Page 57 of The Rules of Courtship
“But he said…” Oliver shook his head. It must have been a fleeting moment of murky thought. His uncles shared a worried look, but Oliver ignored them.
“Perhaps no more than two visitors at a time,” Dr. Burnside continued. “So as not to overwhelm Captain Rose.”
“Of course.” Oliver found himself watching the doctor speak to Uncle Harding, thinking back to that day weeks ago when he had found Ruth hiding from this doctor in a tree. He did not seem an atrocious suitor, but Ruth knew her own mind. She didnot easily alter her opinions, and in the garden, she had been the one to lean into Oliver. She had initiated the kiss, had pulled him close. She had chased his demons and clouded his mind, filling him with nothing but her.
He craved Ruth, but he needed to see his father.
“Shall we return to William?” Uncle Charles asked. “I will come with you.”
Oliver followed him back to his father’s room, his feet dragging. He felt Samuel’s gaze on his back as they left.
“William,” Uncle Charles said, holding the door for Oliver. “We’ve returned. Can we fetch anything for you?”
“Whisky,” Father said hoarsely. “The doctor mentioned laudanum.” Each word was a struggle, leaving his mouth slowly and with great effort.
“I can fetch a drink,” Oliver said.
“No, you stay.” Uncle Charles moved toward the door. “I will see to it.”
Alone with his father, Oliver felt the quiet in the room grow thick. He crossed the room, doing his best to imagine the strong, healthy father he had known his entire life. “We were worried when we could not find you. I trust they have spoken to you about Grandmother.”
“Yes,” Father said, his voice quiet. “Shame.”
“It was, indeed. But she passed peacefully.”
Father opened his eyes, looking into Oliver’s with such clearness, he understood Dr. Burnside’s observation now. Father was indeed very lucid. “You have not been properly thanked for your work.”
“I need no thanks, Father.”
He closed his eyes, looking pained. “You mustn’t call me that.”
Oliver lowered himself onto the chair beside the bed, making him more level with his father. “I do not know what you mean.”
“I’m not…your…father.”
Cold, icy dread flushed through him. “What do you mean?” Oliver repeated.
Father looked at him, struggling to swallow against his dry throat. “It was a ruse—designed to protect Diana.”
Aunt Diana? She had died in childbirth long ago. Oliver had never met her. Pieces of the puzzle began to click into place against his understanding. He fought the thoughts as they bounced around in his mind. Shaking his head, he let out a huff. “You are not lucid. This is typical behavior for one so ill.”
“I am perfectly sane.” Father drew in a labored breath. “To protect you. We did it…for you, and for Diana’s memory.”
Oliver couldn’t breathe. His chest was moving, but air was not reaching his lungs. His head grew light, and he stood up quickly, backing away from the bed and the words that felt too sensible to be anything but true.
“What has he said?” Uncle Charles asked, returning with a glass and a decanter of amber liquid.
Oliver shook his head, unable to form the words.
“The truth,” Father rasped. Or, notFather, not anymore.
Oliver took another step away, then another.
“You weren’t meant to find out like this,” Uncle Charles said grimly. “But I suppose it is time.”
The room began to spin. Uncle Charles’s confirmation buzzed through his mind, making him dizzy. Oliver took one step away, then another, his speed increasing until he was veritably running from the house. He threw the front door open, the afternoon sunlight blinding him after spending such a length of time in the dim bedroom. Blinking against the brightness, he ran for the stables. Oliver needed to be away from here.
He needed to escape.
