Chapter Seven

“Why are we doing this?” Ashland asked, as Oliver maneuvered his curricle down the path toward Eton.

Oliver had tried to give Ashland as little information as possible, while still convincing his friend to go with him. But Ashland hadn’t been a solicitor for nothing, and he was starting to ask questions that Oliver could no longer avoid.

“Lady Fieldhurst asked me to speak to the headmaster regarding her son. Apparently, he’s very close to being expelled from the school.”

“From Eton?” Ashland fell silent for a moment. “I don’t believe I know of anyone who has been expelled from Eton. The school has always been able to set their lads straight. Especially a future earl.”

Oliver hesitated, but there was really nothing to do but tell the story. “He’s already the Earl of Fieldhurst. His father passed a few years ago, and the young earl feels that he doesn’t need Eton, now that he has risen to the title.”

“Ha!” Ashland chuckled and shook his head. Ashland had been learning how to be an earl for the past several months so he knew what needed to be done and how foolish young Fieldhurst was being. “So what are we to do about this?”

“Talk to the headmaster.”

“And what? Convince him to take the ungrateful lad back? Sounds to me like he needs a switch to his backside.”

Yes, well, Oliver felt the same way, but the boy wasn’t his son and it wasn’t his call to make.

Suddenly Ashland turned toward him. “I wasn’t aware that you knew Lady Fieldhurst.”

Oliver kept his expression impassive as he trained his eyes on the road before him. “Were you even aware that a Lady Fieldhurst existed until a few minutes ago?”

“You’re skirting the question.”

He was.

“You’ve never mentioned her to me.”

“There was no need to.”

Ashland sat back, but Oliver knew that was not the end of his questioning. His friend was thinking, and that was often not a good thing.

Ashland had been very reluctant to take on the duties of the earldom, but Oliver had walked him through it and, while Ashland wasn’t fully comfortable in his new role, he was becoming more enamored of it.

They drew up to the school, and a boy came out to take the horses’ leads as Ashland and Oliver headed toward the doors.

The headmaster was waiting for them, as Oliver had sent word ahead that they were coming, although he had not told the man why.

They were ushered into his office and offered tea, which they declined.

“Lord Armbruster, it’s been a long time. And I see you are still tight with Lord Ashland.”

Ashland seemed surprised that the headmaster was aware of his very newly inherited title, seeing as how Ashland had not even known he was in line for it until the former earl had passed away. But Oliver knew that it was imperative for the headmaster to be aware of all of Society, since he was the one to educate its most illustrious sons.

“We are still friends, yes,” Oliver said.

The headmaster—Charles Godfrey, was very old, since he had been headmaster when Oliver and Jacob had attended Eton and had appeared very old back then—folded his hands on his desk and smiled at them. “To what do I owe this honor?”

“I have come on behalf of Lady Fieldhurst.”

Immediately the smile faded, and a shuttered expression fell over Godfrey’s eyes. “It is highly unusual to speak to someone not of the family about a student.”

“I understand these are unusual circumstances, but as you know, the young Fieldhurst does not have a father to speak for him, and apparently Lady Fieldhurst has already tried speaking to you.”

Godfrey seemed to squirm in his seat, and Oliver thrilled that for once the tides had turned and he had made the headmaster squirm instead of the other way around.

“As I told Lady Fieldhurst, there is nothing I can do for young Fieldhurst. He must serve out his suspension.”

“I hear that there was talk of expulsion.”

Godfrey sighed deeply. “We don’t take expulsion lightly. It reflects badly on the school. But we also can’t keep a student who has no desire to be here and whose antics could affect our reputation.”

“I understand that his indiscretion was…inappropriate and that the young earl is apologetic.”

Godfrey tilted his head. “Is he? Knowing Fieldhurst as I do, I question his remorse.”

Truth was, Oliver had no idea if Fieldhurst was apologetic. He should have known Godfrey would question his claim.

“May I be honest, Armbruster?” Godfrey leaned forward, hands folded on the desk. The same desk that Oliver had been summonsed to many times in the past.

“Of course.”

“Fieldhurst is one of the most difficult lads we’ve had at the school. This isn’t his first suspension and quite frankly, if we bring him back, I see more suspensions in his future. He’s a bully, he’s self-centered, and he feels the world owes him something.”

All traits that Oliver had glimpsed the night he’d picked Fieldhurst up from the Yard. He understood Godfrey’s point, but he’d also told Ellen he would try.

“What if I vouch for him?”

Ashland looked at Oliver like he’d grown a second head.

Godfrey grinned. “You would attach your name to the boy? Put your reputation on the line?”

Oliver hesitated. He’d worked hard to build his reputation as a solid businessman who could be trusted. Could young Philip destroy it? He doubted it, but was he willing to put it to the test?

There was something about Philip that reminded Oliver of himself. Maybe not the blatant disregard for the rules, but the recklessness. Without a father to guide him, Oliver could see why Philip was out of control. Oliver had been lucky enough to have a wonderful father who’d let him be himself to an extent and had reined him in when needed.

Philip was not lucky enough to have a father in his formative years.

“He needs the guidance of Eton to set him straight.”

“You don’t think we’ve tried? He cares little for punishment. Will gladly serve it and not change his ways one bit. He’s a wild one and needs a very firm hand. He has been suspended until the end of the school year, and I will not bring him back early from that. But I will consider bringing him back for the next school year if you can vouch that he will behave himself. His behavior has to change, Armbruster. I will not back down on this.”

…

“How in the hell are you going to vouch for the lad’s future behavior?” Ashland asked on the way back.

Oliver had been wondering that himself.

“Do you even know what you agreed to? The boy sounds like a right bastard.”

“I promised Ellen I would help,” Oliver said.

Ashland raised a brow. “Ellen, huh? You must know her awfully well if you’re on a first name basis.”

Oliver didn’t comment and Ashland did not let the point go.

“How long have you known her?”

“Many years. Seventeen.”

Both of Ashland’s brows went up. “Seventeen years and you’ve never told me? Hell, our friendship goes longer than that.”

“It wasn’t important.” But he felt a betrayal even saying that, because it had been important. At the time it had been everything.

“She’s special to you.”

“Enough, Ashland.”

“I’ve never seen you like this with another woman. What happened seventeen years ago?”

Ashland would not let it go, and so Oliver gave him a bone to chew on without divulging the entire story. “She was important, but then she wed the former Earl of Fieldhurst and she became a countess and we never spoke again.”

“And then suddenly she reappears in your life and asks you to help her son? It doesn’t add up.”

“I’ve been to a few of her salons. We’ve spoken a few times, and I helped Philip out of a scrape with Scotland Yard.”

There was a long pause, and Oliver kept his eyes on the road, not daring to look at Ashland.

“It seems that much has happened in your life since I got married,” was all his friend said.

…

“Are you a spy?”

“I’m not a spy.”

“Because if you are, I won’t tell anyone.”

“I’m not a spy, Josie.”

“It just seems like you are. I can help you.”

“I’m not a spy. I promise.”

“Would you let me help you if you were?”

“No.”

“Really, Oliver. You are so vexing.”

“So are you with all of this spy talk.”

For a few glorious moments Josie was silent and Oliver leaned back in his chair and enjoyed the pleasant weather and the view of his mother’s garden.

“Amelie Bertrand is nice,” Josie said, shattering his temporary peace. “Quiet, but nice.”

After Oliver’s talk with Ellen about Bertrand, Oliver was almost convinced the man was harmless. Worth keeping an eye on, but harmless. Nevertheless, he was curious as to what Josie had learned.

“We went riding in Hyde Park,” she said. “She’s an accomplished horsewoman.”

“And what did you think of her?”

“I told you. Quiet, but nice. Really, Oliver, you would make a horrible spy. You don’t listen.”

“I already told you I’m not a spy.”

“I can see why.”

Oliver tamped down his irritation, but really, he was more amused than irritated. “What did you think of Miss Bertrand other than she was quiet and nice?”

“We were riding so there wasn’t much opportunity to speak. Although she seemed pleased to be out. She said she missed riding.”

“Are you riding with her again?”

“We talked about it. She said she would ask her father.”

“Did she mention how long they would be in London?”

“She didn’t seem to know.”

But Oliver’s mind had wandered from the conversation. He had not yet spoken to Ellen about his visit with Godfrey, and he needed to do so today. He wasn’t sure what he was going to say, because things did not look promising for young Philip.

“Oliver, there you are.”

Oliver winced as his mother walked onto the back veranda. Not that he didn’t love his mother, because he did, but one had to be prepared to converse with her. The Dowager Countess of Armbruster was a beautiful woman, who had effortlessly held on to her beauty and grace through her later years. One would be surprised to learn that she was approaching sixty, because she looked to be forty at the very most.

But there was far more to Lady Armbruster than looks. Under that full head of black hair that was just now beginning to gray was a mind as sharp as any man’s in Parliament. One did not simply verbally spar with Lady Armbruster without being prepared.

She was also a scion of Society. Invitations to her balls were sought after and, if one were lucky enough to receive an invitation, one didn’t skip the ball unless you were dead. She was admired by all the other matrons, her style copied, her opinion revered.

Being her offspring was an onerous task at times. Half the time Oliver didn’t know if a woman was interested in him or interested in meeting his mother.

Oliver stood and kissed her offered cheek. “Mother.”

“I feared you would escape without seeing me like you did the last time you were here.” There was no inflection in her voice, no motherly hurt look to accompany her words, but the cut was there just the same.

“My apologies for running off the last time. I was late for a meeting.”

“Hmm.” There was a wealth of meaning in that sound that put Oliver on alert. “Josie, dear, run along so I can speak to your brother.”

“I don’t mind listening,” Josie said, making Oliver roll his eyes and hide his smile. Josie loved to rile their mother, but Nora had tremendous willpower and patience, and she rarely rose to the bait.

All she had to do was give Josie a look and the girl pushed herself up from her chair with a heavy sigh. “I hate when you have to talk to him alone.”

“Off you go. I believe you have some Latin to learn.”

Josie left, mumbling about how she despised Latin. Oliver waited for his mother to get to the point, knowing the wait wouldn’t be long.

It wasn’t.

“I heard you’ve been in the company of Lady Fieldhurst.”

Oliver never knew where his mother received her information. Josie was worried about Oliver being a spy, but Oliver often wondered if their mother ran the biggest spy network in London.

“You have, have you?”

“Don’t be coy, Oliver.”

“I’m not being coy.” He was being evasive. He’d learned a long time ago not to tell his mother anything, or at least as little as possible. Of course, that just led to the vicious cycle of his mother trying to find out information on her own.

“I attended a few of the countess’s salons.”

“You’ve never done that before.”

“I have not.”

She sighed in exasperation. This verbal sparring was the foundation of their relationship, and neither would admit that they both enjoyed it.

“I hear they’re quite bohemian, these salons.”

“They’re not as bad as you think. Just a different sort of people than you’re used to.”

“Actresses and poets.”

“Yes, they are there as well.”

She paused. “I just think it’s interesting that you attended these salons when you had no previous interest in them.”

“Maybe I wanted something different.”

“Maybe.” But she sounded skeptical.

Often Oliver had wondered if his mother had known about him and Ellen. He didn’t think so. She’d been pregnant with Josie and preoccupied with his sister’s imminent arrival. He’d barely seen her during his brief affair with Ellen.

“She is a widow now,” she said.

“Mother,” he warned. If there was one project that Nora worked on, it was correcting Oliver’s status as a bachelor. She would find him a wife if it was the last thing she did.

Unfortunately, she’d been woefully incapable of it, but that meant she only tried harder.

“What?” She tried to appear innocent, but it didn’t work on Oliver.

He stood and leaned down to kiss her cheek. “Don’t even think of it.”

“Where are you going? I was hoping you would stay for lunch.”

“I have an appointment. I will stop by next Tuesday for lunch, if you are available.”

She pressed her lips together and narrowed her blue eyes, so much like his own. “I will have to check my calendar.”

“Do that and let me know.”

“She’s a beautiful woman.”

“Stop.”

“A mother can try.”

He laughed as he let himself out.