Chapter Twenty-Seven

Oliver stilled. It was as if all of the air had been sucked out of the room by the invisible force of Philip’s words.

Philip had started off his announcement with bravado but by the end, when all Oliver could do was stare at him, Philip’s gaze slid away, and he resumed staring at his feet.

All Oliver could think at first was that Ashland had been right. Ashland had tried to tell him, and Oliver had thought Ashland a fool, because his friend didn’t know Ellen as well as Oliver did.

“What did you say?” Oliver finally asked, after long heartbeats of silence.

“I’m your son.” This was mumbled to Philip’s chest, and he couldn’t seem to meet Oliver’s eyes when Oliver desperately wanted to see into the lad’s soul, to see if he was telling the truth.

“She said that? Your mother told you that?”

A bony shoulder came up and hovered around Philip’s ear. “She didn’t deny it.”

But that wasn’t the same as saying it. It wasn’t the same as admitting it.

One would assume, when confronted with such an enormous truth, that one would feel a plethora of emotions, but Oliver couldn’t seem to dredge one emotion—other than shock—from his depths.

“Then how do you know this to be true?” he asked.

Philip glanced at him quickly. “Did you… Did you and my mother…?”

Oliver closed his eyes, lost as to how to proceed. Did he tell the boy the truth of the night that he and Ellen had spent together? Was he too young to hear this? Hell, Oliver didn’t know.

“So it’s true.”

Oliver opened his eyes to find Philip studying him intently.

“It’s true isn’t it?”

Oliver cleared his throat. “It could be true. But I want to hear this from your mother.”

“You don’t believe me?”

“It’s not that I don’t believe you, Philip. It’s just that…” That what? Did he think the boy was lying? “It’s just that maybe you misinterpreted.”

“It would be difficult to misinterpret Needham telling Mother that if she didn’t marry him then he would tell the world that you are my father.”

Oliver’s blood turned cold. “What? What did you say?”

“You heard me. Needham is blackmailing her into marrying him by hanging my parentage over her head.” Bitterness crept into his voice, and Oliver was consumed with an anger he’d never felt before.

“That doesn’t mean it’s the truth. It just means that somehow Needham found out that… That… Your mother and I…” Oh, hell. How was he supposed to navigate these waters?

“So you did?” There was a touch of hopefulness in Philip’s voice that Oliver didn’t want to squash. Did the boy want to be his son? Was this fabricated by Philip to break up his mother’s betrothal to a man he didn’t like?

“That is none of your business,” Oliver said, trying to add a touch of sternness to his voice.

“It’s my business if I’m the outcome of your night together.”

“That’s enough.” He didn’t have to pretend sternness with that. He would not have Ellen’s name besmirched. “Tell me everything from the beginning,” Oliver said.

Philip started talking. He spoke of the time he thought he saw a bruise on Ellen’s cheek, to the sadness he felt in her after that. He told Oliver of Needham confronting Philip and punching him in the eye and of standing outside the parlor door, listening to Needham tell Ellen that he wouldn’t hesitate to use her secret to his advantage.

By the end Oliver was enraged on two levels—that the man hit a young boy so hard he made his eye swell shut, and that he was blackmailing Ellen into marrying him.

“There is a very good possibility that Needham knows only that your mother and I were once close and that he’s fabricating this entire story to force her to marry him,” Oliver said.

Philip’s shoulders slumped. “I never thought of that.” But then he turned speculative. “But why wouldn’t Mother say that when I confronted her?”

“What exactly did she say?”

“When I asked her she got quite agitated, even grabbed my arm, and said I was not to say anything about it again, to anyone.” His lips turned up in a self-deprecating grin. “I guess I broke that rule.”

“You do see that by circulating such a lie it puts your mother’s reputation on the line and questions your inheritance, don’t you?”

“I’ve thought of that,” Philip said, his grin fading. “And that’s why I think it’s true. I think Mother would do anything to protect me.” He paused. “If it’s true then I am not really Lord Fieldhurst.”

He sounded like such a lost little boy that Oliver’s heart went out to him, and he didn’t know what to say to make him feel better. He found himself studying Philip closer than normal, his mannerisms, his facial expressions, the cut of his jaw, the curl of his ear.

Did he see his family in Philip? Was there a bit of Josie in the curve of his brows? Or was Oliver fishing for resemblances?

Did he want Philip to be his son?

That answer was far too complicated for a yes or no. The repercussions would be staggering. If he was Philip’s father, he would never be able to admit it publicly without fear of Philip losing the Fieldhurst earldom.

But for a moment he thought of what it would mean to be this boy’s father, and he felt warmed. And then he thought of all that he had missed out by not knowing.

But he still refused to believe. Not until Ellen herself told him the truth.

“I need to speak to your mother about this,” he said, and then almost laughed. How many times had his own father said that to him when he was growing up? That and, Don’t tell your mother we did this.

The memories made Oliver ache with the dulled grief of his father’s passing so many years ago.

“If Needham is blackmailing her, you will stop him, won’t you?” Philip looked at Oliver with so much hope hanging on his words that Oliver had to look away.

“Ultimately, it is your mother’s decision whether she marries Needham.”

He cursed himself for accepting O’Leary’s request to attend the salons. He cursed himself for opening the door to the old feelings he had for Ellen. But mostly he cursed the anger he felt for her actions toward her own son. Sending him away? Marrying Needham? None of this made sense. It didn’t seem like the Ellen he knew and had loved so long ago.

Why on Earth would Needham want to blackmail Ellen? Why would he want to force a woman to marry him if she didn’t want to?

“She doesn’t love him,” Philip said, as if reading Oliver’s mind. “She’s miserable every time she’s with him, and I hear her crying sometimes after he leaves.”

The image twisted his heart. To hear that Ellen might be unhappy enraged him.

“We’ll get to the bottom of this,” he said, because what else was he supposed to do? He loved Ellen. That would never change. And he was fated to protect her. That would never change either.

…

“Philip!” Ellen rushed toward her son, so relieved to see him.

When he’d walked out of the house last night she’d been terrified that he wouldn’t return.

“Where are your clothes?” He was obviously not wearing his own clothes. While these were finely made, the jacket was far too large for him, the shoulders drooping, the sleeves covering his hands. The pants were out of fashion, and the shirt hung loosely at his neck.

And then she saw the shadow behind him move, form into Oliver, and she took a step back, her gaze bouncing between Philip and Oliver. Father and son.

Her heart dropped to her toes, and she felt everything unraveling, all the secrets that she had hidden. All the fears that had kept her awake at nights.

She was just glad that Arthur was dead, because this revelation surely would have killed him.

“What are you doing here?” she asked through lips that had suddenly gone numb.

“We need to talk,” Oliver said.

Her gaze went to Philip, but he was resolutely staring at the tips of his ruined shoes. He seemed so much like the little boy she knew so well, not the sixteen-year-old, almost-man, whom he’d been pretending to be since his father’s death.

Oliver put a hand on Philip’s shoulder, and Ellen couldn’t pull her gaze from it. Such a strong, capable hand that would never strike Philip, but would guide him in the things he needed to learn.

Suddenly she was wrought with guilt. Had the decision to remain quiet been wrong? Should she have told Oliver and Arthur the truth?

“Go on up and change into your own clothes,” Oliver said softly.

Philip nodded and shuffled up the steps. Ellen watched him in wonder. Surely this wasn’t her son, the son who fought her on everything—who would have argued if she had told him to go upstairs.

“Is there somewhere private we can go?” Oliver asked.

Ellen led him to the parlor and closed the door behind them.

They stood a few feet apart, facing each other, staring at each other.

“Is it true?” he asked.

Ellen pressed her back to the solid door behind her. “What did he tell you?”

“He believes that I am his father.”

The denial came instantly to her lips, but she couldn’t form the words. She was so weary of keeping this secret, and yet she could not tell it without hurting those she loved the most. And, yes, Oliver was one she loved the most.

“Philip should not be listening at doors.” It was not a denial, but neither was it an agreement.

“I think part of him regrets that action.”

She tried to smile. “Philip has always had to do things his way. If I told him not to do something because he could get hurt, he set out to prove to me he could do it without getting hurt.”

“He’s a fine boy. A bit confused right now, but you and Fieldhurst did well in raising him.”

Hearing Arthur’s name carved a hole inside of her. She loved Oliver, always would, because he’d been her first love and first lover. But her love for Arthur had been steadfast and comfortable. Not like the wild love she felt for Oliver.

“Arthur and Philip were close.” She looked at Oliver pointedly.

His lips were drawn into a fine line, but he nodded. “I understand.”

“Philip was devastated by Arthur’s death.” Her husband had suffered for some time, and it had been hell to watch him wither away until he could not fight the disease inside him any longer.

“I know Fieldhurst adored him.”

“Do you think that maybe Philip is looking for a replacement for Arthur?” She sounded too hopeful, grasping at alternate scenarios while ignoring the truth that sat between them like an elephant.

“No,” Oliver said. “I don’t.” He motioned to the couch for them to sit down.

Ellen was too nervous, too fidgety to sit. And in the back of her mind was the constant thought that William could arrive at any moment, and he would be furious if Oliver was here. William had a knack of knowing when Oliver had visited.

Ellen sat on the edge of the couch, pressing her knees together and smoothing her skirts, concentrating on the folds, while Oliver took the seat opposite her.

“My butler discovered Philip on my front stoop this morning, soaked to the skin and shivering. He’d been there most of the night.”

Ellen’s head jerked up, and their gazes clashed. “What in the world. Why?”

“He was upset, would barely look at me, let alone talk to me.”

Ellen’s hands tightened together on her lap as she remembered the confrontation between Philip and William and then her and Philip before he’d run out.

“He was upset when he left,” she began carefully. “Thank you for taking care of him.”

Oliver stared at her, and she got the impression that he wanted more from her. But she couldn’t give him more. She couldn’t give him what he wanted.

“I can make sure he is taken care of now,” she said. “We’ll talk, he and I.”

But instead of getting up and heading out the door like she had hoped, Oliver sat back, not going anywhere.

“He told me what happened between him and William. He told me how he got that black eye.”

Ellen was becoming nervous, because Oliver was very calm. Calmer than she’d ever seen him, and she suspected he had a tight control over his anger.

“You don’t understand,” she whispered.

Oliver leaned forward. “Make me understand. Did Philip strike first?”

“No.”

“Then there is no excuse for a grown man to hit a boy.” Oliver leaned back again and studied her for so many beats that Ellen grew uncomfortable.

Just leave, she wanted to tell him. Walk away from us.

But she knew that wouldn’t happen. Philip had heard her secret from William’s lips, and he ran to Oliver for confirmation. Now Oliver was here digging for the truth, and he wouldn’t stop until he found it.

And they would all be ruined.

“And yet you still are intent on marrying this man?”

Every word felt like the blow it was meant to be. Oliver was striking hard and fast, and she had no defense. She was the worst sort of mother for allowing this, but what else was she supposed to do? Let William ruin Philip? The best she could do was keep the two apart.

“This is between Philip, William, and me.”

“Pardon me, Ellen, but I believe you are lying. Tell me that Philip is not my son.”

“Please don’t,” she whispered into her lap.

“I can help you if William’s threatening you.”

She blinked away sudden tears, wishing with all her might that what he was saying was true.

“You can help by walking away from us.”

“I can’t do that.”

“We are nothing to you.”

When he didn’t respond she glanced up at him to find a look of profound disappointment and sadness in him.

“Is that what you think? That you are nothing to me?”

“Oliver.” She shouldn’t have said that. What had she been thinking to hurt him in such a way?

“Because I love you, Ellen.”