Page 14 of The Rules of Courtship
“Can you read music?”
“Not even a note.”
Miss Temple looked confused, a small line forming between her eyebrows. “How do you know when to turn the pages?”
“Ruth tells me,” he said, with a rueful smile. “There are some songs where I have helped her so many times I know them by ear.”
Miss Temple blinked, her knife and fork hovering above her plate. “How fortunate she is to have such a dedicated friend.”
A dedicated friend? He cleared his throat. “Someone needed to assist her, and her brother was far more interested in his wife and his son.” Oliver realized his mistake in speaking so openly about the closeness he shared with Ruth. Would Miss Temple misunderstand him? Believe he meant to convey that something existed between them?
“What do you enjoy doing with your time if it is not in pursuit of music?” she asked, thankfully changing the conversation.
“Horses,” he said. “Or improving my land. I’m afraid I have been consumed with learning proper irrigation techniques and planting cycles in recent months. I dream about crop rotations now.” He had done so out of necessity, to save the property and estate from the bank, but she needn’t know that.
“Goodness, that sounds terrifying,” she said with a laugh.
Oliver smiled in return. He glanced up—out of habit, no doubt—to find Ruth watching them curiously. She held his eyes for a moment before returning her attention to the darkly mysterious man beside her.
Oliver focused again on his dinner, though his appetite had fled. They spent the remaining time discussing their varying pursuits. He told her of his horse, and she explained that her father was similarly inclined, with an unhealthy love for the creatures.
“The stables are at your disposal for the duration of your visit,” Miss Temple said.
His heart made a sudden leap. “Surely your father needs to approve.”
“He will,” she said with quiet confidence.
Something about Miss Temple was pleasing, and it went beyond her natural good looks. He couldn’t identify exactly what it was, but he found himself comfortably sinking into the conversation. The remainder of dinner passed far more swiftly, and before he knew it, Oliver was watching the women walkaway while the men remained behind for cigars and port. He moved to the end of the table where Samuel sat speaking with Lord Rocklin and Mr. Kellinger, another older gentleman Oliver was vaguely familiar with, then accepted a small glass of ruby wine.
“You wouldn’t believe the speed of her,” Lord Rocklin said. “She is unmatched in all of my stables.”
“Do you race her?” Samuel asked.
“Not yet.”
“I think we need a demonstration,” Mr. Kellinger said, tipping back his glass and draining the wine in one swallow. He pushed his graying hair from his face, clearly hoping to achieve the Brutus look that was growing with popularity. He and Samuel were vying for most dandyish in attendance, which meant they would either get along splendidly or butt heads like two goats. Hopefully, the discrepancy in age would mean the former. Mr. Kellinger was at least a decade older than Sam.
“We can set one for tomorrow morning if Mr. Bailey will agree to ride.”
The man in question looked up from his glass, his dark eyes sweeping over their host. What were his qualifications? To be singled out in this manner proved Mr. Bailey was the most talented rider in the house—according to Lord Rocklin, at least. “What is it I’m agreeing to ride?” he asked from midway down the table.
“Lightning,” Lord Rocklin said. “She’s spirited, but fast.”
“My favorite kind,” Mr. Bailey said with a smirk.
Something about his delivery rubbed Oliver wrongly, but he couldn’t pin a reason to why he felt that way.
“Why do you look like you’ve smelled the bottom of my shoes?” Samuel asked quietly.
Oliver tried to keep his face neutral. “Why do the bottom of your shoes smell noteworthy?”
Samuel shrugged. “We’ve been talking of horses.” For a fop,he was less concerned about his appearance than he led people to believe. “You cannot change the subject so easily, Oliver. What is bothering you?”
“Nothing.” It was the truth, too. He wasn’tbotheredwatching Ruth with Mr. Bailey. He had been…jealous? Was that it? “I am eager to return to the drawing room. You know how little I regard these men-only port sessions.”
“Not the best drink, I agree.” Samuel lifted his glass and swirled the wine, looking at it with a furrowed brow. His expression cleared, and he set the cup down again. “Or is it a certain woman you’d like to return to?”
Yes, indeed, he wanted to speak to Ruth. Was he so obvious? His heart thudded. Was this the moment they discussed having feelings for the same woman?
