To Catch A Suitor (Dalton Family 2)

Chapter Twenty-Five

Oliver’s eyes scanned over the letter that had arrived to his flat a moment ago and it fell out of his hand, fluttering innocently to the floor, as if it didn’t contain the heavy information that his father was now dead. Dead.

Frank Turner was dead. His hateful father was gone from the world and had taken with him any chance of reconciliation or forgiveness. A sick feeling formed in his stomach. Should he have gone to see him after the first letter had arrived?

He honestly didn’t know how to feel at that moment. Oliver couldn’t say he loved his father—it was difficult to love a man who had instilled such fear and pain in him for so long. But still…he felt…sad.

Not knowing what to do with those emotions or the multitude of other feelings swirling around his head and heart that week, Oliver pulled on his jacket and left his flat. Who he needed just then was Elizabeth—the one person in the world who truly knew what Frank Turner had been to him. But, no. He couldn’t go to her. She was moving on to Hastings and he had to let her go. She would belong to the viscount soon, and that meant they could no longer continue on as they had previously.

Oliver’s feet stopped o

utside of Kensworth House. He knocked on the door and silently prayed that Elizabeth was not at home. The door opened and, expecting to see the disapproving face of Jeffers, Oliver was taken aback to find a new face on the other side of it.

“Who are you?” Oliver asked.

The younger man stood a little taller. “Norton, sir. May I help you with something?”

Oliver shifted on his feet. “Where’s Jeffers?” Although he had never liked the man, it felt wrong for him not to be there that day. It felt as if the world was turning upside down, and he couldn’t do anything to stop it.

“Jeffers is taking a holiday to visit his family, sir. I am filling his position until he returns.”

Oliver did something he never imagined himself doing at the words “until he returns,” concerning Jeffers: he sighed with relief. Not everything was changing.

Norton showed Oliver into Kensworth’s study, where he found his friend examining a bookshelf on the far end of the room. “Finally trying to sharpen your mind?” Oliver asked when he stepped in the room. “I hate to disappoint you, but I’m afraid it’s too late for your improvement.”

Kensworth turned around with a smirk. “In a lovely mood today, I see. Have I done something to put myself in your black books? Shall I send flowers or sweets to revive your affection?”

Oliver sank into a nearby chair. “Brandy. My father died.”

He watched his friend’s smile fall just as he had suspected it would. “Blast,” said Kensworth, running a hand through his hair and moving to the beverage cart. “I had no idea.”

Oliver smiled a little. “No, I didn’t suspect you would, since I only just found out myself.”

Kensworth finished filling the glass of brandy and came to take the chair near Oliver. “But we are like brothers. Shouldn’t I have felt that something was wrong when I woke up this morning?”

Oliver chuckled, knowing that Kensworth was not joking. “What sort of something? A nagging deep in your soul, or as if your eggs simply did not taste as wonderful as usual?”

“Undoubtedly a nagging deep in my soul. I still swear the time you returned to school with a broken arm, mine ached for weeks,” said Kensworth with a smile.

Oliver never told anyone that he hadn’t broken his arm from falling out of the tree like he had claimed. Like all of the other accidental cuts, bruises and mishaps, his father had been the author of that break. But he wasn’t alive to cause such pain anymore.

“Only because you were jealous of the attention my injury was gaining me.”

“I still think I would have looked better in a sling than you,” said Kensworth.

Oliver should have laughed, but he didn’t feel like it. He looked down and swirled his glass of brandy, lost in memories, heartbreaking and unwanted.

“What can I say to help?” Kensworth asked.

You could get Elizabeth. She would know what to say.

“Nothing.” Oliver rubbed at tightness in his chest.

“Do you regret not going to see him?” asked Kensworth.

Oliver shrugged, staring at the amber liquid. “Perhaps…or, no. I don’t think so. It—it wouldn’t have changed anything between us.”

“I see.” Kensworth fell quiet again, both men content to remain silent with their drinks for a time. “I think I know what you need,” said Kensworth, finally breaking the silence.