Page 20 of The Rules of Courtship
“Oh yes, I had forgotten about your great love of running water.”
“Any body of water, really. I do not discriminate against lakes or ponds.”
Ruth wanted to screech. His lazy speech was infuriating. Hecared nothing for the stream, and they both well knew it. “Oliver Rose, if you?—”
“All ready,” Mr. Bailey called, coming out of the stables and approaching them on horseback. He rode an impatient, powerful black horse with beautiful lines.
Ruth drew in a quiet breath, impressed.
“What was that, Ruth?” Oliver asked.
She shot him a quelling look. It hardly mattered, for they both knew he had won. “Lead the way, Mr. Bailey.”
Chapter Seven
SAMUEL
Rule #7: When good luck approaches, welcome it without question
Samuel smoothed the letter on the small table in his bedchamber, his fingers lightly brushing over the timeworn creases. He hadn’t wanted to come to this house party, because that would be two missed letters at the very least. The messages he had been exchanging with the unknown woman had grown to become the highlight of his weeks.
Yet Ruth Wycliffe herself had wanted him here.
He still was unsure how he felt about it. He had pined after her for so many years with nothing but rejection. It felt strange to think she might very well accept a dance or walk in the garden. The woman had the most beautiful smile when she found something humorous. With Ruth, that was more often than not.
Yes, Samuel recognized that a lighter hand might have won her affection much sooner than his overbearing attraction, buthe could not change who he was. Samuel’s spirit was vibrant. His shimmery, yellow brocade waistcoat could not hold a candle to the bright thoughts bouncing around in his mind.
Looking at the loopy, feminine writing on his letter, he could not help but wonder—was Ruth his mysterious writer? Perhaps she had learned his identity and wanted to use this time to give him a proper chance.
It made far more sense than the ludicrous idea that she had merely had a change of heart concerning him. Samuel was no fool.
He folded up the letter and tucked it safely away in his interior pocket. He had taken to carrying the most recent of letters with him like a secret hidden away near his heart. But this one held more purpose. If he could obtain a writing sample from Ruth, he could compare the handwriting and determine if she was his mysterious friend.
A knock sounded at the door.
“Enter,” Samuel said, patting his waistcoat and straightening his cuffs in the long mirror.
Oliver stepped inside. His wardrobe did not hold a single garment that was not blue, black, gray, or brown. The man could use a little color. Some well-placed lavender or violet, for example, would make his green eyes look brighter. Samuel had once tried to tell him that, but Oliver didn’t care in the least.
“Is the sermon prepared?” Samuel asked, primping his glossy violet cravat. He tilted his head to the side. Could he persuade Oliver to trade cravats with him? The man wouldn’t regret how dashing it made him look.
“What the devil are you talking about now?”
Perhaps not.
“The sermon.” Samuel turned, gesturing to his cousin’s stark black coat. “You look prepared to stand at the pulpit and preach.”
Oliver rolled his eyes.
“You can borrow a waistcoat if you’d like to look healthier,” Samuel continued. “Make your eyes bright. Put some color in your cheeks.”
Oliver’s voice was flat. “My eyes are perfectly fine.”
“You were in those painting lessons with me, Cousin. You know perfectly well how to make swampy green look like luscious grass.”
“Luscious—gads, Sam. I want to speak with you. Can you be serious for the next three minutes?”
“If I must. Is your pocket watch ready?”
