Chapter Four
Grace tossed another pebble into the pond, watching the tiny ripples stretch across the water, disturbing its glassy surface. The summer air was still, and for a brief moment, the world seemed to be at peace.
“Lady Rockwell.”
Even the way he said her name was annoying.
“Lord Blackburn,” Grace sighed, her eyes still fixed on the water. “I thought we agreed to never speak to each other again.”
Oliver laughed as he took a careful step closer, his gaze flicking down to the ground between them. If Grace hadn’t known better, she would have thought he seemed nervous. For a fleeting moment, he nearly seemed human.
“We did,” he said lightly. “But seeing as how we are to spend the entire summer together, that may prove to be difficult.” She caught his posture shift from the corner of her eye.
He was clearly waiting for some sign of recognition.
When none came, he pressed on anyway, clearly unfazed by her silence.
“So, rather than vexing each other every time we are forced to interact, I have come to propose a different arrangement.”
“Oh?” Grace replied, her voice laced with cool civility. She barely tolerated him, but she had enough manners not to ignore him completely. “And what might that be?”
“A truce?”
The uncertainty in his voice made Grace look up in surprise. Instead of his usual cocky expression, the eyes looking back at her were softer, almost sincere, and held what may have been the faintest flicker of fear. Maybe he was human after all.
“A truce?” she echoed. Oliver reached into his pocket and pulled out a crisp white handkerchief, offering it to her with a soft smile. “It is the closest thing I have to a white flag,” He whispered.
Grace laughed in surprise as she took the token and gently laid it across her lap.
It was finer than she would have expected him to carry—soft and delicate, trimmed with lace—but the elegantly stitched O in the corner confirmed it was his.
For a fleeting moment, she wondered which of his many admirers had made it for him, until she remembered that she did not care.
The sudden civility didn’t suit him, which only made Grace more suspicious. But something about his posture and the tone of his voice, lacking the sharp edge and pretense, kept reminding her of the things Sarah had said the night before. You may be surprised by what you find.
The trouble was, Grace had grown tired of life’s surprises. She much preferred going into situations already knowing exactly what to expect. “Matthew is making you be nice to me, isn’t he?”
Oliver nodded, laughing softly. “By threat of banishment,” he confirmed.
Grace turned her eyes back to the pond as he lowered himself onto the grass beside her.
He was alarmingly close—not inappropriately —but close enough that she was fully aware of every breath he took, and how he smelled of coffee, soap, and the woods after a summer storm.
It should have bothered her, but it didn’t, a realization that was even more irritating than Oliver himself.
“I do not know why Matthew and Sarah believe I am incapable of taking care of myself,” Grace said, forcing herself to break the strangely comfortable silence settling between them.
“Oh, on the contrary,” Oliver’s voice was light, but still held its newfound sincerity.
“I believe they are fully aware of how capable you are of taking care of yourself. I just think they feel as though you should not have to.”
Grace’s body tensed involuntarily. “Perhaps they would do better to focus on each other, running the estate, or the family they’re about to have.
” She plucked a blade of grass, turning it over between her fingers.
“I do not need anyone worrying over me.” She let the words land with finality, hoping he would take notice and the conversation would end there.
“I do not think it’s about need,” Oliver said, idly tossing a pebble toward the water’s edge. The man was either obtuse or deliberately testing her. “They also lost Benjamin, and they are probably terrified of losing you as well.”
Grace’s throat tightened, a sudden heat rising in her chest. She hated how effortlessly he struck at what she had fought so hard to bury.
“Do not speak as if you know anything about me,” she said sharply, her voice trembling slightly despite her best efforts to appear controlled. “You do not know me at all.”
“You’re right, I do not,” Oliver said with disarming honesty.
“Until now, we have barely had a proper conversation.” He leaned toward her slightly.
Grace refused to meet his eyes, but she felt the steady weight of his gaze on her.
“But I did know Benjamin. I heard how he spoke of you, and I saw you with him. If even a stranger can see how much you’ve changed since losing him—” He paused, his voice softening.
“I can only imagine how hard it must be for those who love you.”
Grace squeezed her eyes shut, refusing to let the tears fall in front of him. “I thought this truce of yours was supposed to prevent you from vexing me.”
“I have an unfortunate habit of speaking out of turn.”
“I’ve noticed.”
Oliver leaned back again, the weight of his frame resting on his palms. “May I be forward?” Grace finally turned back to him, a scoff escaping her lips. “I was not aware you were capable of asking for permission.”
Oliver chuckled under his breath, but the amused expression that Grace had thought was permanent was absent. “Benjamin was the best of men, and a wonderful judge of character. It would be a shame if the person he loved so dearly were to disappear completely.”
Looking at him had been a mistake. There was too much depth in his eyes—understanding, grief, and something far too close to genuine kindness.
She felt his words drag loose memories she had spent months trying to pretend didn’t hurt.
Now caught in his gaze, she realized with a sharp twist of frustration, there was nowhere left to hide.
“I am not even sure I know who she is anymore.” Grace felt the words slip out softly, barely above a whisper.
Oliver’s gaze drifted to the water, giving her a quick reprieve from the unsettling honesty in his expression. “You should do your best to become reacquainted with her,” he said. “The longer you wait, the harder she will be to find.”
Grace studied him closely for the first time—not in the way every other woman in London did, swooning over the soft waves of his fair hair, the warm sparkle of his dark blue eyes, and those infuriatingly perfect dimples softening the strong lines of his jaw—but in a way that noticed the soft sag in his shoulders, the ghost of grief long settled behind his eyes, and a sorrow that weighed down the corners of his mouth beneath that perfectly practiced smile.
“You sound as though you are speaking from experience.”
Oliver’s eyes met hers again, the familiar gleam returning, masking what she had seen just a moment before. “Perhaps I simply have a talent for saying what people need to hear.”
Grace forced a smile, letting her walls slide neatly back into place as well. “Unfortunately, that has not been my experience.”
Oliver stood, brushing the grass from his trousers; that insufferable half-smile returning. “Well, I can hardly spill all of my secrets in a single afternoon. If we run out of things to talk about too soon, we may be forced to return to arguing, which would violate our truce.”
Grace narrowed her eyes, tilting her head slightly. “I have not yet agreed to the truce.”
His smile deepened, and something about its warmth unnerved her far more than his sharp wit had. “Whether you agree or not is of no consequence to me. Matthew’s only condition for me to remain at Somerton was that I be cordial. You, my Lady, may be as vile as you wish. I shall remain unbothered.”
Grace scoffed, ignoring the fluttering in her stomach. “I have never in my life met anyone as irritating as you.”
Oliver shrugged, as though he had heard that particular sentiment before. “You really should not flatter me so much, Lady Rockwell. People may start to get the wrong impression.”
Grace bit back a reluctant smile. She would not give him the satisfaction or the encouragement. His eyes twinkled with something brighter than mischief, and in that instant, Grace recognized the perfect way to make him suffer
“I will agree to your truce, Lord Blackburn,” she said coolly, brushing a stray thread from her sleeve. “But on one condition.”
Oliver tilted his head, offering his hand with exaggerated gallantry. “And what demand will the Lady of War make?”
She ignored his hand and stood on her own, smoothing her skirts with sharp precision. “You must refrain from engaging in idle flirtations—with anyone—for the remainder of the summer.”
Oliver laughed, but Grace stood firm, lifting her chin slightly. “That means no teasing, no glances, and no flattery of any kind, unless you have serious intentions toward the lady in question.”
“Is your opinion of me truly so low that you think I cannot endure a few parties without flirting?”
Grace let herself smile properly for the first time that day, “I think you will struggle to survive tomorrow’s lawn games.”
Oliver pressed a hand to his heart with dramatic flare, “It is a grave challenge to be sure, but I do accept your conditions.”
Whether it would be a true hardship for him or not, Grace didn’t much care; either way, it served her purpose. She folded her hands neatly in front of her. “Then I accept your truce.”
Oliver held out his hand again, this time in a gesture meant to seal their agreement.
Grace hesitated, but then placed her hand in his own.
He grasped it gently and gave it a firm shake, but his fingers lingered around hers for a beat longer than necessary.
Grace felt a slight flush rise in her cheeks as she pulled her hand from his grasp.
Oliver cleared his throat and glanced back towards the house. “I shall leave you to enjoy the rest of your morning in peace. I should also make sure Matthew has not already instructed the staff to start packing my things.” He tipped an imaginary hat. “Lady Rockwell.”
“Lord Blackburn, wait…” The words were past her lips before she fully realized she had the urge to say them. “Seeing as we are to spend the entire summer together, and we have agreed to be cordial, perhaps we could call each other by our given names? Things are less formal here than in London—”
“I think that would be more than alright,” Oliver said gently, cutting off her rambling. “Have a lovely morning, Grace.”
“You as well, Oliver.”
Oliver nodded in a genuine farewell, and for one foolish moment, Grace thought that perhaps spending the summer with him might not be entirely intolerable, until he ruined it, tossing her a quick wink before turning back towards Somerton— Insufferable man.
Oliver whistled softly as he made his way back to the house. Grace’s soft laughter, though reluctant as it was, still echoed in his mind. It hadn’t been a total victory, not by the standards he usually measured them by, but something had changed between them.
He rounded the corner of the terrace and spotted Sarah across the lawn, searching behind every bush, tree, and anything that could resemble a hiding spot with frantic urgency. Oliver took a cautious step backward, hoping to slip through the terrace doors before she spotted him.
“Oliver!”
He sighed as Sarah altered course and marched straight for him. Bracing himself, he lifted his hands in surrender. “I swear, I have not broken a single thing since breakfast. Not even a rule.”
She didn’t smile; her eyes flooded with concern. “Have you seen Grace?”
He tipped his head towards the pond behind him. “When I left her, she was conversing with the pond lilies.”
Sarah breathed in relief, but it only lasted a moment before her eyes narrowed on him again. “Did you say anything to upset her?”
Oliver mustered up the most innocent expression he could manage. “Does that sound like something I would do?”
Sarah folded her arms across her chest, her gaze holding his in a steady challenge.
Oliver softened and gave Sarah a smile, hoping to disarm her.
After the progress he’d just made with Grace, the last thing he wanted was for Matthew to storm across the lawn and toss him out of Somerton for distressing his delicate, expectant wife.
“You truly do not have to be alarmed, Sarah. We agreed to a truce.”
Sarah let her guard drop for a moment, but she continued to study him with her questioning gaze. “A truce?” She repeated him as though the word itself was completely foreign.
Oliver nodded. “Terms were negotiated, conditions set, and hostages released. Open fire has been suspended for the foreseeable future.”
Sarah stared at him in silence, her expression halfway between suspicion and amusement. “And she agreed to this?”
“Well,” Oliver tipped his head, “she agreed under duress and severe misgivings, but yes.”
Sarah exhaled slowly as some of the tension eased from her posture, but the fierce protectiveness still lingered. “While this does possess all of the characteristics of a miraculous transformation, I simply do not know whether I should be relieved or very concerned.”
Oliver laughed and gave her a playful wink. “You would be wise to choose both.” Sarah shook her head, a smile flickering at the corner of her mouth. “Go on, then,” she said, nodding back towards the terrace doors. “Before I decide to revoke your invitation and send you packing myself.”
“Charming as ever, Mrs. Fenwick,” he said, grinning, as he sauntered toward the house. “And may I add, you are absolutely glowing this morning.”
He heard Sarah chuckling behind him, but as he crossed the threshold, his smile faded. Because for all his jokes and easy bravado, part of him knew Sarah’s instincts were not wrong. Things were changing, and whether they would end in grace or ruin still remained to be seen.