Page 35 of The Rules of Courtship
The distance their friendship had endured since his grandmother died had saddened her, but during those months, Ruth had believed Oliver was grieving. Now she wondered if there was something deeper at fault—some wrongness within her he was too afraid to share.
Was he avoiding Ruth the way she had artfully avoided Samuel using her rules? Had he noted the way she was drawn to him, the attraction she felt for him, and put distance between them so as not to give her the wrong idea? The idea flushed her body with cold embarrassment.
Ruth pivoted, setting her attention on the stars. Constellations. She needed to count them. She sought Ursa Major, the easiest one for her to pick out.
“Time!” Catherine called, clapping her hands together.
“Ruth,” Oliver said, leaning closer. She could smell his familiar citrus and cedar scent and needed to step back, the heat of embarrassment climbing up her neck.
“I only found one,” she called, laughing while she moved away from him, backing up as though she meant to address the entire group. It was due to luck she ended up standing near Mr. Bailey. “So I am surely last.”
Catherine gave her a puzzled look. “Most likely. Now, let’s find the winner. Who found more than five?”
Ruth’s ears were roaring, unable to focus on the conversation happening around her. She heard familiar names—Ursa Minor, Casseopeia and Cepheus, Hercules and Aquila. All the while, she was doing her best to remain still and focus on her breathing.
Mr. Bailey leaned in. “Do you need to sit down, Miss Wycliffe?”
She tried to smile at him. “It is a little cool, but I can wait until we are ready to go inside.”
His brows furrowed, disbelieving her. People typically swooned because of heat, not cold. Mr. Bailey really was very handsome, but even if she didn’t suspect that he was in love with Emily, she did not think she would be able to fall in love with him.
No, that emotion was already claimed. For it was abundantly clear, given the way she felt now, that she cared far more for Oliver than she had previously admitted, even to herself.
Indeed, she was not sure she’d quite realized how she felt. But the very notion of him needing to be away from her for any other reason than a need to hide within his grief sliced through her heart like a freshly sharpened blade.
“We have our winner!” Catherine beamed across the balcony, and it did not take long to see who she was grinning at.
Oliver had won after all.
Chapter Twelve
Rule #12: Be mindful when choosing a task for regaining forfeits—your challenge can be interpreted in a number of meaningful ways
The group had gathered around the card table holding the forfeits. A smattering of small personal objects littered the surface. While Oliver assumed the rest of the group wanted the women to choose a man’s item and the men to choose a woman’s, he’d far prefer to take Samuel’s golden fob and be done with it.
He could take Ruth’s glove—that would have been the simple answer. But something had happened when they had stood near the balustrade. Like a candle snuffing in a pinch, Ruth had gone from being friendly to closing off entirely, backing away from him. The worst bit of the entire exchange was the hurt evident on her face.
He had done something wrong, but what? Yes, he’d kept hisdistance the last few days, but only because he was barely holding himself together, and one look from Ruth was certain to crumble his poorly constructed walls. His father was ill. At this very moment, his uncles were traveling to retrieve him. And Oliver was standing amongst a group of marriage-minded people discussing constellations.
It all felt so very wrong. The only reason he could remain standing among this crowd and not break was the distance he’d kept from Ruth. If she spoke to him, she would see through him, and he wouldn’t be able to pretend anymore. He needed to pretend, or he would be lost to the worry and concern consuming him.
Shaking his discomfort, he stepped closer to the table and lifted a small brooch. He didn’t recognize it, so it could not be Ruth’s, surely.
“Oh, that is mine,” Miss Jane said, clapping her hands together much like her sister had earlier.
“You would like it back?” he asked, giving her a smile and hoping it looked real.
“Yes. What would you have me do?” she asked. Her eyes were bright, eager. He knew the entire objective of his game was for young ladies to find ways to put themselves in a gentleman’s arms, but he wasn’t in the correct frame of mind for flirtation.
Really, he ought to have left the house entirely. Short of that, he should have stayed in his room.
He rustled up another smile. “I’m afraid I’m not very creative.”
“Ask her to sing one of Byron’s poems,” suggested Miss Edmonds.
“Or bray like a donkey,” Mr. Bailey offered, earning a playful scowl from Miss Jane.
“Choose your animal, Miss Jane,” Oliver said. “Act it out until we can guess what it is.”
