Chapter Seventeen

The next morning Oliver called on Ellen. More precisely, he was calling on Philip, but he also wanted to see Ellen.

He woke with a hammering head, but his valet made him drink a concoction of tomato juice and alcohol. It was horrid, but it always cleared the sticky cobwebs from his mind. And while he’d been dressing he realized that he’d quite fallen down on the education of little Lord Fieldhurst. Today he would rectify that, and an added bonus was that he would see Ellen.

He was shown into her parlor to wait for her.

When she arrived, this time in a light blue day dress, there were circles under her eyes and her lips were pinched. She looked tired. Weary.

“Ellen.”

“Oliver.”

They both sat, he in a straight back, padded chair, she on a couch that sat two people. She made a production of spreading her skirts out, not meeting his gaze. Finally she looked up at him, but her eyes wandered to a point over his left shoulder.

“How are you, Ellen?”

“I’m well, thank you.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

She finally met his gaze. “I know what you mean. It’s not appropriate to talk about…that.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s not. It just isn’t. It’s not gentlemanly of you.”

“It’s not gentlemanly of me to care? To wonder if you are feeling well? I think it would be far more ungentlemanly of me to ignore what happened.”

“I wish you would.” She raised her chin, and he was quite surprised to find that she had hurt him.

“I’ll never forget that night,” he said softly.

“I’m asking you not to talk about it.”

“I can’t comply with that request.”

She huffed out a breath.

“The other night meant something to me,” he said. “And I know it meant something to you, too. I know you too well, Ellen. Even after all this time, I still know you.”

“You don’t understand,” she said. “It can’t mean anything.”

“Why? Like I said before, there are no more obstacles in our path. No parents to satisfy. No Arthur. And the passion is still there. You can’t deny that.”

“Please, stop,” she whispered.

Oliver scooted to the edge of his chair and leaned forward. “Whatever is between us isn’t over. I won’t let it end like last time. This time will be different.”

Her eyes were so large and luminous and dark when she looked at him. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“I know exactly what I’m saying. We’ve waited our whole lives for this.”

“No. You don’t know.”

“I do know.”

She swallowed and looked away. “Is that why you are here? To bully me?”

“Is that what you think of me, Ellen? I’m a bully? That hurts, because I think you know I would never intentionally hurt you.”

She looked away. “I know. I’m sorry.”

They were talking in circles, and he was upsetting her.

“I came to see you, but I also came to see Philip.”

Her head jerked back to him. “Why do you want to see Philip?”

“Because I promised the headmaster that I would turn the boy around, and I plan to keep my promise.”

“This isn’t such a good idea anymore. I will think of another way.”

“Are you going to convince the headmaster that your son has changed his ways and is ready to conform to Eton standards? Can you promise that there will be no more fighting? No more…linen closet escapades?”

She paled. “I’ll find another way.”

He stood and stepped closer to her, touching her cheek with his finger. “Where is the Ellen from last night? The Ellen who fell apart in my arms?”

She put her palm over his hand. “She’s gone, Oliver. That was the Ellen of our past. This Ellen knows that what we had then can’t be repeated now. You need to understand and accept it.”

He let his hand drop, angry that she didn’t believe in them—in him. “Never. I’ll never accept it because I know what last night meant to both of us. I’m a patient man, Ellen. I won’t give up so easily. Now, I made a promise to the headmaster, and I plan to keep it. Where is the boy?”

She looked like she wanted to say more but instead she said, “He’s sleeping.”

“Then get him up. We have work to do.”

And still she hesitated. “He was out late last night.”

Oliver stepped toward the door.

“What are you doing?”

“I will wake him.” What in the hell was wrong with that boy? Making his mother worry all night long. That was the weariness he saw on her face, and he didn’t like it one bit.

He headed out of the parlor and toward the stairs that led to the private rooms. Ellen hurried after him.

“Oliver, no. Wait. You can’t go up there.”

But he was taking the steps two at a time and she was trying to catch up to him. When he reached the top he waited for her.

“Which room is his?” He couldn’t remember from the night he’d brought Philip home from Scotland Yard.

He opened the door she pointed to and stepped in, slamming the door shut behind him and leaving Ellen out in the hall.

Philip jerked awake. He was still in his trousers from the night before, his shirt untucked and unbuttoned. His shoes lay haphazardly in a pile at the foot of the bed.

“Wha—” Philip rubbed his eyes and peered into the murky shadows as Oliver whipped open the curtains and let the sunlight flood in.

“We have lessons to learn,” he said.

Philip sat up. His hair stuck out at odd angles. There was a crease in his cheek from the pillow, and he smelled of alcohol.

“Lessons? But I’m not in school.” He rubbed his eyes.

“Get up and for God’s sake, you stink.”

“I went out last night with m’ mates.”

“Your mates, eh?”

“Yes.”

“Get out of bed, boy. You have things to learn, and I haven’t all day.”

“No one asked you to teach me anything.” His chin went up, and he so reminded Oliver of Ellen.

“Your mother and the headmaster asked me, so we’re stuck with each other.”

“Just tell her that you taught me some things and that will be it.”

Oliver stood in the middle of the room with his hands on his hips, looking at Ellen’s son and wondering when he’d become such a bastard.

“You want me to lie to your mother?”

Philip looked away.

“That’s what I thought. You have five minutes to get out of bed, get dressed, and cleaned up. If you’re not in that hall in five minutes I will come in and do it for you. And by God, you had better smell better, boy.”

Oliver marched out, leaving a stunned Philip to stare after him.

Ellen was in the hallway pacing a path in the carpet. She stopped when he came out. Oliver leaned against the opposite wall and crossed his arms.

“He’s getting dressed.”

“What did you say to him?”

“I said he had lessons to learn and I didn’t have all the time in the world, so he’d better move fast.”

“And he obeyed?”

“I didn’t give him a choice. I also told him I would dress him myself if I had to.”

“He’s a good lad, Oliver. He really is.”

“Sounds like you’re trying to convince yourself.”

“He just…” Her hands fluttered in the air. “He lost his way when Arthur died.”

“Understandable.”

“I tried with him. I thought I could raise him on my own, but he got more and more wild and then he just stopped listening to me.” Tears pooled in her eyes, and Oliver’s heart went out to her. He didn’t know the pain a child could cause a parent, although his mother lamented about it often enough. But he could see it in Ellen’s eyes.

“He’s not a lost cause,” Oliver said.

She blinked the tears away and nodded. “Thank you. I needed to hear that.”

“But he does need a firm hand. Some boys just do.”

The door opened and Philip came out. His hair was wet, his cheeks pink from scrubbing. He wasn’t wearing the same trousers and shirt and thankfully he didn’t stink.

Oliver pushed away from the wall. “Let’s go.”

“Can I at least get a cup of coffee?” Philip asked.

Oliver stopped and looked him up and down, letting the silence stretch until Philip shifted from one foot to the other and he could see Ellen physically holding her breath.

Oliver turned to Ellen. “Did Arthur have a study he used?”

She nodded. “This way.”

Oliver motioned for Philip to follow, and the three made their way to Arthur’s study. It was dusted and there were fresh flowers in there, but he could tell that no one used the room. It had an empty feel to it.

“My footman should have delivered some ledgers.”

Ellen nodded. “I will have them brought in.”

When she left, Oliver motioned for Philip to sit behind the desk. The overlarge leather chair and massive mahogany desk dwarfed him, and he appeared uncomfortable.

“You don’t like being back there?” Oliver asked as he took a seat on the other side of the desk.

Philip ran his hands over the smooth, empty surface. “It reminds me of him. I remember playing on the rug while he moved papers around.”

Oliver raised a brow. “Moved papers around?”

Philip grinned and for the first time he looked like the young lad that he really was. “That’s what it appeared from my vantage point. He would move papers from one pile to the next.”

“It’s quite a bit more complicated than that,” Oliver said.

“I realize that now. I wish…” Philip looked down on the desk that Oliver could see had been polished and maintained since Arthur’s death.

“You wish?”

“I wish he had lived long enough to teach me all I needed to know.”

Ah. The vulnerability came out. Oliver had sensed that Philip’s blasé attitude had been a ruse to mask the pain of losing his father.

“I’m sure he wishes the same. But that’s what I am here to do.”

A footman entered with an arm full of ledgers and put them on the desk. Philip eyed the stack.

“What are these?”

“These,” Oliver tapped the top ledger. “Are your bibles. In here is everything you need to know about the Fieldhurst fortune and what you need to do to not only keep it going but make it succeed. I hope you like arithmetic.”

“I did all right in my classes.”

“Good. Because you will need it. Now let’s get started.”