Page 55 of The Rules of Courtship
“Thank you, Howe.” Samuel moved toward the stairs, taking them two at a time until he reached his father’s chamber. He listened quietly, glad to hear an absence of his mother’s voice before knocking at the door. She was likely in the midst of her regular afternoon nap.
“Enter,” his father called.
Samuel pushed the door open, closing it behind himself upon finding his father in his shirtsleeves, attempting to tie his cravat with the help of his oval mirror.
“How is Captain Rose?” It was telling that Samuel rarelycalled the manUncle William. He had been far removed from them in Harewood, spending his life on ships elsewhere and only visiting for short periods of time.
Father’s hands went slack, and he looked over his shoulder. It was immediately apparent things were not good.
“I do not know how much time he has left,” Father said.
“Then why did you make the journey with him home?”
“For Oliver, mostly. But for my brother-in-law, as well. He deserves to spend his last few days in his own home instead of that of a stranger.”
Samuel nodded, his mouth going dry.
“He has a fortune,” Father muttered, returning to the mirror to finish tying his cravat. “Earned it from being on those ships for so many years. I never understood why he did not chase advancement, but being a captain meant he had more access to prize ships, I suppose.”
“Or perhaps he enjoyed the position. Not everyone has a mind single to gaining money.”
Father snorted. “Oliver is going to be a rich man very soon.”
Samuel’s stomach flipped, disgust filtering through him. Oliver was a wealthy man already, and seeking after money had never been a priority of his. “I think, if given the choice, he would prefer to have his father instead.” He did not wait for a reply but left the room, banging through the door before hurrying down the steps. He needed to be at Boone Parknow.
Oliver needed him.
Chapter Twenty
Rule #20: Never trust a man who cannot properly tie a cravat
Oliver stood at the door to his father’s room, unable to turn the knob and let himself in. He knew a difficult sight awaited him; his butler Harrison had made that perfectly clear. Maybe it was exhaustion from traveling, but weariness gripped his body, dragging him down and making it impossible to lift his hand and step inside.
“Shall I open the door for you, sir?” Harrison asked.
Oliver shook his head. He faced his butler again, wishing he did not have an audience. “I did not ask earlier, but was everything well managed in my absence?”
“The planting was completed on schedule. I’ve seen to the list of repairs needed on the tenant houses beyond the east field. We can discuss the additional economies recommended by Cook at another time, but I do think we’ve found a way to spend even less on meals than before.”
Footsteps indicated another person coming their way, andOliver shook his head slightly. He could not allow any of his family members to know the state in which Grandmother had left her finances, or they would blame him.
Harrison withdrew as Uncle Charles approached. He had not brought his wife nor Eliza, which was just as well.
“Oliver,” Uncle Charles said, peering at Oliver’s hand resting on the doorknob through concerned eyes. “Do you need more time?”
This was ridiculous. He was a grown man. He could face his dying father.
Oliver cleared his throat. “No, I thank you.”
“Shall I come with you?”
“If you’d like.” Oliver reached for the door, the brass cool under his palm as he twisted and pushed it open. The room was dark but for a small fire and a candlestick beside his father’s bed. The drapes were pulled tightly over the window to keep the warm air in, making it stuffy and smell of dust.
He crossed the room, stopping at the foot of the bed. He had not seen his father in some years, but even with the portraits Grandmother kept in the drawing room, this man was nearly unrecognizable. His face was gaunt, his skin dark. Purple circles pooled beneath his eyes. The once large man had shrunk to half his size.
Oliver’s chest seized, but he did his best to keep his face neutral. Uncle Charles was watching him with concern, and he did not want to look weak.
His father shifted on the bed, his face scrunching in pain.
