Page 10 of The Rules of Courtship
“You needn’t worry about me. What can I fetch for you before I leave?”
Lady Helena opened her eyes. Her skin was pale. “Sleep.”
Ruth nodded, standing. “Sarah will help me dress. Shall I ask her to check on you when she’s finished?”
“I hope I will be sleeping, so I’m tempted to refuse the offer. Anna should be with me shortly.”
“I’ll peek in after dinner, then.”
Lady Helena smiled. “What have I done to deserve you?”
“We both know I am the true motivation you had in marrying my father.”
“Of course,” she said, playing along, though her voice sounded weak. “Gaining a daughter was my priority. Love had nothing at all to do with it.”
Ruth kissed her stepmother on the cheek. She made certain the drapes were closed tightly, then slipped from the room. Laughter traveled from downstairs, reaching Ruth in the corridor outside her bedchamber. Being alone in an unfamiliar house, her ally abed and strangers gathering in the drawing room, was overwhelming. She already felt as though she had been put in a barrel and sent spinning down a hillside. She dressed quickly, eager not to be the final person to arrive in the drawing room before dinner. It would be disorienting to miss all the introductions before sitting at the table.
Sarah stood behind her at the dressing table, smoothing her hair and pinning it into place. “Does Lady Helena require any assistance?”
“Anna should be with her now.” Ruth tapped her foot anxiously, waiting for the final pins to be placed.
“You seem nervous, miss.”
“I really am,” Ruth said honestly. “I’ve no idea why. Theentire house is not made up of strangers. I should be familiar with a good portion of the people in attendance.”
“But you expected to walk into the drawing room with Lady Helena. Doing so alone?—”
“Will be grand,” Ruth said with an overly bright smile. Sarah had managed to identify precisely what had caused Ruth’s anxious foot-tapping. “I will find Oliver straight away and everything will be well.”
Papa’s request to help Oliver find a decent wife floated in the periphery of Ruth’s thoughts as she made her way down the stairs, the din of conversation and laughter making her hands shake with agitation. She was not qualified to assist with that endeavor—she would much rather find a match for Samuel.
The idea of sitting in church and watching Oliver pledge himself to another was…strange. The man’s mind was forever on his land, estate, and responsibilities. He did not think of anything else. How could he possibly consider a woman? Besides, he was far more reasonable than Ruth. He would not need her approval to know a lady was worth pursuing.
Ruth smoothed her hands down her blue silk evening gown and approached the footmen standing at the doors, tugging her gloves past her elbows. She smiled at them before entering the drawing room, her gaze moving from group to group. There were hardly more than a half-dozen people present, and only one of them a gentleman of marrying age. The other two men looked old enough to be her father or, in one case, her grandfather.
“Oliver,” she murmured to herself. She needed Oliver. Her gaze sought the small groupings for his familiar dark, pomaded hair with no luck. Where were his steady eyes and reliable countenance to keep her from appearing foolish and alone?
Lord Rocklin approached her, looking just as she recalled. He was missing two teeth from his overly wide smile, giving her a grin that lingered as though he was waiting for something.
“Miss Wycliffe.” He dipped his head in unnecessary deference. “We are so pleased you could make it.” He glanced over her shoulder. “And Lady Helena?”
Ah, so that was whom he was waiting for. “The carriage ride didn’t agree with her,” Ruth replied, “but I’m certain you shall see her in the morning.”
He affected a proper amount of disappointment. “Of course, of course. How terrible. Tell my housekeeper if there is anything we can do.”
“Her maid is very capable.”
“Yes, naturally.” Lord Rocklin nodded along, his smile still lingering, showcasing that dark gap where a tooth ought to be. How very uncomfortable. Did it bother him when he chewed? “Come, Miss Wycliffe. Meet Mr. Kellinger,” he said, turning her to face a gentleman who was at least two decades older than her, his dark hair liberally salted with gray.
Ruth dipped into a curtsy as the viscount finished the introduction. “Good evening, sir,” she said.
“Welcome to the most beautiful part of England, Miss Wycliffe.”
“Do you live nearby?”
“No, and I nearly was unable to travel here. It was a great effort for me to leave behind my dear Phillipa, but she has contracted a mild case of colic and I left her in capable hands.”
Ruth hadn’t the slightest notion of how to reply to this speech. The illness must have been very mild indeed for him to feel comfortable leaving his wife to attend a house party.
