Chapter Twenty

It took a moment for Ashland’s words to soak through Oliver’s foggy mind, and when it did, Oliver laughed. And then he laughed some more because Ashland was so serious.

“Ah, my friend, you are humorous.”

Ashland shrugged. “It’s just a thought. Of course it’s probably totally untrue.”

“Of course it is. Ellen would never perpetuate such a farce. No. Philip is Fieldhurst’s son, through and through.”

The thought of Philip being his son was ludicrous. Preposterous. Ellen would have told him. They’d had an honest relationship. They’d told each other everything.

…

“I’ll not do it,” Ellen said, the words out of her mouth before she could stop them. She’d never defied her father before. She’d never had a need to, but she couldn’t do this. She refused to be a pawn in her parents’ attempt to elevate themselves in society. She could marry Oliver. He was going to be an earl anyway.

Her father slowly raised his head, and his eyes narrowed. She took half a step back. What had she just done?

“The papers are signed. You have no choice.”

“But you didn’t even ask me what I wanted.” She tried, she really tried, to keep her voice steady, but she failed miserably.

“It doesn’t matter what you want,” he said. “You will do as you are told.”

“I won’t,” she said calmly, then with more force, “I won’t!”

She spun on her heel and ran out of the room as the tears broke free and she choked on a sob.

She ran straight to her mother and burst through her sitting room door.

Her mother was at her desk, writing letters. Her head jerked up when Ellen appeared, sobbing, breath heaving, trying not to vomit.

“F-father has said…I’m to marry. The earl. Fieldhurst.” She could speak only in bursts, taking great gulps of air between words.

Her mother had half risen when Ellen rushed in, now she sank back into her chair. “Yes, I know,” was all she said.

“I can’t,” Ellen wailed. “I can’t marry him.”

“Of course you can, and you will. This is a great coup for us. Fieldhurst is a very respectable man from a long line of earls. And you will have a son who will someday be an earl as well.”

Ellen looked at her mother in horror. “My son? I don’t even have a son, and I’ll not have a son with that man.” She’d not even met Fieldhurst. She had no idea who he even was. She didn’t even know his first name!

“But you will, and you will be a countess.”

Why did she even think her mother would understand? Since the moment her parents realized that there would be no more children after Ellen, that their dream of having a son was dashed, they pinned everything on an advantageous marriage for her.

“I’m in love with someone else,” she said recklessly.

“What?” Her mother went pale.

“I’m in love with someone else. We are to marry. He was going to ask Father for my hand in marriage, but he was called away and couldn’t do it. But he will. He’ll be here in two days.”

“Ellen, dear, you are hysterical, and there is really no need to be. Fieldhurst is a nice man. You will get along famously.”

Ellen stomped her foot. Why would no one listen to her? Why were they brushing her objections aside?

“I am in love with The Viscount of Fairview. He will someday be the Earl of Armbruster. See, Mother? I’ve already made an advantageous match. I will be a countess and Oliver will be my earl!”

“Armbruster? Isn’t he young?”

“He’s my age. Seventeen. But we are in love. We’ve been meeting, and we’ve fallen in love.”

Her mother stood swiftly. The chair tilted back and fell with a muffled thud. In two strides her mother was in front of her, grabbing Ellen’s hands and squeezing them until it hurt.

“Ouch! Mother, stop!”

“What do you mean you have been meeting? Without a chaperone? Without my consent?”

“I…” Ellen realized her mistake. She should not have said that. Now her mother was furious.

“When did you meet? Where? By God, Ellen, if you have put your reputation on the line…” Her mother flung Ellen’s hands away and paced. “I need to know everything. Where you’ve been with him. What you’ve done with him. Please tell me you are not with child. Please tell me you were not that foolish.”

“No! Of course not. I would never do that before we were married. He’s going to ask Father for my hand.” She kept repeating herself, hoping her words would eventually make her mother understand.

“Good. Good. Hopefully this won’t get out and Fieldhurst won’t have heard.” She rubbed her temples. “This isn’t a disaster.” She seemed to be talking to herself rather than to Ellen. “We can manage this. There’s no need for your father to know. We’ll keep it between us.”

“Mother…” Ellen stepped forward, hands outstretched. “Please talk to Father. Tell him that I can’t marry Fieldhurst. That I will marry Oliver and I will still be a countess.”

“I will not tell him that. Your father worked hard to procure this marriage agreement, and you will marry Fieldhurst. You will forget this viscount.”

“Forget him?” The room tilted again. “I can never forget him. I love him.”

“A girlish infatuation. Nothing more. Foolish, but I suppose we’ve all had them.”

“That’s not the way it is.”

“You will marry Fieldhurst in three weeks’ time. We have a lot to accomplish, a guest list to draw up. And a gown to be fitted. By then you will have forgotten all about this boy.”

“Never,” she whispered, feeling her world fall apart in the face of her parents’ convictions.

She now knew that it didn’t matter if Oliver had approached her father two days ago or two weeks ago. This marriage to Fieldhurst had been in the making long before that.

They were never meant to be together.

Since Ellen’s engagement announcement to William, she’d felt bereft, as if the life had been sucked out of her. She didn’t want to marry William but had no choice. If she were completely honest, she feared him. He’d shown a side to her that she’d never seen before, and she was quite certain not many people saw that side. Everyone spoke very highly of William, so even if she were to voice her fears, no one would believe her.

It was either submit to his marriage proposal or her entire life and that of her son’s would crumble.

Her future was bleak, without hope.

She missed Oliver. She wanted to call him back, to ask for his help. To tell him that she had lied, that she did feel something for him.

It had taken everything in her to pretend that she didn’t care for him when he had come calling. She’d felt her own heart breaking as she’d witnessed his doing the same.

But she had to save her son. Everything was about Philip.

Philip entered her private sitting room.

“You’ve been quiet lately,” he said as he plopped down on her couch and negligently spread out on it.

He rarely visited her anymore. He was too busy going here and there, meeting his friends for nights out. There had been a time once when he’d spent his afternoons up here with her. Sometimes they’d talked but mostly they’d just been together. She’d handled her correspondence, he’d read his books. He’d liked to read back then. Now she didn’t know when last he’d picked up a book.

“I guess I don’t have much to say,” she said.

“You haven’t said anything about your engagement to Needham.” He said Needham with a sneer in his voice.

“Philip…” She couldn’t take his insolence. Not today when she was feeling so vulnerable.

He hesitated and for a moment she thought the new Philip, the disdainful Philip was back, but he seemed in a strange mood today, more like his old self. “Does he make you happy?”

She paused to gather her words, to try to sound convincing, but she was so weary, so heartsore that she feared she would fail to convince her son that she was happy. And he was the one person she must convince.

“Yes.” She couldn’t say more, for the words were stuck in her throat, and she prayed Philip would believe her. It was the only lie she’d ever told him. Besides who his real father was.

He studied her for a long time through the eyes of a man and not the little boy he had once been. She missed that little boy—with sticky hands, dirty knees, and uncombed hair.

“What about Armbruster?” he asked.

Oliver’s name was like a stab to her side, unexpected and painful.

“Wh-what about him?”

Philip looked down at his hands folded across his stomach, and suddenly the little boy was back for a fleeting moment. “I don’t know. I thought maybe you had feelings for him.”

“Oliver is an old friend, but that’s all we are. Just friends.”

Philip let the silence drag on between them while Ellen held her breath, her pain multiplying at the lies she kept telling. After all this time, she still had feelings for him, and she’d been afraid to admit it. Frightened of the consequences, because how could she spend the rest of her life with him with the knowledge that her son was their son?

“I didn’t think you were so serious with Needham,” Philip said, his gaze still locked on his hands.

“When you get older, you…settle…for comfort. I’m comfortable with William. I hope…that someday you will grow to like him.”

His gaze flashed to her, his eyes a stormy blue, so much like his father’s. “I don’t like him, Mother. There is something about him that I don’t like.”

“I’m sure with time—”

“I’m sure not.”

“Philip, if you’d just give him a chance.” She was pleading now, knowing that William had banished Philip from their lives anyway. But she couldn’t think about that, for she would fall apart contemplating life without Philip in it. She just wished he knew that everything she did was for him.

“I like Armbruster better.”

So do I.

“I’m not marrying Oliver, Philip. I’m marrying William. I had hoped you would be happy for me.”

He scowled, and she was reminded of the year or so after Arthur’s death when Philip had done nothing but scowl.

“Armbruster was teaching me things. How to read the estate books. About agriculture and how to improve the Fieldhurst estate. I still have much to learn.” It was the first time since Arthur’s death that Philip admitted that his education was lacking. She credited Oliver for the change in her son.

“You will. In time.”

He sat forward. “What are you saying?”

Ellen looked away, unable to face her son. “I think it’s best that Oliver not come around any longer. I’m engaged to another man now. It wouldn’t be appropriate.”

“He wouldn’t be here for you. He’d be here for me.”

“I’m sorry, Philip. I’ll find someone else to teach you what you need to know.”

Philip jumped up, his face twisted in anger. “No. I’ll not have it. He will teach me what I need to know. He’s brilliant. I’m lucky he wants to help me. Did you know that he tripled the value of his estate in just ten years? He’s as rich as Croesus, and he did it all himself.”

She had known all of that, because for all of these years she had followed Oliver’s life. She had read the papers and listened to the gossip and told herself that she didn’t care, but she had cared. She still cared…very much.

“And that is important to you? Grand houses? More money?” Her seventeen-year-old voice floated back to her over the years, and she was transported to Hyde Park and the early days of her relationship with Oliver.

He shook his head. “The excitement of new ventures is important to me. Discovering new ways to do things is what’s important.”

“Well I think it’s marvelous and ingenious and I have no doubt you will be a raging success.”

And he had been a raging success, just like she had predicted. And now his son was enamored of him, wanted to be like him.

“I’ve told him that you no longer need his services.” She faced Philip and forced herself to witness his devastation.

“I don’t have to listen to you,” he said. “I’m practically an adult now. If I want to see Armbruster, I will.”

“Don’t do this, Philip. I forbid it.”

He laughed. “Forbid? And what are you going to do? You can’t even send me back to Eton without his word to the headmaster that I am ‘reformed.’”

“I’ll find a way.”

He stepped closer to her and, as always, when they were standing next to each other she wondered what had happened to her lovable little boy. He was taller than her now, and his shoulders had widened over the summer. The sun had bleached his hair, and he looked so much like Oliver that she was ashamed to think that no one would notice.

His gaze went to her cheek, and he cocked his head to the side. Ellen tried to turn her head so that cheek wasn’t visible, but he touched her chin with his finger.

“You’re bruised.”

“It’s nothing,” she said a bit breathlessly. “I…I ran into an open cupboard door helping the maid clear old linens out of the closet.”

He looked deep into her eyes, really looked. She lowered her lids, because she didn’t want him to see the truth and the fear.

“If he laid a hand on you I will kill him.” The words were said softly but with an edge that made her shiver.

“I merely ran into an open cupboard door.”

He stepped back and contemplated her for a long moment. Then he walked out, slamming the door closed behind him, and she realized they’d never finished their discussion about Oliver.

…

Oliver was going over papers regarding a new shipping venture he was considering investing in. These were the things that made him feel alive, made his blood hum through his veins.

The possibilities, the risk, excited him like nothing else could.

For the past several days, ever since he’d dragged himself from his rooms and bathed and decided to start living again, he’d been researching investment deals.

He was deep into reading the papers when a footman knocked and brought him a calling card on a silver platter.

“I said I was not to be disturbed,” Oliver snapped.

“He said it was important.” The footman didn’t appear surprised at Oliver’s surly tone. He’d been surly since learning about Ellen’s betrothal.

Oliver put the papers down and picked up the calling card, surprised to see that it was from little Lord Fieldhurst.

He didn’t want to see Philip. Not because he didn’t care, but because he cared too much. He’d grown attached to Philip, and now Ellen was taking him away.

But he couldn’t not see the boy. He didn’t have it in him to do that.

“Send him in.”

Philip entered a few moments later, and Oliver found himself looking more closely than usual at the boy. He still didn’t believe Ashland’s preposterous theory that Philip could be his son but, since the seed had been planted in his head, he’d not been able to fully shake it loose.

He knew in his heart that Ellen would never have kept such a secret from him.

“We haven’t finished going over the last of the estate books,” Philip said by way of greeting.

Oliver waved to the seat in front of his desk and they both sat. “Have you spoken to your mother regarding our meetings?” Oliver asked.

“My mother doesn’t control me.”

Oliver pressed his lips together, not liking Philip’s tone toward Ellen. But there was little he could say or do at this point. Any power he had, had been taken from him by Ellen.

“She’s asked me to leave off the rest of your education.”

Philip jumped up, his face darkening in anger. Oliver stood as well, uncertain what the boy would do. His temper was large, but he’d controlled it in front of Oliver before.

“This is ridiculous,” Philip spat. “You’re the first… You want to help me. Why would she deny me that?”

And just like that the anger changed to confusion and Oliver glimpsed a younger, more vulnerable version of Philip. In some ways he was still a boy, lost without his father and searching for another father figure.

What if…

It wasn’t even possible.

“She’s starting a new life and she can’t have…” Me. She can’t have me lurking about her new husband.

“But that doesn’t mean she has the right to cut off our friendship.”

Oliver was warmed that Philip thought they had a friendship. The boy truly was lost, trying to find his way in life. It was unfortunate that Arthur hadn’t better prepared his son to take over the earldom.

“Philip—”

“What do you think of her engagement to Needham?” Philip asked.

Oliver hesitated. “It’s not up to me to agree or disagree.”

“I don’t like him.”

Neither did Oliver, but his thoughts were colored by his feelings for Ellen and therefore not reliable. Philip was angry that his life was changing once again, and he had no control over it, so his opinion was colored as well.

“I’m sure with time—”

“You sound just like her,” Philip said in disgust. “I won’t like him. Ever. And if you aren’t going to keep your promise then I guess I’m wasting my time here.”

“It’s not that I’m unwilling to fulfill my promise, it’s just that—”

“My mother won’t let you. Why does she always ruin everything?” Philip spun on his heel and stomped out of the room.

Oliver hesitated, not knowing if he should follow. This really was not his business. This was Ellen’s son, and she had decided that Philip no longer needed Oliver’s services. He shouldn’t stick his nose in any of it.

Nevertheless, he followed Philip, but he was too late. The lad had left, slamming the front door behind him and leaving Oliver’s butler looking confused.

“He’s angry,” Oliver said.

“I see that,” his butler said.