“I said I was not to be disturbed,” Oliver snapped.
“He said it was important.” The footman didn’t appear surprised at Oliver’s surly tone. He’d been surly since learning about Ellen’s betrothal.
Oliver put the papers down and picked up the calling card, surprised to see that it was from little Lord Fieldhurst.
He didn’t want to see Philip. Not because he didn’t care, but because he cared too much. He’d grown attached to Philip, and now Ellen was taking him away.
But he couldn’t not see the boy. He didn’t have it in him to do that.
“Send him in.”
Philip entered a few moments later, and Oliver found himself looking more closely than usual at the boy. He still didn’t believe Ashland’s preposterous theory that Philip could be his son but, since the seed had been planted in his head, he’d not been able to fully shake it loose.
He knew in his heart that Ellen would never have kept such a secret from him.
“We haven’t finished going over the last of the estate books,” Philip said by way of greeting.
Oliver waved to the seat in front of his desk and they both sat. “Have you spoken to your mother regarding our meetings?” Oliver asked.
“My mother doesn’t control me.”
Oliver pressed his lips together, not liking Philip’s tone toward Ellen. But there was little he could say or do at this point. Any power he had, had been taken from him by Ellen.
“She’s asked me to leave off the rest of your education.”
Philip jumped up, his face darkening in anger. Oliver stood as well, uncertain what the boy would do. His temper was large, but he’d controlled it in front of Oliver before.
“This is ridiculous,” Philip spat. “You’re the first… You want to help me. Why would she deny me that?”
And just like that the anger changed to confusion and Oliver glimpsed a younger, more vulnerable version of Philip. In some ways he was still a boy, lost without his father and searching for another father figure.
What if…
It wasn’t even possible.
“She’s starting a new life and she can’t have…” Me. She can’t have me lurking about her new husband.
“But that doesn’t mean she has the right to cut off our friendship.”
Oliver was warmed that Philip thought they had a friendship. The boy truly was lost, trying to find his way in life. It was unfortunate that Arthur hadn’t better prepared his son to take over the earldom.
“Philip—”
“What do you think of her engagement to Needham?” Philip asked.
Oliver hesitated. “It’s not up to me to agree or disagree.”
“I don’t like him.”
Neither did Oliver, but his thoughts were colored by his feelings for Ellen and therefore not reliable. Philip was angry that his life was changing once again, and he had no control over it, so his opinion was colored as well.
“I’m sure with time—”
“You sound just like her,” Philip said in disgust. “I won’t like him. Ever. And if you aren’t going to keep your promise then I guess I’m wasting my time here.”
“It’s not that I’m unwilling to fulfill my promise, it’s just that—”
“My mother won’t let you. Why does she always ruin everything?” Philip spun on his heel and stomped out of the room.
Oliver hesitated, not knowing if he should follow. This really was not his business. This was Ellen’s son, and she had decided that Philip no longer needed Oliver’s services. He shouldn’t stick his nose in any of it.
Nevertheless, he followed Philip, but he was too late. The lad had left, slamming the front door behind him and leaving Oliver’s butler looking confused.
“He’s angry,” Oliver said.
“I see that,” his butler said.
Chapter Twenty-One
Oliver returned home three days after his father had promised. They had been gone for seven days, and each day away from Ellen had made him more anxious. He couldn’t help but have a feeling of dread, like everything they had promised each other was drifting away from them.
That type of thinking was ridiculous. He was delayed only three extra days.
He arrived home too late to go directly to Ellen’s father, so he was forced to wait another day. Exhausted, he fell into bed and slept like the dead.
The next morning he dressed carefully, nervous to meet her father. He’d never met Lord Hillgrave before. Ellen said he was a quiet man, reserved and stern.
Rehearsing his speech, he knocked on the Hillgrave’s door. He adjusted his cuffs and straightened his shoulders, his heart racing because Ellen was on the other side of that door. He’d missed her so much, but had also thrown his energy into learning everything his father was teaching him, because someday this knowledge would keep a roof over his wife’s head and food in her belly. He needed to learn to protect Ellen.
But when the butler opened the door, Oliver was informed that Lord Hillgrave was not available. When Oliver asked about Ellen, he was told the same thing.
Feeling like a fool, he stood on the steps of the Hillgrave’s townhouse, not granted entrance.
Confused, he returned home, determined to try the next day.
When he returned home he found a note from Ellen, and he began to feel alarmed. Something had happened. Something was wrong.
The next morning he was determined to try again. His mother was in the dining room, feeling well enough with her pregnancy to make her ungainly way down for breakfast. She was reading the newspaper and smiled up at him.
“Welcome back,” she said.
He grunted, nervous about being rejected again at the Hillgrave residence.
She went back to her newspaper while he tried to eat.
“So many engagements lately,” she said. “I guess it’s the season for such things.” She turned the page without looking at him. He wanted to tell her that he was trying to be one of those engagements but kept his mouth shut.
Before the pregnancy his mother had been hinting that maybe he should start looking for a wife. He didn’t want to awaken that beast inside her.
His mother snorted. “Good God, Fieldhurst is marrying. The man has one foot in the grave, he’s so old.”
Oliver made a noncommittal sound.
“And his bride.” She made a tut-tutting sound. “So young. Far too young for Fieldhurst. Why, he could be her father. Such a shame.”
The toast he’d been chewing went dry in his mouth. He could barely swallow it without choking. It was like he knew. He just knew what had happened.
“Wh-who is he marrying?” he asked, trying to sound like he didn’t care.
His mother’s eyes ran back up the page. “A Miss Ellen Hillgrave. Daughter of Lord and Lady Hillgrave.”
The toast threatened to come back up.
That couldn’t be.
He wanted to snatch the paper from his mother, to see for himself. But he knew it was true. There was no reason for his mother to lie and, in his heart, he knew he had lost Ellen.
No! He would not think like that. He had time. Surely the wedding wasn’t for a while yet. All was not doomed.
He could fix this.
If only he could talk to her and her father.
But he was turned away again that morning, and the next day. He sent his valet with a note, but the valet returned still holding the note. He’d been turned away as well.
Oliver resorted to standing across the street from the house, waiting for Ellen, for anyone to exit so he could talk to them. But no one did.
He was becoming desperate.
He had to talk to Ellen.
His opportunity came a week before the wedding date. A ball was being held in Ellen and Fieldhurst’s honor, and Oliver was determined to be there.
One of the perks of being an Armbruster was that you were invited to all of the important balls. Oliver’s mother was a scion of Society and, even though she was in her confinement,
it was social ruin to not invite the Armbrusters to your ball.
Oliver would be there.
He would finally be able to talk to Ellen.
He was a fool. But then he’d already determined that long ago. But tonight…tonight he was more of a fool than even he thought he could be.
But he couldn’t stay away and whoever had sent him the invitation was the devil in disguise or his guardian angel.
He went.
He went because he couldn’t not go.
He went because he wanted to see her again.
He went because he was a fool.
To his surprise, his mother and Josie were there, too, at the ball honoring the engagement of Lady Fieldhurst and Sir William Needham.
“I’m surprised you’re here,” his mother said.
“The same could be said of you.” He tried not to search the ballroom. Tried not to locate her.
“I’m always open to attending a ball.”
“Mmmm.”
“Oliver.”
He turned his attention to his mother, surprised to see compassion and sympathy in her eyes, and he knew that she knew. How, he had no idea, but that was his mother. She seemed to know everything. “You didn’t need to come.”
“Oh, but I did. I most certainly did need to come.” He wandered away, feeling lost and suddenly alone.
He’d attended countless balls alone, and it had never bothered him before, because he’d always known that he would meet up with friends. He was beginning to realize that there was a difference between being alone and being lonely.
He spotted Lady Sylvia from across the room, and for an instant he considered her. Maybe she was the most viable opportunity as a wife. Maybe he needed to be more realistic.
But then he saw Ellen, and his heart did a strange flip, and his hands became sweaty, and he wondered what the hell was happening to him. He was acting like someone more Philip’s age than a grown man.
She was so damn beautiful tonight, in dark green.
She was talking with a group of women but stopped suddenly, raised her head; their gazes clashed and held, and it was as if the room and all its occupants disappeared and it was just the two of them. Nothing else mattered.
She turned, said something to her companions, and hurried away.
Like a panther stalking its prey, Oliver followed, his head telling him to stop, to leave it alone, but his thumping heart and sweating hands were telling him something else, and he followed their lead instead of his rational side.
He almost missed her darting down a deserted hallway and caught only the edge of her skirt as it swooped around a corner. With a quick glance over his shoulder, he followed. There were many doors, all closed, and he began opening them one by one until he found her on the fourth try, in a darkened sitting room.
She was standing by the window, clutching the drapery, the moon highlighting her cheekbones and her pale skin and turning her dark hair nearly blue.
“You shouldn’t be in here,” she said, not looking at him.
“Neither should you.” He closed the door quietly behind him and slowly walked toward her.
She turned to face him, still clutching the drapery as if she would fall if she let go. Her knuckles were white.
They faced each other, so many words between them, yet silence hanging heavy.
“You need to leave,” she whispered.
“I can’t. I can’t seem to let you go, no matter how hard I try. You never leave my mind.”
“Don’t do this.”
“What am I doing but being honest?”
She turned her head away and swallowed, and he could see her eyes shimmering. Were those tears? Or was it his hope, wishing they were tears?
“Do you love him?” he asked.
“Oliver.”
“Tell me you love him. Convince me you love him, and I will walk out of here and never speak to you again.”
She closed her eyes, and her chin trembled. He waited one heartbeat, two heartbeats, three heartbeats.
“You have to leave. You have to leave me alone and never approach me again.”
“Tell me you love him.”
“Damn you.” The words were said so softly he almost missed them.
“If you don’t love him, why are you marrying him?”
“There are things you will never know. Things I can never tell you. But you have to trust me that this is the right thing to do.”
He didn’t understand what she was trying to say. And he was angry that she would marry a man she didn’t love.
“I told you once, a long time ago, that you could trust me with anything. I told you I would take care of you no matter what.”
She dipped her head, and he saw the tears shimmering on her cheeks.
“I would protect you with my life, Ellen. You can trust me with your secrets.”
She shook her head and raised her chin to look out the window again. “You need to go, Oliver.”
“This is just like Fieldhurst,” he said bitterly. “Why do you insist on marrying men you don’t love?” Why do you insist on choosing other men over me?
“It’s complicated.”
He laughed, a bitter laugh. “That’s it? That’s all I get by way of explanation? It’s complicated? What’s complicated, Ellen? At least give me that.”
“I can’t tell you.”
“Such riddles you speak.”
“I’m sorry.”
He wanted to tell her what she could do with her apology, but he bit his tongue and stepped toward her. She watched him warily but did not back up. God help her, but she stood her ground and let him crowd her space.
“One last kiss,” he said before swooping down and taking her mouth with his.
She tasted so good. She tasted so familiar, and he could not imagine his life without tasting her every day. But she was insistent that this was the way it had to be, and he had no recourse, no more argument left to give her. So he would taste her this one last time.
And to his surprise she kissed him back with a passion that he’d experienced with only her. But it was a sad kiss, because they both knew this was the end. He wouldn’t come back to her, not after this night. Not even if she ended the engagement to William. He still had some pride left in him.
Reluctantly he pulled away, and they stared at each other in the light of the moon. Ellen still clutched the drapery with one hand. Her gaze searched his face, as if memorizing it.
She touched his cheek with her other hand, let her fingers drift down his neck until she pulled away.
“There was only ever you,” she said.
“Yet I am never good enough.”
He turned on his heel and walked out of the room, the image of her by the window etched in his memory for eternity.
…
He had to keep reminding himself to not push through the crowd, to not run anyone over in his search for Ellen. But, by God, he would find her, and he would talk to her.
The ball was a crush, and it was difficult to see very far in front of him. Eventually he found her standing in the middle of a group of people, a dour-faced, plain-looking woman standing beside her. This person had to be her mother. How could such an imposing woman birth such a beautiful girl?
Ellen met his gaze and slightly shook her head, warning him off. Her mother was looking around as if she were guarding a precious jewel, and in a way she was. Oliver knew then that her mother knew of Oliver and was determined to keep them apart.
He could not get close to her all night and was frustrated at every turn. Her mother left Ellen’s side only once, and that was when Ellen and Fieldhurst danced, and then they became the center of attention. Oliver had no hope of cutting in.
He stood helplessly on the side, watching the love of his life dance with her betrothed. It should have been him in her arms. It should have been him that she was dancing with.
“Meet her outside the terrace doors.”
Oliver looked down at the girl who had sidled
up to him. He hadn’t even known she was there until she spoke. He recognized her as one of the girls who had been in Ellen’s circle of friends at the first ball. Ruth. For some reason he remembered her name and that Ellen considered Ruth one of her better friends.
She wandered away, and Oliver had to shake himself. Had he heard her right? Did Ellen want to meet with him?
A surge of hope rose within him, and he made his way to the terrace doors and outside. There were too many on the terrace for them to meet, so he jogged down the steps and into the deep shadows, hoping she would think to find him there.
Ten minutes later she was running toward him, and he opened his arms. Suddenly he was filled with the scent of Ellen, the feel of Ellen.
Already she was sobbing. “Oh, Oliver, it’s horrible. Father signed a betrothal contract with Fieldhurst, and both Mother and Father absolutely refuse to listen to me. I’ve tried telling them that you and I are to wed and that I can’t possibly marry Fieldhurst, but it’s like they’re deaf. I fear there is nothing we can do now. The wedding is in a week.”
She pulled back, her cheeks wet, her eyes red-rimmed, her nose running. He couldn’t have loved her more.
“We’ll figure something out.”
She sniffed. “There is nothing to figure out. They simply will not listen, and Mother went ahead with the planning of the wedding. Invitations have gone out, and I’ve already had two fittings for my gown.” She covered her face and started crying again.
Oliver patted her on the shoulder while his mind worked to find a solution. He was not going to lose Ellen to an old man like Fieldhurst. There was no possibility that Fieldhurst would make her happy. She was too wild. Too free. He was too stodgy. Too…old.
“They want me to marry an earl because it will elevate the family and I will become a countess.” She hiccupped. “I keep telling them that someday you will be an earl, but they call me foolish.” She clutched his arm. “We’re not foolish, are we, Oliver? This is real? What we feel for each other?”
“Yes, it’s real and it’s not foolish. We’ll run away. We’ll get married on our own. We don’t need invitations or a grand gown. All we need is each other, and then we can live our lives as we like. We don’t even have to live in London if you don’t want to.”
Deceiving an Earl Page 17