not that it was relevant. Ruth had a rule against developing feelings for anyone who lived in Harewood.

Oliver had lived in Harewood his entire life, but he didn't seem to take issue with Ruth's rules. Never once had he shown even the least inclination toward wanting to court her. Unlike Samuel, Ruth didn't feel the overwhelming urge to tuck tail and flee when she saw Oliver. She did, however, wish she had smoothed back her wind-blown hair before facing a handsome gentleman in her home.

Perhaps there was still time to slip away?—

"Ruthy, dear," Papa said, a twinkle in his warm tone. "I've just had the most splendid visit with Mr. Rose."

He ought to call him Oliver. When had he stopped doing so? The only time Mr. Rose was mentioned in this house was when they were discussing Eliza's father or had the Rose family to dine.

Oliver held her gaze while he approached her. "Have you just come in for a ride, or are you about to leave for one?"

"I wanted to convince Papa to watch me jump the south hedge." Not right that moment, initially, but plans could change.

Papa tucked his chin. "With the new mare?"

"Rosaline is hardly new. She can handle the jump. I know it."

"I have no doubt about your abilities, Ruth. I worry about the horse." Papa glanced upstairs. "I planned to share tea with your mother now?—"

"I can observe for you," Oliver offered. His dark hair was pomaded away from his face, crisp and formal. He wore a well-tailored coat over fawn breeches, his bottle green coat buttoned at the waist and outlining his broad shoulders. It matched his eyes, and Ruth wondered if that was intentional or happenstance. He was objectively handsome, of course, but that meant nothing.

Unlike Samuel's propositions, Oliver did not offer to help with an aim at furthering his acquaintance with Ruth or convincing her to court him. Oliver was merely a kind gentleman offering his help.

He'd been a companion to his crotchety grandmother for most of his life, for heaven's sake. The man deserved sainthood.

"Do you mind?" Papa asked, further proof that Oliver was not a romantic threat.

Not that it mattered. Truly, if she had not come straight from rebuffing Samuel at Ryland's house, the thought would not have crossed her mind.

She was going mad, seeing bachelors and potential husbands everywhere. Oliver was neither of those things.

Well, he was an eligible bachelor, technically speaking, but not for her. He was likely going to find a kind, soft spoken, gentle woman to step into Boone Park and manage the house and his life and his snarky grandmother.

Ruth was none of those things.

"I must ride home anyway. It will not be any trouble to extend my visit long enough to watch Ruth sail over a hedge." He shot her a small smile. "I'm certain it will be quick."

She glowed with pride. "Careful, Mr. Rose, or you will feed my ego."

"I've seen you jump hedges, Miss Wycliffe. It is not ego; it is skill."

Well, lovely. Now she certainly could not fail.

"All the same," Papa said. "Watch your speed and listen to your instincts. You will know if Rosaline is ready." He bade Oliver farewell. The men shook hands before Ruth led the way outside.

They walked side by side, crunching over the gravel drive toward the large stables behind the house. The path was tucked down a curved lane behind a copse of trees. Shade dappled the walk she had only taken a few minutes ago when she had arrived at the house.

It was silly to have Rosaline saddled again so soon. But fate had handed Ruth an opportunity to try the hedge, and she was not about to allow it to pass unused.

"How is Ryland?" Oliver asked.

She kept her face impassive, but interest sparked within her. He'd asked about her, if Papa had explained where she was. "I'm not sure he knows what to do with himself now that Miss Beswick—the new governess—is taking charge of Edmund's lessons."

"Ah, yes. I met her the night she arrived. A pretty thing."

"Her beauty isn't the direction of Ryland's concern."

Oliver cut her a furrowed glance. "Of course not. He isn't one to take advantage of anyone in his employ."

"All the same, he likely would have been happier had Mrs. Hoskins arrived in her stead—or, at the very least, someone who looked more like my aging governess. To have a pretty young woman in the house who so resembles Jane cannot be entirely comfortable."

They reached the stables, the pocked stone arching high above the entrance. Ruth asked for both of their horses to be saddled, and they meandered into the center of the yard to wait.

"Does Edmund like the woman?"

"He does." She thought of the gentle, firm way Miss Beswick had instructed him at the oak tree and how receptive he had been to her direction. He trusted and respected her, that was clear. Ruth had sat on the grass beside Edmund and Miss Beswick, watching her use nature to subtly teach Edmund basic principles of drawing and observation.

Ruth had been impressed with her methods and Edmund's obedience. The boy was well-behaved, generally speaking, but he was still only six.

There had been a niggling of something deep within her that gave Ruth cause to hesitate before offering her own signature of approval. Something about the way Miss Beswick had averted all conversation about her history and life before coming to Tilton had made Ruth question her motives for keeping her past a secret.

She needed to gather more information before approaching Ryland with a niggling of doubt and causing an uproar in his home.

Oliver looked at her now, his brow furrowing. "What is it you're scheming, Ruth?"

"Nothing." She hoped her wide eyes betrayed innocence and not deception.

Given Oliver's intent gaze, he was on to her. Could she trust him to keep this information to himself and not take her concerns to Ryland? She hoped so. She wanted to run her observations past someone else and verify she wasn't completely inane for worrying.

"Very well," she hissed, clutching his arm and pulling him to the side of the building. A tree beside the stables dappled shade over them, making him look spotted. "But you cannot tell Ryland."

"Tell Ryland what exactly?"

"My…reservations."

Oliver remained where he was standing, his green eyes fixed on her. He said nothing, waiting for her to continue.

Ruth released his arm. "We spent some time together today, and any time I tried to inquire about her past, she changed the conversation. It was so artfully done, I had not realized what was happening until I left Tilton."

A line appeared between his dark eyebrows. "You think she is hiding something."

"She is hiding something. It could be as harmless as shame for her family's fall from grace—or whatever took her from being a debutante to a governess. It could be nothing nefarious at all. But something in my heart tells me we do not know who she is."

Amusement played on his lips. "You speak as though you imagine her to be an agent of the crown."

"It would explain her need for anonymity."

"We know her full name, Ruth," he said gently. "She is not trying to be anonymous."

"True." She scrunched her nose and tilted her head to the side. "Am I overreacting?"

Oliver's answering expression was strange, reaching through her concerns and giving her pause. He didn't seem to be taking it lightly, which she appreciated, but he watched her more with curiosity than judgment. They resumed walking to the stables. "It is far too soon to know her character, but I do not fault you for worrying on your brother's behalf. It is unnecessary to voice such concerns to him until you have valid cause. For Edmund's sake, though, we ought not to ignore your feelings entirely."

For Edmund's sake . We . Both of those things buoyed her. She was glad not to be alone in these worries. Miss Beswick seemed harmless, kind, and a good teacher.

Ruth hoped she was wrong about the woman, that she would find a reasonable explanation for her elusive behavior.

"You will not leave me to hunt for the truth alone, will you?" she asked as their horses were brought out, Oliver's to him and Ruth's to the mounting block.

"Of course not," he said, holding the reins. "We will be cautious, though. I wouldn't wish to incite mass panic or reveal these thoughts to Miss Beswick if she happens to be innocent."

"We are of one mind, Oliver."

"About more than just this." He climbed into his saddle and watched her mount the block and settle on her horse. "Shall we jump some hedges?"

Ruth grinned widely, the concerns weighing her down just a little lighter for having shared them with a friend. "Yes. I'll race you to the willow tree," she shouted. And she was off.