Chapter Eighteen
“What’s happened?” Oliver asked no sooner than the door to Hatley’s study closed behind the butler. Hatley had sent a letter around to Oliver’s flat that morning with an urgent message that he was to come to Hatley House straightaway.
At eight o’clock in the morning, Oliver was striding into Hatley’s foyer ready to be met with some sort of terrible news. The butler—who liked him much more than Kensworth’s butler did—immediately showed him to the earl’s study. He had been dreaming up all sorts of terrible scenarios involving Elizabeth or Mary and, because of that, was prepared to be met with the news that Elizabeth had gotten in a carriage accident and her arm had been trapped under the wheel and they had been forced to amputate it. Or that Mary had developed another complication with the pregnancy and was in dire straits.
Only…the earl was lounging behind his desk with his feet propped up on the surface and a book in his hand. “Have you read this?” Hatley asked, dark eyes peeking over the book: Pride and Prejudice. “It’s good. I was surprised because normally when Kate suggests a novel for me it’s some gothic romance that I’m sure she shouldn’t be reading. But this…I like it.”
Oliver gaped at the man as he forced his racing heart to slow down. “You’ve brought me here in a panic because you wished to inform me of a book recommendation from Kate?” Oliver was fond of the youngest Ashburn sibling as much as the rest, but he didn’t give a dash about her choice of reading material.
Hatley set the book down. “Why did you come in a panic? No one said you needed to panic.”
Oliver let out an incredulous laugh as he pulled a letter from his jacket pocket. He opened it with a flourish and then cleared his throat before reading, “Turner. Get here now. It’s urgent. Signed, H.”
He looked up at Hatley, whose face held nothing but amusement. “Exactly. Never said you needed to panic.”
Oliver let his gaze fall heavily on the earl. “I’m going to run you through.” Oliver had raced through the streets of London like the very ground was on fire. The whispers around his name were going to be plentiful.
“Could you possibly wait until after I’ve found out what happens with Mr. Darcy?”
“Mr. Who?”
Hatley lifted the book with a grin.
Oliver grunted and sank into a chair in front of Hatley’s desk. “Why am I here, Hatley?” He pointed a menacing finger at the book. “And it better not have anything to do with your blasted Mr. Darcy.”
“A bit surly this morning, are we?” asked Hatley.
“I didn’t sleep last night.”
“Why?”
He rubbed his hand over his face. “I can’t decide what to do about Lizzie. I saw her at the Opera last night and Lord Hastings spent nearly the whole evening at her side. Ridiculous.”
“I fail to see the ridiculousness of the situation. Isn’t he known as a rather respectable gentleman of good breeding, with a nice fortune?”
Oliver shuddered. “Exactly. He’ll bore Elizabeth to death.”
Hatley laughed and stood up to come lean against the front of his desk, crossing his arms. “So let me get this straight. You don’t want Elizabeth for yourself, but neither do you wish for Elizabeth to be with anyone else?”
“Well, when you say it like that it sounds rather childish, doesn’t it?”
“I would answer that question, but I’ve been told recently that I think too much of my own opinion and I should stick to billiards.”
Oliver winced. “Sorry about that. You hit a sore spot during our last talk. I might have been a little sharp when I left you.”
“Might have been?” Hatley asked with a grin.
“I’ve apologized. No need to rub it in.”
“Very well. I’ll tell you why I’ve called you here, then.”
“Please do.”
“I need to ask a favor of you.”
“Of course. Anything,” said Oliver.
Hatley smiled. “The ladies have all planned a little riding party to Lady Stanton’s home just outside of Town for a picnic. Mary, of course, thought it advisable for me to attend as an escort and has volunteered my attendance. I, however, do not feel comfortable leaving her in her state for that amount of time and was hoping I might persuade you to attend in my place.”