Page 13 of The Rules of Courtship
Jane performed the introductions before Oliver led Catherine away, shooting one last glance over his shoulder at Ruth. What was he afraid of? They were all walking into the same room to enjoy their dinner, and no one had asked Ruth to partner them yet, anyway.
Mr. Bailey bowed. “Miss Wycliffe, I don’t believe we have met before. You must not be from near Rocklin?”
“Harewood,” she told him. “Though I have ventured to London a few times, which is where I’ve met the Temple sisters.”
“Ah, of course. I would like to hear more about Harewood,” he said, though she wondered if that was at all true.
“I can tell you anything you need to know,” Samuel quipped. “Lived there my entire life.”
Mr. Bailey chuckled. “Yes, but you aren’t nearly as pretty as Miss Wycliffe.” He turned the full weight of his attention on her again. His dark eyes glittered with interest. He was exceedingly handsome, and there was a rakish gleam to his expression that made her want to lean forward, just a little. “May I escort you in to dinner?”
“Yes, I thank you.”
“Not a Harewood man. Fortunate for you,” Samuel muttered, leaning close so only she could hear. “And for your dratted rules.”
She gave a look she hoped would silence him.
Oliver glanced over his shoulder near the doorway, his dark green eyes briefly locking onto Mr. Bailey before settling on her. His face creased into something akin to concern.
When Ruth placed her hand on Mr. Bailey’s arm, it felt like maybe this house party wouldn’t be so terrible after all.
Chapter Five
Rule #5: When offered a drink, accept the conversation attached to the offer. The drink is optional
Sitting across from Ruth for the duration of dinner was nothing short of torturous. She smiled and laughed and spoke with her partner throughout the meal without pause. Oliver was so caught up in watching this mysterious gentleman charm Ruth, he found himself steadily ignoring Miss Temple, much to his chagrin. She deserved better than an absentee partner. Even if Oliver was only completing the task Wycliffe had given him—to watch over Ruth.
Clearlythatwas the reason for his utter distraction.
A perfectly browned game hen was placed on his plate, snapping him away from staring. Ruth’s jovial laugh cut through him, her eyes shining brightly and teeth on full display. Oliver put his attention squarely on his seatmate. “Tell me about yourself, Miss Temple.”
She was pretty. Her golden hair gleamed from the candleslining the chandelier above the table. Her cheeks rounded with a smile. “I am afraid there isn’t much to tell.”
“You do not have a ready list of accomplishments to present?”
Surprise flashed in her eyes before her smile was restored. “I suppose if that is what you would like to know, I could satisfy your curiosity.”
Oliver had said the wrong thing. Ruth would have laughed, coming up with an outlandish list of accomplishments or turning it into a game. But, with Miss Temple, he had only managed to sound annoyed. His gaze lingered on her for a moment before he delivered a rueful smile. “You seem like the sort of young lady who has all sorts of talents, Miss Temple. I meant no offense by it.”
Her demeanor softened. “Thank you, Mr. Rose.” She looked at the small, plump game hen on her plate before laying her attention on him again. “I am passionate about music—playing the pianoforte, the harp, and I sing. When my sister can persuade me, I join her for a ride, but she is more eager to spend time in the sun than I am.”
Faint disappointment settled in Oliver’s stomach. When young women were fascinated with horses, he found himself able to speak at length with them. His fodder for conversation never ran out. But music? He didn’t know the first thing about it. “What do you enjoy playing the most? You will need to explain everything, because I am quite the novice when it comes to music in any form. I enjoy listening to it when it’s well executed, but I’m afraid I could never identify what makes it a success.”
“Your ears are tuned to enjoy proper sound,” she said easily, settling into her chair. “You needn’t be a proficient to note when something is good.”
“That explains it.” He smiled genially, cutting into his hen. “Do you have a favorite instrument to play?”
“The harp. It can be very angelic.”
He imagined Miss Temple looked angelic when playing it as well, with her golden hair and sweet countenance. A white dress would complete the image nicely.
Oliver’s thoughts quickly flashed to the play he had put on with Ryland, Samuel, Ruth, and Eliza when they were hardly more than children. The girls had been angels, sewing wings to the back of two dresses and receiving a tongue-lashing from Ruth’s governess for it. It had taken them weeks to find enough feathers to make the wings. He had thought Ruth was bold and brave. Not only had she somehow convinced her governess to allow them to finish the costumes, but Ruth had also managed to get her to agree to be the first audience for their finished production.
Blast. His attention had wandered again. He cut a bite of meat before speaking. “I hope we will have the pleasure of hearing you play this week.”
“My sister hopes to put together a musicale if we can find enough willing participants. Do you play or sing?”
“No, neither. You should prefer to keep me in your audience.” He put down his knife and fork and lifted his goblet, taking a long swallow. Ruth laughed again, and it took every ounce of control he possessed to keep his smile trained on Miss Temple. “I used to turn pages for Miss Wycliffe on occasion, so I can offer those services if they are required.”
