Page 99 of A Lady’s Guide to Subterfuge and Science

Rosemary made her way to the chaise, sinking onto it with a sigh. “I am. I thought about writing back, but—I don’t know, I was compelled to come here, instead. After so many years of your father telling me how much you didn’t want to see me, I—”

Oliver felt a wave of bitterness come over him. “He did, did he?”

“All the time. Even if I had come, he’d have never let me into Rosewood. He said so himself.”

Oliver almost heard the voice he’d had as a boy when he spoke next. “He told me I was part of the reason you stayed away.”

Tears began to trickle down Rosemary’s cheeks. “Oh, my baby.”

It didn’t matter that he hadn’t seen her in twenty-three years—the mere sight of his crying mother brought his own tears to the surface. He went to sit by her, itching to place his head on her shoulder the way he used to do as a lad of ten. “Why did you leave me with him?”

Rosemary reached over to run a soothing hand through his hair. “I thought he’d be able to provide for you better than I could. I live simply in Kent, and I—I’m so sorry.”

In many ways, she’d been right. Rosewood was a grand house, Hughes was indispensable, London itself was full of opportunity. He couldn’t fault her the mistake.

There was something he had to know, however. “When he goes to Kent, does he stay with you?”

Rosemary chuckled through her tears. “Absolutely not. He usually putters about the village. He’s never even been inside of my house, so I assume he stays at the inn there.”

Pathetic.

“Do you let him stay here with you?” she asked.

“What?”

“You don’t have to, you know.”

“I don’t—” Oliver gave her an uncertain smile. “I don’t know what you mean.”

For a moment, his mother only stared at him. Then, she said, “Your great-uncle and I made it a point to make sure the house—and your inheritance—passed along to you on your twenty-fifth birthday. Your father knows that.”

For once, Oliver was incapable of speech. Not only had William Booth destroyed any hope of Oliver hearing from his mother, but he’d also convinced his son that he was doomed to a miserable life in Rosewood, under lock and key with his father.

He heard Kalila’s voice in his head, her words from their night in Regent’s Park clear as day, telling him that things shouldn’t be this way.

She was right.

“You didn’t know,” his mother murmured, bringing him back into the room. “Oh, Oliver. I’ve failed you in so many ways.”

“No,” Oliver choked out. “No, you haven’t. He has. He always has.”

“But look at what you’ve made of yourself,” she said. “Hughes told me that you study at the Polytechnic University.”

“Father always implied that you knew,” Oliver told her, the words sounding stupid to his own ears. “And that you were disappointed in me for it because you still hoped I’d become a violinist.”

“If I ever hear another violin in my life,” Rosemary said, “it’ll be too soon.”

Oliver laughed. “I couldn’t agree more.”

A cheeky glint appeared in his mother’s eyes. “Hughes also said something about a young lady.”

“I see Hughes couldn’t help but expose all of my deep, dark secrets,” Oliver muttered.

“I’m your mother, Oliver,” she said. “If Hughes hadn’t told me, I would have figured it out at some point myself.”

He smiled despite himself. “Motherly intuition, is that it?”

The smile that came over Rosemary’s face was almost identical to his own. “I’m afraid so.”