To Catch A Suitor (Dalton Family 2)

“No. That was Rose.”

Oliver froze. Rose? His eyes shifted for the first time to the opposite side of bed. Sure enough, he saw the form of Rose under the coverlet pulled all over her head, leaving only the ends of her brown hair visible. Heat rushed to Oliver’s face as he realized he had just barged in not only on Kensworth but also on his new wife in bed.

“Oh, blast,” he said, quickly turning away so that his back was to the bed. “I’m sorry, Rose. Er—Lady Kensworth. If I had known that you…well, I wouldn’t have come in here.”

He heard her laugh a short laugh as well as the sound of covers shuffling. “Don’t you dare start calling me Lady Kensworth. And, yes—how could you possibly have known that Carver’s wife would be in his bed with him in the early morning?”

He grimaced at her words. It was so obvious that she should be there with him now. Why had that thought never occurred to him before? “Right. I’ll just be on my way then,” he said, charging toward the door.

“No, no. I’m already up and going into my own room so you two ladies can have your morning chat,” said Rose, followed by the sound of feet shuffling against the floor and then a door shutting on the far end of the room. Assuming that meant it was safe, Oliver turned back around slowly until his eyes landed on his friend.

Kensworth was now sitting on the edge of the bed looking as annoyed as ever. “Oliver. Do me a favor and go get your own wife so you can have someone to talk to in the mornings who isn't me.”

Oliver smirked. “But you know me so well. Imagine how long it would take for a wife to learn all of my complexities?”

“Believe me, you’re not as complex as you think.”

“Is that your way of saying I’m daft?”

Kensworth ran his hands through his hair with a small grin. “I think you must be if you thought you would find me alone in my bed after marrying Rose only a month ago.”

Oliver couldn’t help but chuckle. It really

was stupid of him. “Don’t worry. It won’t happen again.”

“I don’t doubt that. Rose will shoot you if you do it again.”

“Relying on your wife to be your body guard?” Oliver tsked. “Shabby, my man.”

“I’m debating calling my guard back in here to take care of you right now.”

Oliver smiled and moved across the room toward the parlor that connected to Kensworth’s room. Before he opened it, he paused. The room no longer connected only to Kensworth’s room. It also connected to the bedchamber of the lady of the house.

As Oliver stood there, his hand poised on the knob, he was hit with the realization that he could no longer move with freedom through his best friend’s house as he had done nearly every day since they had both moved to London. An uncomfortable feeling settled over him. It was heavy and cold and told him that he had been replaced.

There weren’t many places in Oliver’s life that felt like home. His own home—Pembroke—felt like anything but a home. It’s why he had been avoiding the place—and the man who occupied it—since he had met Kensworth all those years ago at Eton. He had learned from the Ashburn family what a peaceful home looked like—what caring parents looked like.

Dalton Park and Kensworth House felt like two pillars in his life holding him up—giving him a place to belong and feel wanted. And, suddenly, he felt as if one of those pillars had just been ripped out from under him.

“What is it?” asked Kensworth, coming to stand behind him.

Oliver forced a smile. “You probably should go in first. Since…that’s your wife’s parlor as well now.”

Kensworth didn’t seem to be feeling the same significance of that statement, because he just smiled and nodded. “You’re right. I’ll go in first.”

Oliver stepped back, falling into his new place as he watched Kensworth enter the parlor, and then waited for the cue that it was clear for him to enter. A fire lit in the grate made the room feel warm and soothing to the gnawing sense of change Oliver felt prickling at him. He breathed a quiet sigh of relief as he and his friend both sunk into the old, worn leather chairs, and everything felt a little more normal again.

He looked down and ran his finger over the familiar large crack in the leather. For the first time in the history of their friendship, Oliver was at a loss for what to say. There was so much buzzing around his mind, but he couldn’t give voice to any of it.

“No smiles for me today, sunshine?” said Kensworth.

“Am I frowning?”

“Yes, and it’s a rather disturbing sight. I haven't seen that face since childhood. What’s made you pull it today?”

Oliver took in a deep breath, keeping it captive in his chest as his mind raced with reasons. Elizabeth. Kensworth’s marriage. His boredom with Society. Feeling lost and uncertain of who he was or where he belonged anymore.

Instead, he voiced what was most bothering him at that moment. “Your hair.”