Page 1 of The Rules of Courtship
Chapter One
Rule #1: Do not climb up unless you can climb down
If Ruth had known she would end the morning stranded in an apple tree, she would not have bothered finishing her breakfast. Had she left the house ten minutes earlier, she would now be safely tucked on her horse, riding the hills instead of hiding from a would-be suitor.
Balmy sunlight beat through the branches, warming her bonnet-less head and making her grow hot and sticky. She wiped perspiration from her forehead with her wrist, then reached to pluck a round, reddish-green apple from a nearby branch and rubbed it on her sleeve before taking a bite. Sour, but satisfying. She munched quietly, her cheeks clenching and juice running down her chin, while she watched the stable door safely from above.
Papa would never go so far as to arrange a marriage on her behalf, but he had not disguised his intention to introduce her to every eligible gentleman of his acquaintance over the courseof the last year. Ever since her stepbrother Ryland had fallen in love and married his son’s governess, Papa wanted Ruth to have that same security. His need to be rid of her would be mildly offensive had he not confined his search to the immediate vicinity. At least he wished for her to remain nearby.
Even if it meant ignoring the rules by which she lived her life. Namely: never court a man from Harewood.
Of all Ruth’s rules, that was the most important.
She took another bite from the juicy apple, partially satiating her thirst. A bird called as it passed overhead, but no other sounds broke the peaceful silence. Ruth leaned against the branch, searching the front of the stables for any sign of Papa’s current favorite, Dr. Burnside. The man had moved to their small hamlet of Harewood only two months ago, and since he’d come with the express purpose of replacing their aged parish doctor, Papa heartily approved. Dr. Burnside was young, fit, had a healthy career and life ahead of him, and was in possession of a decent house near the heart of Harewood—what more could she possibly want?
Indeed, if Ruth had not made the rule long ago that she’d not court a man from Harewood—including men like Dr. Burnside who had recently moved in—she would consider allowing him to take her out for a ride. But as it stood, Ruth lived by her rules. What sort of person would she be if she broke them on a whim?
Unreliable. Weak. Susceptible to the pressure of others.
Possibly even married to a man she did not love. She shuddered. The idea of a loveless marriage was the most distasteful of all.
Papa’s voice floated from the stables. “You are always welcome, Dr. Burnside.”
“Yet it seems Miss Wycliffe is never on hand when I stop in,” Dr. Burnside said, his clear tone carrying through the breeze. “If I was a less confident man, I would fear she was avoiding me.”
His confidence was getting in the way of his understanding, for that was exactly her intent.
“She is strong-willed,” Papa said carefully.
Hmm. That did not feel the compliment it ought to be. Ruth gripped her apple tightly, holding her breath as the men stepped from the stables. If they turned and looked up, they would see her. It was a pity she found herself in this situation wearing her new violet riding habit. It didn’t blend into the apple tree in the least while the sun shone from its midday perch. She sat very still, hoping the doctor would leave before noticing her.
Hoofbeats pounded the lane, causing both men to turn their attention away from her, allowing her shoulders to relax.
Bless Oliver Rose and his superior timing. He slowed his horse before reaching the men, with perfect form and an envy-inspiring command of the creature. He sat tall and handsome, his dark hair tucked beneath a black hat. Did he have an appointment with Papa? Since inheriting his grandmother’s estate nine months ago, he had come to Papa more often for advice. His land abutted the Wycliffe fields, so they’d come to an arrangement—Oliver learned all he could and, in return, oversaw the new irrigation techniques being implemented in both men’s neighboring fields.
It was not lost on anyone that Papa and Oliver had an exceptional love of horses, too. Ruth was certain they did not spendalltheir time discussing land.
Oliver’s posture was straight, the seat of a man who was quietly comfortable in his own skin. His brown coat was unbuttoned, the lapel falling open in the breeze and revealing a flawless cravat tucked into a steady gray waistcoat. He looked every inch the gentleman, though Ruth knew he was not afraid to dirty his hands if the need arose. He had lost the grandmother who’d raised him nine months ago, and he’d thrown himself into the estate she’d loved. Since her passing, he had spent increasingly more time with Papa and next to nothing withRuth. They used to ride together often, but their friendship had since suffered.
Ruth blamed his grief, which meant she could hardly lay any blame at all, could she? Though eager for his easy friendship to be restored, she understood he would come about again when he was ready. His eyes flicked over Papa and Dr. Burnside before searching beyond them. Was he looking for her? A frisson of excitement ran through her veins. Could this mean he was readynow?
And here she was, stuck in a tree.
“Good day, Oliver,” Papa said pleasantly.
Oliver touched his hat and dipped his dark, pomaded head to each of the men. “Wycliffe. Burnside.”
“Good day, Mr. Rose,” Dr. Burnside said, readjusting his hat over his auburn hair.
“It’s far too warm to toil in the fields today,” Papa said, though Ruth hadn’t the faintest notion why. Her father hadn’ttoiledin all her life. He was a hard worker indoors, creating plans and directing his people with thoughtful care, but he did not lift a scythe himself. “Can I entice you inside? Or have you come in search of Ruth? I will warn you; she has made herself scarce this morning.”
Oliver had the audacity to glance at Dr. Burnside upon hearing this.
Though she did not know why. She would have scoffed at the notion of Oliver coming in search of her if she had not been trying to hide. He hadn’t met her for a ride in the better part of a year. She rather assumed he’d tired of her company. Outgrown it, perhaps? He was the man of Boone Park now, with business to occupy him and lands to cultivate and no time for frivolous things like Ruth.
She swallowed her bitterness. Oliver had always been a dear friend, but something had happened when he lost his grandmother, and he hadn’t been the same since.
“I hoped to speak to you,” he said to Papa, “but I can return at a better time.”
