Page 115 of A Lady’s Guide to Subterfuge and Science

“All I need,” she said, unable to contain herself, “is an investor. Do you know anyone who might be interested?”

Oliver laughed, catching on in an instant. “I do. And I even know of a small laboratory where you might start out.”

Kalila’s face fell as her heart sank to her stomach. While Oliver’s kindness was completely and utterly expected, she couldn’t ask him to risk his own peace simply to ensure her happiness.

“Perhaps we ought to ask around,” she suggested.

“Why? We have a perfectly functioning laboratory right at our fingertips. I know it’s a touch small, but it’s only until we—you—find your footing.”

“We,” she corrected. “And it isn’t about the size, it’s—I don’t want your father to make things difficult for you. That’s all.”

“Difficult for me?” His eyes widened. “Christ, I forgot.”

“Forgot what?”

“My mother is here. She came to Rosewood yesterday.”

Kalila gasped, all thoughts of her society leaving her mind. “She did? That’s wonderful.”

“It is,” he said. “She brought a fair few things to light. My father told her that I wanted nothing to do with her, for one.”

“That’s awful.”

He nodded in acknowledgment before saying, “She told me something else. Something that will change things for us entirely.”

“Go on.”

“Rosewood,” he said, “is mine.”

*

The fact was that Oliver would have loved to spend the night at the townhouse. Even if he had been holed up in whatever room sat farthest from the attic, the townhouse felt more like home than Rosewood ever had.

But that was about to change.

And in an effort to ensure that said change would take place, he’d returned to Rosewood to check on his father’s progress and see how they might go about preparing a space for his mother. The exhilaration that had come after he’d asked William to leave had long fizzled out, leaving only hurt and the sense that he’d betrayed him in its wake. It was difficult, Oliver realized. It would always be difficult, and it would never not hurt to acknowledge that his own father had not known how to love him.

But what Oliver knew with certainty was that he could not teach his father how to love, and he could not save him from himself. And so he remained steadfast in the decision he’d made to remove him from Rosewood.

Kalila stared at him, lips parted in surprise. “Yours?”

“Indeed,” Oliver said, desperate for her approval. “My mother’s uncle passed it on to her, and she decided to pass it on to me.”

“Just now?”

Oliver shook his head, a half-hearted smile on his face. “When I turned twenty-five. Eight years ago.”

Kalila frowned. “Oh, Oliver. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s all right,” he said, knowing full well it wasn’t.

“Did he know?” she asked, the question hesitant. “Your father, I mean.”

“Yes,” Oliver told her, “he did.”

At his response, Kalila’s hand flew to her chest, her brilliant eyes brimming with sympathy and love. “My God.”

“I did what I should have done all those years ago,” he croaked, pushing past the tears that threatened. “I told him to leave.”