She did not want to go anywhere with Henry but she could not be left behind to wonder what kind of man her son would turn out to be. She covered her face and burst into tears. It was bad enough that she’d never see Oliver again, but she wouldn’t survive the loss of her son, too.
Fate couldn’t possibly be so cruel as to take the two greatest loves from her life at the same time.
Chapter Nineteen
OLIVER LET HIMSELF into his apartment and locked the door behind him so he might secure his peace. The day had not ended particularly well. The worst of it was that he only had himself to blame. He had not expected news of Elizabeth’s imminent departure to trouble him as much as it did. After all, he was leaving England before her and he’d had days to accept her path would greatly diverge from his.
The forced cheer he’d witnessed in the garden had been for her son’s sake and he’d wanted to tell her she was wrong about his dreams. The endless arguments with his brothers about his departure had stolen any chance for private speech with her after dinner. Her happiness was important to him. He would think of her often, as he had always done, when they parted company in a few days.
The door behind his back rattled with the force of a blow. “We’ve not finished this discussion, sir. Slinking away while my back was turned will not save you. Get your ass back out here and talk to us,” Leopold yelled.
Oliver moved away from the door and raked a hand through his hair as irritation seized him. His elder brother had taken the news of his imminent departure less than well. It was quite a shock to Oliver to be set upon by his own family. He hadn’t felt this anxious since his days at Skepington. He swallowed the bile that rose in his throat at the memory of that evil place. Bargaining for the key to his chamber there had been an absolute necessity. He’d not enjoyed waking to find a fellow inmate leaning over his bed or rifling through his possessions.
He pulled the ribbon he always carried from his pocket and stroked the once-lustrous material. It had darkened since he’d first acquired it, but it still retained the same ability to soothe him. The door rattled one last time and then Leopold’s footsteps hurried away.
“Will he be back,” a small voice asked suddenly.
When Oliver looked about, he spotted George huddled by the fire. Puzzled by his presence at this time of night, Oliver moved toward him, tucking the ribbon back into its usual resting place. “It’s likely, unfortunately. He will be even more cross with me by then. You may want to take the opportunity to leave before he returns or else be faced with a terrible scene.”
Oliver was the only one with keys to this room. As soon as he’d decided to move in, he’d taken the housekeeper’s copy from Elizabeth when she hadn’t been looking in order to ensure his privacy. Leopold was about to discover that fact for himself and he hoped he wouldn’t rant at the new young housekeeper too ferociously.
“He’s mad at you for going away?” George asked, still curled up where Oliver had discovered him. The wistfulness in his voice caught him by surprise. Shouldn’t he be happier that he was bound for adventure too?
“My brother is bossy. A side effect of being the eldest.” Leopold was turning into a damned nuisance.
“I was the eldest once,” George said as he laid his head against his knee and stared into the dancing flames. “A long time ago I had a little brother and sister to take care of. Papa said I had to look out for them.”
There was nothing Oliver wanted to say to that. He’d decided that to ask after Elizabeth’s other offspring, George’s siblings, would stir up emotions best left at rest, so he made himself comfortable in a chair not far from where the boy perched. But the boy’s presence and sober mood could not be ignored. “It’s late. What brings you to me at this hour?”
The boy shrugged and didn’t answer. That was unlike him. Usually George was quite forthcoming with information and conversation. “Your mother will worry where you are soon and come looking to fetch you to bed.”
An expression of distaste crossed his face and Oliver’s contentment vanished. The boy had never before reacted to the mention of his mother in such a way. The lack of respect bothered him a great deal. Why would George be disgusted by Elizabeth? It couldn’t be that he knew they were lovers or the boy would never have come to him tonight. It must concern something else, and the only other event in his life presently was his uncle’s plan to take him away. “Are you anxious about leaving England?”
“No.” George shrugged. “Sort of.”
Oliver moved until he was sitting on the floor beside George. He stretched out his legs until he was comfortable. George copied him and a strange sensation crept through Oliver’s being. Happiness. He was happy to be sitting on the floor beside his lover’s son, whose character was a great deal similar to his own. An impossibility, but Oliver continued to see similarities between their natures. Or perhaps, he merely wished they were there. If he had married Elizabeth when his parents had hinted at the match, would his own flesh and blood be like George? He’d never know and considering such a theory would lead exactly nowhere.
“Explain,” he demanded of George.
“I don’t want to go to America.”
“Ah,” Oliver said slowly, still puzzled. “Change can be difficult to accept, but you will grow from the experience and find your place again.”
George pulled his legs up and hugged his knees. “If Mama had been nicer we wouldn’t have to go.”
“Your mother has an exceptionally agreeable temperament,” Oliver corrected. “What could she have done differently? Your uncle is here and you are his heir. It is logical that you go with him to learn of what you will inherit.”
“I don’t want to be his heir. I want to stay with you,” George blurted out.
Understanding slammed through Oliver. He swallowed the lump that formed in his throat and glanced at the boy huddled miserably at his side. What could he possibly say? He would gladly have the boy as a companion on his trip, but Elizabeth would not allow it. She had already protested that the time they spent together in study would strengthen any bonds beyond those expected between a student and tutor.
Perhaps she’d been right to protest.
She did know her son better than he did.
In all of Oliver’s life there had never been a time when he hadn’t known exactly what to say. He preferred honesty, but telling young George that his mother would never let him travel with him would only cause more problems between them. If George had already told Elizabeth of his wish, then it was no wonder she had dismissed his earlier concern as if he wasn’t important. She was trying to protect the child and help him accept the direction the future was taking him. Oliver would do anything he could to help Beth in that regard. “Everyone outgrows their teachers at some stage. I had several and still think of them fondly.”
George’s shoulders hunched further.
“I remember one fellow, Mr. Pierce, insisted every response be followed with his name. It grew quite tiresome. He thought very well of himself, but he did know his mathematics.”
Oliver bent one leg and set an arm to his knee, warming to the topic. “Another, Mr. Reeves, could discuss theology at any hour of the day or night. It was his belief that animals had souls and carried them to another body when they died. My father dismissed him when he overheard our discussion just when it was becoming interesting.”
“They sound very silly.” George peered up at him. “But you’re not like that.”
Oliver chuckled. “Everyone is silly at one point or other in their lives. But still, silly or not, right or wrong, they still deserve our respect for the kindness they show us in sharing their opinions. But there is also a time for all things to end. We grow from new experiences. Why are you upset with your mother, lad?”
“She could change things, but she won’t.”
Oliver frowned. “From what I’ve observed, she has chosen the path she wants to take. It is not for us to question her. She has your best interests at heart, always.”
“If she married, she wouldn’t have to go,” George insisted. “My new father could protest and insist we stay here and not go to America.”
“Who do you imagine your mother might marry, lad?”
George’s face pinked and he looked down. Realization dawned slowly for Oliver. If he were inclined to ask Elizabeth to marry him again, George would not protest were she to accept. George would have what he wanted, avoidance of America and to travel with him to the continent. His logic had merit except Oliver perceived the preparations for Elizabeth and George’s departure had progressed too far to be halted by a mere offer of marriage. “A marriage would not stop you being Mr. Turner’s heir. He would still want you to go with him.”
The air left George’s lungs in a rush and he turned away, disappointment clear in his crumpled posture.
Oliver nudged him. “But if I ever had a son, I should hope he was like you. Let’s not spend our last days together in a sulk.”
When George wiped at his eyes, Oliver was surprised. Was he that set on a tour of the continent that he would succumb to tears when denied?
“What shall we do tomorrow?” he asked gently, determined to soothe him with the lure of a local adventure. “Shall we fish or take a walk, or perhaps go riding? It’s been many weeks since you’ve visited the stables or the Allen boys. We could all go riding together if you like?”
The boy shook his head quickly, giving Oliver the idea that the lesson’s abrupt end had been his choice all those weeks ago. Was that why the boy hugged his shadow so closely? Had he had a disagreement with Charles Allen or his sons? When morning came, should he speak to Allen about the matter and ensure the issue was resolved? A father would undoubtedly do that for his son. The question was did Oliver have the right to interfere?
If it wasn’t a simple disagreement, easily set aside, he’d find some other way to entertain the boy. Perhaps he could fulfill his promise to show George the secrets of Romsey. Although he acknowledged now that offering to take George to the Duke’s Sanctuary was extremely dangerous and oddly sentimental, he had made a promise. He would keep it. “If your mother agrees and there are no visitors to be met with, you and I shall take a short trip tomorrow.”
George frowned. “Mama never lets me go very far without telling her where I’ll be. Uncle said women are meddlesome creatures.”
Oliver tossed the statement over in his mind, vastly troubled by it. Henry Turner’s opinion would poison the boy’s mind against women. Was his first step to be making Elizabeth an outsider in George’s life? Oliver would not allow it. “Men of sense do not disregard women, George. Your mother gave you life. It is small-minded of you to believe her concern for your welfare is meddlesome.”
George had the sense to look chagrined. He nodded slowly and mumbled a contrite “yes, sir.” When he lifted his head, his expression was once again hopeful. “Where will we go tomorrow?”
But before Oliver could answer, footsteps rushed toward them and the doors burst inward. “Don’t you ever do that again,” Leopold growled. “You ba…”
His angry words died as his eyes slipped to where George sat. The boy’s presence actually seemed to deflate his brother completely of anger, a fascinating process to watch. Yet Oliver knew better than to believe he would be spared completely and waited for the tirade to resume.
“Forgive me, I had no idea you had young George here with you,” Leopold said quickly. “I thought you to be alone.”
Oliver peered at the splintered wood of the doorframe. “Breaking down the door was a touch excessive. You could have resumed your sermon tomorrow over breakfast on the merits of delay and at least given me a respite to speak with George in peace.”
Leopold turned red and held up one hand. “Now, look here.”
Oliver stood. “It’s late. The boy is tired and should be returned to his room. We’ll speak again tomorrow. Go to bed, Leopold, and search for control of your temper.”
He gestured for George to come to him and then swiftly led the boy away. He placed his hand on George’s shoulder as they traveled the distance to his bedchamber. “Never mind about Leopold. He’ll calm himself soon enough.”
“They really don’t want you to leave, do they?”
Oliver smiled ruefully. “Not one bit, but it is my life and I’ll choose the direction it takes without their interference.”
“I wish…” George drew in a deep shuddering breath. “I wish I had a father to speak up for me.”
Sympathy filled him. At this age, a boy still needed reassurance on occasion.
George let himself into his bedchamber and beckoned Oliver to follow. When Oliver crossed the threshold, his eyes were immediately drawn to the connecting doorway. Through the gap, he could see Elizabeth moving about her chamber. She must be packing in readiness to leave. He tamped down the flame of desire that always ignited when she was near now and cleared his throat, drawing attention to his presence.
Her head snapped up and she faced him. Her eyes were red, her skin blotchy. She’d been crying again and this time he thought he might know why. With George nearby, he could do or say nothing to comfort her. He tipped his head toward her son and remained where he was.
Elizabeth hurried toward him and stopped short when she saw George. She seemed to stiffen and instead of rushing to George’s side as she always did, she hung back. Oliver swung his head to see George’s reaction to his mother’s arrival. The boy bit his lip and, after a moment, he rushed into his mother’s opening arms. Oliver’s heart swelled. Whatever disagreement existed between them was on the mend. At least he’d done one thing right today.
Elizabeth met his gaze over her son’s head, her eyes watery bright. Her lips moved to say thank you. That one small acknowledgement was everything he needed. He smiled broadly and departed, retracing his steps to his bedchamber. He checked the damage to the door as he passed. A carpenter would be needed for it to ever lock properly again. More unnecessary interruptions. He hadn’t really wanted his last days to be filled with the sound of hammering.
He moved from the door, only to be brought up short by Leopold pacing before the fire. They stared at each other across the space and Oliver tensed, waiting for the next volley of demands that he must refuse.
Chapter Twenty
Warmth from the sun streaming through Beth’s bedroom window warmed her back as she surveyed her possessions strewn over her bed. She frowned at their number. When had she acquired so many fine gowns? Of course, she knew the answer to that immediately. Her employer and the duchess had recently reviewed the contents of their wardrobes, most gowns seemingly never worn, and she’d been the happy recipient. But that generosity did give her problems now. She likely couldn’t take them all with her. She’d have to choose her favorites from among them and leave the rest behind, and that did not seem right.
She rubbed her brow and fought off the weariness that came from a night spent tossing and turning. Not the kind that came with a night spent in Oliver’s bed, but one where her mind refused to settle. She’d stayed away from Oliver in fear of Henry finding out about them. It pained her, but she had no choice. She had her memories to cling to now. They would have to be enough.
Thanks to Henry’s refusal to impart any essential information on their future living conditions, Beth had spent the night fretting over what to take. She fingered her herringbone-stitched spencer, wondering if it was too fine for her new circumstances. The pink silk gown with narrow, smocked panels down each side was a favorite she would leave as a gift for the new housekeeper to wear on special occasions.
Beth lifted another gown and held it before her. Plain and unadorned, a simple dark blue cotton with full-length sleeves was as serviceable as any gown she’d ever owned. Yet she would keep this one in particular because she’d been wearing it when Oliver had kissed her. A reminder of what could never be.
A timid knock sounded on the door and she bid her visitor enter.
“Are we disturbing you?” Mercy asked, l
eading her sister into the room.
Beth dipped a quick curtsy. “Of course not—is there anything I can help you with?”
Mercy’s gaze swung around the room, a small frown line forming between her brows but smoothed away when she’d finished her inspection. “Nothing for me, but I thought I might be of use to you.”
Beth threw a quick glance at Lady Venables but the countess gave nothing away. “Oh?”
“I have friends, ones I have not seen in many years, residing in America that I should like you to call upon if you encounter any problems in your new life.” She pulled a letter from her pocket and held it out. “Ducky is a dear friend, much involved in society in Boston. This letter of introduction will ensure you’re looked after and I’ve asked him to provide the means to send you home to us should you request it.”
Beth swallowed at the duchess’s unexpected generosity. At every turn the woman had proven herself a kind and thoughtful friend. She knew that Beth’s greatest fear was to be without means to protect herself and her son. In the New World, she wouldn’t know anyone but Henry and his as-yet-undisclosed acquaintances. What if they were separated from him?
She shivered as she took the note. “Thank you. I do not know what I’ve done to deserve your favor, but I treasure your gift most certainly.”
Mercy moved forward and embraced her. “I cannot bear the thought of you going away. You’ve come to mean so much to me, to all of us, that I hate to say goodbye.”
She squeezed Beth as if she would never let her go. Beth closed her eyes, moved to tears and unable to prevent them from spilling over. “I will miss you, too.”
“If you ever wish return home to England we’ll be waiting for you with open arms,” the duchess whispered close to her ear.
“Thank you, Mercy.” Beth blubbered, unable to remain formal in the face of such obvious affection. “I will.”
Mercy released her and caught her face between her hands. Tears slid down the duchess’s cheeks unattended. “I’ll hold you to that.”
Guarding the Spoils (The Wild Randalls - Book 3) Page 16