“How do I know what I want from my life though?” He planted his elbows on his knees, leaned forward, and buried his head in his hands. “My father assumes I cannot wait until it’s my turn to be the Earl of Ettesmere, but I’m not excited about it. And I didn’t go into the military like many of my friends. Neither do I have an affinity for the church. What else is there in life?”
Ah, to be young again and think the world was so vast and without possibility. Oliver bit back the urge to grin. “How old are you, my friend?”
“Three and twenty, and quite frankly, I’m not ready to settle down either.”
“No, and you shouldn’t do anything merely because it’s expected.” He truly hoped the earl wouldn’t give him a dressing down for offering counsel to his son. And unsolicited at that. “Perhaps over the next few weeks, you should spend time alone with paper and pen and decide what you are interested in and what sets your soul on fire. Then map out a plan on how to pursue one or three of those things. The only way you’ll discover who you are meant to be is to search around a bit. If you delay, you will run out of time, and that leads to regret. No one should have those.”
“That makes sense.” A heavy sigh followed. “Of course, I had hoped you could just tell me what I should do.”
“I’m afraid life doesn’t work like that.” He flashed a grin. “However, we all feel like that upon occasion, and not just when we’re young and searching for our place.”
“Perhaps.” The younger man shoved a hand through his hair and sighed. “Please don’t tell my father we had this talk. I don’t wish to disappoint him, and he already has enough to worry about with his upcoming wedding.”
“You have my confidence.” Oliver frowned. Here was an opportunity to find out more about the fascinating family. “I assume you are pleased with his upcoming nuptials?”
“Oh, quite.” The other man sat up straighter. His smile was genuine. “She is good for Papa, and they both deserve happiness. Only…”
“Yes?”
“Only, I think it makes Aunt Sophia even sadder each time the subject comes up.”
Oliver’s heart beat a tad faster at the mention of her name. “She doesn’t approve?”
“No, she does. In fact, she was a big champion for the relationship to begin with, but she’s been married twice before, and I think she’s lonely.”
“And perhaps even jealous,” Oliver added in a soft voice. When the other man nodded, he sighed. “It’s a valid emotion.”
“Yes. She’s had wretched luck with men living long enough to appreciate her.”
“Does she wish to marry again?” That was also overstepping the line, but the more he could discover about her, the better equipped to talk with her he would be.
“I honestly don’t know.” Lord Eglinton met Oliver’s gaze. “But if she does, she’d best do it, for she might expire soon.”
“What?” Oliver’s stomach dropped, and he reeled as if he’d been given a gut punch. “Why do you think that?”
An expression of slight panic crossed the other man’s face. “It’s not my place to gossip, Mr. Mattingly. Please excuse me. I need to return to the house.” He jumped to his feet. “But thank you for your insight. I’ll ponder your words.”
“For as long as I’m in residence, I’d be happy to give you further counsel.” For long moments after the young man left, Oliver sat on that fallen tree and thought about Lady Sophia.
*
He spent muchof the day outside, only returning to the house to take luncheon, which he shared with the dowager, for the remainder of the company had scattered to their own devices.
“Where is everyone today?” he finally inquired as he took the last spoonful of white soup and then popped the final morsel of a piece of bread into his mouth. “I assumed the Winterbourne family spent much of their time together.”
A laugh escaped the elegant lady’s throat, and the copious threads of silver in her blonde hair winked in the sunlight. “How refreshingly naïve you are, Mr. Mattingly.” But she smiled, and he thought the day a success because of it. “Arthur is closeted away with his intended, finalizing wedding plans, even though it will be a small, private ceremony. Gilbert has taken himself off to the village, no doubt to while away the afternoon in a tavern. There is trouble with him, I’d wager, if I did that sort of thing.” She shook her head. “And my grandchildren have decided today was a good time to go swimming in one of the ponds on the property. No doubt the girls will talk of gowns and costumes for the upcoming masquerade, while poor Charles will indulge them with half an ear.”
Oliver nodded. “And Lady Sophia? Where is she?” He didn’t wish to seem overly eager, but this was a good chance to find her alone.
The dowager leveled a glance on him that brimmed with speculation. “I believe she’s puttering in one of the flower beds. She tends to some at the heart of the maze, but there is also a larger bed in the gardens. It’s where she goes when she wants to reflect on her life.”
“Does she go there often?” What he truly wanted to know was if the slip that her grandson had made earlier that morning was true. But he refrained.
“More and more often, I’m afraid.” Sadness reflected on the older woman’s face. “There is much to think about just now for her.”
Well, damn.“So, then, what Charles told me this morning is true. Lady Sophia is dying.” It wasn’t a question, and he hated to be so blunt about it, but the urge to know the truth burned bright inside him. “I apologize for the gossip, but this is too important to avoid.”
“It is.” The dowager’s chin trembled. “Never did I ever think I would outlive one of my children, but we are facing that very thing.”