The boy shook his head quickly, giving Oliver the idea that the lesson’s abrupt end had been his choice all those weeks ago. Was that why the boy hugged his shadow so closely? Had he had a disagreement with Charles Allen or his sons? When morning came, should he speak to Allen about the matter and ensure the issue was resolved? A father would undoubtedly do that for his son. The question was did Oliver have the right to interfere?
If it wasn’t a simple disagreement, easily set aside, he’d find some other way to entertain the boy. Perhaps he could fulfill his promise to show George the secrets of Romsey. Although he acknowledged now that offering to take George to the Duke’s Sanctuary was extremely dangerous and oddly sentimental, he had made a promise. He would keep it. “If your mother agrees and there are no visitors to be met with, you and I shall take a short trip tomorrow.”
George frowned. “Mama never lets me go very far without telling her where I’ll be. Uncle said women are meddlesome creatures.”
Oliver tossed the statement over in his mind, vastly troubled by it. Henry Turner’s opinion would poison the boy’s mind against women. Was his first step to be making Elizabeth an outsider in George’s life? Oliver would not allow it. “Men of sense do not disregard women, George. Your mother gave you life. It is small-minded of you to believe her concern for your welfare is meddlesome.”
George had the sense to look chagrined. He nodded slowly and mumbled a contrite “yes, sir.” When he lifted his head, his expression was once again hopeful. “Where will we go tomorrow?”
But before Oliver could answer, footsteps rushed toward them and the doors burst inward. “Don’t you ever do that again,” Leopold growled. “You ba…”
His angry words died as his eyes slipped to where George sat. The boy’s presence actually seemed to deflate his brother completely of anger, a fascinating process to watch. Yet Oliver knew better than to believe he would be spared completely and waited for the tirade to resume.
“Forgive me, I had no idea you had young George here with you,” Leopold said quickly. “I thought you to be alone.”
Oliver peered at the splintered wood of the doorframe. “Breaking down the door was a touch excessive. You could have resumed your sermon tomorrow over breakfast on the merits of delay and at least given me a respite to speak with George in peace.”
Leopold turned red and held up one hand. “Now, look here.”
Oliver stood. “It’s late. The boy is tired and should be returned to his room. We’ll speak again tomorrow. Go to bed, Leopold, and search for control of your temper.”
He gestured for George to come to him and then swiftly led the boy away. He placed his hand on George’s shoulder as they traveled the distance to his bedchamber. “Never mind about Leopold. He’ll calm himself soon enough.”
“They really don’t want you to leave, do they?”
Oliver smiled ruefully. “Not one bit, but it is my life and I’ll choose the direction it takes without their interference.”
“I wish…” George drew in a deep shuddering breath. “I wish I had a father to speak up for me.”
Sympathy filled him. At this age, a boy still needed reassurance on occasion.
George let himself into his bedchamber and beckoned Oliver to follow. When Oliver crossed the threshold, his eyes were immediately drawn to the connecting doorway. Through the gap, he could see Elizabeth moving about her chamber. She must be packing in readiness to leave. He tamped down the flame of desire that always ignited when she was near now and cleared his throat, drawing attention to his presence.
Her head snapped up and she faced him. Her eyes were red, her skin blotchy. She’d been crying again and this time he thought he might know why. With George nearby, he could do or say nothing to comfort her. He tipped his head toward her son and remained where he was.
Elizabeth hurried toward him and stopped short when she saw George. She seemed to stiffen and instead of rushing to George’s side as she always did, she hung back. Oliver swung his head to see George’s reaction to his mother’s arrival. The boy bit his lip and, after a moment, he rushed into his mother’s opening arms. Oliver’s heart swelled. Whatever disagreement existed between them was on the mend. At least he’d done one thing right today.
Elizabeth met his gaze over her son’s head, her eyes watery bright. Her lips moved to say thank you. That one small acknowledgement was everything he needed. He smiled broadly and departed, retracing his steps to his bedchamber. He checked the damage to the door as he passed. A carpenter would be needed for it to ever lock properly again. More unnecessary interruptions. He hadn’t really wanted his last days to be filled with the sound of hammering.
He moved from the door, only to be brought up short by Leopold pacing before the fire. They stared at each other across the space and Oliver tensed, waiting for the next volley of demands that he must refuse.
Chapter Twenty
Warmth from the sun streaming through Beth’s bedroom window warmed her back as she surveyed her possessions strewn over her bed. She frowned at their number. When had she acquired so many fine gowns? Of course, she knew the answer to that immediately. Her employer and the duchess had recently reviewed the contents of their wardrobes, most gowns seemingly never worn, and she’d been the happy recipient. But that generosity did give her problems now. She likely couldn’t take them all with her. She’d have to choose her favorites from among them and leave the rest behind, and that did not seem right.
She rubbed her brow and fought off the weariness that came from a night spent tossing and turning. Not the kind that came with a night spent in Oliver’s bed, but one where her mind refused to settle. She’d stayed away from Oliver in fear of Henry finding out about them. It pained her, but she had no choice. She had her memories to cling to now. They would have to be enough.
Thanks to Henry’s refusal to impart any essential information on their future living conditions, Beth had spent the night fretting over what to take. She fingered her herringbone-stitched spencer, wondering if it was too fine for her new circumstances. The pink silk gown with narrow, smocked panels down each side was a favorite she would leave as a gift for the new housekeeper to wear on special occasions.
Beth lifted another gown and held it before her. Plain and unadorned, a simple dark blue cotton with full-length sleeves was as serviceable as any gown she’d ever owned. Yet she would keep this one in particular because she’d been wearing it when Oliver had kissed her. A reminder of what could never be.
A timid knock sounded on the door and she bid her visitor enter.
“Are we disturbing you?” Mercy asked, l
eading her sister into the room.
Beth dipped a quick curtsy. “Of course not—is there anything I can help you with?”