Chapter One
Somerton - Berkshire, England
Grace closed her eyes and pressed her back further into the cushion of the chair, as if doing so would allow it to swallow her whole.
If she tried hard enough, perhaps the entire wall would take pity on her and open up to swallow her and the chair into blessed silence.
At the moment, she would welcome anything that allowed her to escape the sights and sounds of the overcrowded drawing room she currently found herself in.
It had been over six months since Grace had found herself a part of any sort of social gathering, so when Sarah and Matthew had extended the invitation to spend the summer at Somerton, she had naively imagined a quiet and slow reentrance into society—a handful of lawn parties, long walks through the gardens, perhaps the occasional dinner with neighboring lords and ladies eager to boast of their large estates and well manicured lawns.
What she hadn’t accounted for was Sarah’s determination to turn the summer into an event that rivaled a London Season. Grace knew her friend meant well, but that didn’t stop the painful knot from tightening low in her stomach.
The room itself was beautiful. It was modest in size, but the ceiling was painted like a sky at dusk—pinks and blues, with delicate vines.
The carved moldings shimmered faintly in the candlelight, and the wallpaper was a delicate floral pattern that mirrored the blossoms that filled the estate's orchard in the springtime. It was elegant. It was enchanting.
It was supposed to be hers.
Grace tried to shake off the thought, along with the sting that rose behind it.
She wasn’t jealous—not truly. She would never wish away the happiness of the life Sarah and Matthew had built together, but walking Somerton’s grounds and seeing Sarah move with such quiet authority—pregnant, glowing, and loved—left Grace aching under the weight of what she had lost. This house and this life had been her dream and her future; that future had died on Christmas Eve with Benjamin.
Benjamin had been Sarah’s brother and Matthew’s closest friend, but he was Grace’s entire world.
Somerton had always been meant for them, but when Benjamin died just weeks before their wedding, the estate was signed over to Matthew and Sarah, giving them a chance at the life they deserved to have together.
The rest of the world had continued living without asking for Grace’s permission. Now she sat tucked against the wall like a ghost at a party that in another life, she was meant to host.
“Lady Rockwell.”
Blasted, useless, traitorous wall.
“Lord Blackburn,” she said coolly. Grace turned her head just enough to give the illusion of manners, but not enough to meet his gaze.
He would be the only man brazen enough to approach her corner of self-imposed isolation. Up until now, her frosty silence and the general discomfort of speaking to someone fresh out of mourning had kept everyone else at bay.
“To what do I owe this displeasure?” She smiled, though it did nothing to warm the ice in her tone.
Lord Blackburn gave a slow, unrepentant smile as he lowered himself onto the chair beside her. A touch of venom was nothing to Oliver Blackburn; in fact, it only encouraged him.
“You wound me, Lady Rockwell.” He placed a hand on his chest in mock offense. “I am here out of only the purest intentions.”
“Oh, really? And what might those be?” She knew she couldn’t encourage him, but the temptation to best him at his own game was more enticing than sitting in silence with the thoughts of all she had lost.
“I merely came to inquire after your well-being,” he said, his voice light as though the entire encounter were solely for his own amusement. “You have been absent from society for quite some time. Some may say you have even been missed.”
Grace had heard enough about Oliver Blackburn from Benjamin, Matthew, and the countless ladies he had left heartbroken to know that he likely hadn’t even noticed her absence.
She crossed her arms, lifting one brow in practiced indifference.
“I am sure you have had plenty of young ladies to keep you well occupied.”
“You flatter yourself, Lady Rockwell,” he said, his lips twitching, trying to hold back a smile. “I never said it was I who missed you.”
One point, Lord Blackburn.
Grace bit the inside of her cheek to keep her expression neutral, unwilling to grant him the satisfaction of a reaction. “So again I ask, to what do I owe this displeasure?”
Lord Blackburn leaned back in his chair, crossing one ankle over the opposite knee. His posture was all ease, as if he were having a pleasant conversation with an old friend, though Grace could hardly think of a more ill-fitting word to describe him.
“You looked rather lonely, and if I may be so bold, quite pitiful as well.” He shrugged lightly.
“Frankly, it was bringing down the overall cheer of the room. Since no one else seemed brave enough to approach the bear hiding in the corner, I took it upon myself, for the good of the gathering, to intervene.”
Grace forced a smile to mask the sting his words left behind. “So your intentions are not only pure, but noble as well?” Oliver flashed her a grin, seeming much more genuine than her own. “I am glad you see it that way.”
Sensitivity was clearly not his strong suit, and though it did not surprise Grace in the least, the directness of his words still caught her off guard. But if he could be so bold, then what was stopping her?
“I do not.” She said, fighting to keep her voice steady.
“And I assure you, your presence here has not improved my mood, but has only soured it further. If you would like to continue on your gallant campaign, might I suggest one of the wide-eyed does near the refreshment table? I am sure you shall have any one of them smitten in no time, and then you may go about your business of shattering her hopes and disappearing without a trace.” Grace held his gaze a moment longer, allowing her moment of victory to settle over them both.
There was simply no way he could counter.
“Is that truly what you think of me?” Lord Blackburn paused just long enough for Grace to feel the briefest flicker of regret, wondering if she had gone too far, but it did not last long.
Oliver leaned forward, his eyes twinkling with equal parts victory and mischief. He reached out to rest a hand on the arm of Grace’s chair, but it was his gaze rather than the nearness of him that held her captive.
“I am flattered that you believe I could inspire such strong devotion in so short a time.”
Two points, Lord Blackburn.
Grace felt the flush in her cheeks deepen as his eyes searched hers expectantly. He was waiting for a retort, but the grin that slowly unfurled on his lips proved that he knew she had none.
Oliver cleared his throat and leaned back in his chair.
“Despite your repeated flattery, Lady Rockwell, I am starting to sense that my presence is not entirely welcome.” His smug smile stayed firmly in place, and his gaze remained locked on hers.
“I suppose I shall direct my attentions elsewhere.” He nodded to a fiery-haired girl across the room.
“Lady Talbot, for instance, seems like a worthy candidate.”
Grace lifted her chin, trying to regain the upper hand and convince herself that she had ever had it. “I believe I shall manage to hide my disappointment.”
“No,” he said, standing slowly, as if reluctant to see their little dance come to an end. “I don’t believe you shall.”
Grace didn’t wait for him to walk away. She rose to her feet in one fluid motion and turned sharply in the opposite direction. She wasn’t walking towards anything in particular, simply away from him. She prayed it looked like a saunter, but it felt more like fleeing.
Insufferable man.
The room swelled around her in a crush of noise and ease, as though no one else had discovered what a brutal and heart-crushing place the world truly was. She rose to her toes searching for Sarah, but instead caught a glimpse of familiar reddish curls towering above the crowd. He would have to do.
Grace made her way to Matthew’s side, silently slipping her arm through his. He turned and offered her a hint of the smile that she had seen melt her best friend’s heart countless times.
“There you are, Gracie.” He said, resting a hand on top of hers. “Lizzy went looking for you.” His gaze drifted over the crowd searching for his wife, his smile softening with fond amusement. “Though I expect she has likely joined a revolution along the way.”
Grace managed a soft laugh. Sarah Elizabeth Fenwick was always wandering into something unexpected, exciting, and usually a little bit shocking.
She tightened her grip on Matthew’s arm, grounding herself in one of the only parts of her world that still felt familiar.
People often spoke of Matthew’s bond with Benjamin and his great affection for Sarah, but they rarely mentioned the quiet, steady friendship that he and Grace had shared over the years.
In those early days when she was too terrified to tell Sarah how deeply she cared for her brother, Matthew had seen her feelings before she could even speak them aloud.
Since Benjamin’s death, something had shifted between them, a heaviness that neither of them quite knew how to name. But since his marriage to Sarah, Matthew had begun to let her back in, as if the sight of her no longer hurt so much.
“Grace,” he said softly, tilting his head. “Is something on your mind?”
Grace pushed her thoughts aside, opting for something safer that would only skim the surface of everything she had worked so hard to bury. “I simply cannot imagine how you and Benjamin were ever friends with that man. He is insufferable.”