Chapter Ten
Grace crouched between the rows of the strawberry field, her skirt tucked beneath her and her gloveless fingers stained a delicious shade of red.
She had risen that morning with the same restless mind and heavy heart that had become so familiar, but somewhere between the walk to Fairfield Park and the picking of the first berry, something had loosened in her chest and lifted from her shoulders.
She reached for another berry, thumbing back the leaves to reveal a cluster of red.
There were hundreds of them in the row where she knelt, nestled low and heavy on their stems. Every time she moved her hand, more emerged.
She plucked one gently so as not to bruise the skin, and then dropped it into her basket.
When Sarah had first announced that they were invited to attend a berry-picking party, Grace hadn’t seen the appeal.
The weather lately had been suffocatingly hot, and the rain hadn’t lifted from the air in days.
But now that she was here, the sun filtering gently through the cotton white clouds, and a cool breeze whistling through the trees, Grace couldn’t think of anywhere more pleasant to be.
She sat back on her heels for a moment before standing to stretch her legs, her knees aching slightly from kneeling for so long.
The grounds of Lord Buxley’s estate were even more charming than Sarah had described.
The gardens of Fairfield Park tumbled outward in tiers, descending from the formal rose beds above to the kitchen plots and fruit rows below.
The strawberry fields stretched in soft green lines, each plant practically groaning under the weight of its bounty.
“There are enough berries here to keep all of England knee deep in jam and preserves until Christmas!” Lord Buxley had declared upon their arrival.
He had invited multiple neighboring families to his home to share in his overabundance of fruits, enjoy in each other's company, and also save his servants from the back-breaking work of harvesting all the berries before they were overly ripe.
He was a pleasant man, much younger than Grace had expected, and very eager to share with her the history of the estate.
Now, she was thankful for a few moments of peace as she admired the beauty around her.
Children shrieked behind her, darting between the rows, their laughter rising above the lazy hum of bees.
A group of ladies clustered beneath a crisp white tent, fanning themselves with their handkerchiefs even though they had yet to step into the sun.
The air smelled of warm grass and crushed fruit, and something about it made Grace feel unreasonably light. For the first time in months, there was no ache behind her ribs—just the sun on her shoulders and the sweet perfume of strawberries in the air.
She let her eyes wander across the slope, watching as a gardener emptied overflowing baskets into larger crates and young maids leaned in too close to the footmen, giggling as they reached for a taste of fruit.
Farther uphill, beneath the shade of the sprawling trees of the outer gardens, someone played a violin—not skillfully—but the sound was still sweet as its song floated down over the garden.
Grace’s gaze stopped on the tall figure making his way across the lawn, hands tucked lazily in his pockets, and an infuriating gleam in his eye that Grace was coming to realize usually preceded trouble.
“Have you come to steal my berries?” she asked, lifting her hand to shield her eyes from the sun as Oliver came to stand by her side. He smiled, the sparkle in his eyes deepening. “I have come to give you your first challenge.”
Grace gave him a wary look, “Here?”
“Of course,” Oliver leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “We can not let the opportunity pass.”
Grace felt her face heat and her stomach flip as she looked into Oliver’s eyes so close to her own.
She should have taken a step back to put more distance between them, but that would mean giving him some indication that his presence affected her, which, despite what her traitorous stomach was trying to tell her, it did not.
“The opportunity for what?” She whispered, but Oliver merely winked in response as he turned to make his way towards a small cluster of trees near the edge of the grounds. Grace cast a glance around to ensure no one was watching before reluctantly following after him.
There was no logical reason for her to follow Oliver Blackbun into the woods, but for some reason she had yet to figure out, all logic and reason seemed to leave her the moment the exacerbating man entered her life.
Maybe it was simply curiosity that got the better of her—or the fact that being around him made the heaviness lift off of her chest just enough for laughter to come a little bit easier.
Grace quickened her steps to catch up with him. “Are you going to tell me where we are going?” She called quietly, so as not to draw attention from the party at the top of the hill. “No.” Oliver laughed as he stepped further into the trees, now fully hidden from view.
Grace stopped a few steps short of where he stood.
Following him this far was foolish, but putting herself completely alone with him was mad.
Not because she didn’t trust him—she was beginning to realize that his reputation had been greatly exaggerated—but if anyone were to discover them, the results would be disastrous.
Grace glanced back towards the gardens one last time. Sarah had been feeling ill, and Matthew had stayed at Somerton to care for her, so it was likely that no one would even care enough to notice that they were gone.
When she turned back to Oliver, he was waiting with a soft smile and two large sticks in his hand. Grace arched a brow, “Are those fishing poles?”
Oliver nodded, a flicker of pure joy flashed across his face before it was schooled into his familiar easy grin. “There is a pond just through the trees. I heard Lord Buxley boasting about the abundance of fish.”
Grace stepped closer as she examined the rough poles in his hand, whittled and fastened with twine and makeshift bobbers tied to the ends. “Did you make these?”
Oliver shrugged. “I may have borrowed a servant and some supplies.” His smile dipped just a bit at her hesitation. “I will not force you to go fishing with me if you truly do not want to.”
Grace’s heart tugged, involuntarily. She reached for one of the poles. “You will not force me, but you will be insufferable if I forfeit your very first challenge.”
Oliver laughed, handing her the smaller of the two sticks. “Am I truly that predictable?” Grace didn’t respond and simply brushed past him towards the pond she could see glittering in the distance.
When Oliver had proposed his challenges the night before, she hadn’t thought he actually meant to follow through on them—or that they would be as simple as fishing.
She didn’t know why he cared what her opinion of him was.
Though if she was completely honest with herself, the thought of having something to look forward to each day—other than sitting in the drawing room forcing conversation with Sarah—was appealing enough to agree to almost anything.
Her heart twisted with a pain of guilt.
“Oliver…”
Oliver glanced up from where he was currently kneeling in the grass, working to bait his hook with the dough ball he had pulled from his pocket. Grace swallowed, her throat tightening. “Would it be possible to not tell Matthew and Sarah about this?”
Oliver raised a brow, giving her a small smirk as he let the string of his pole drop and reached for hers. “Do you hold a secret love for fishing that only I am privy to?”
Grace shook her head, fighting a smile. “No, I would just prefer to keep whatever activities you have planned for the rest of the summer between us.” She had only thought to spare Sarah’s feelings, were she to learn she was choosing to spend time with Lord Blackburn over her, but she regretted the words the moment they left her lips.
Oliver’s smirk shifted into a full-blown smile, the heat rising in her cheeks as he offered another one of his daring winks. “Lady Rockwell,” he drawled. “If you wish to spend time alone with me, you need only ask.”
Grace shook her head in frustration, pulling the freshly baited pole from his grasp.
She should have turned the other way and marched through the trees and back to the gardens.
The chances of her losing her reputation—and her sanity—grew the longer she stayed with Oliver.
But every moment she spent with him was a moment she wasn’t thinking about the ache in her chest. He was a distraction, and nothing more.
Grace forced a laugh. “You will always be insufferable, and I do not know why you believe you could convince me otherwise.” She turned to walk towards the pond, but the warmth of a strong hand on her elbow made her freeze.
Oliver gently turned her back to face him. She had meant it as a joke, but as Grace raised her eyes to meet his, she could see that it had landed deeper than that.
Oliver dropped his hold on her arm and ran a hand through his hair. He looked as though he wanted to apologize, but he said nothing. He simply stood silently, his gaze searching hers as if he expected her to leave him there alone, but something in his eyes was begging her not to.
Grace was beginning to believe there were two Oliver Blackburns; the one standing before her now, with eyes that reflected back to her everything she buried deep inside, and the one who tried so hard to convince the world that he didn’t feel anything deep enough to hurt him.
The second Oliver Blackburn, she wanted to shove into the pond and would be perfectly content if he never spoke to her again. But every time she was given a glimpse of what she was beginning to believe was the real Oliver, she found herself completely incapable of walking away from him.
“Why did you agree to my challenge?”
Grace jumped at the sound of his voice. She wasn’t sure how long they had been standing there staring at each other, but it had been long enough for her to feel the flush start to rise in her cheeks at the thought of it.
“Excuse me?” She had heard him clearly—it was hard not to when he was standing so close— but Grace needed the few extra seconds to compose her thoughts.
“If you truly think I am incapable of being anything other than a terrible nuisance,” Oliver explained. “Then why would you agree to waste your summer by spending any more time with me than necessary?”
Grace turned away in an attempt to clear her thoughts. She tried focusing instead on the surface of the pond, but unfortunately, it was the same shade of blue as Oliver’s eyes.
How was it possible that she had looked into his eyes often enough to even come to that realization?
“You mean a lot to Sarah and Matthew,” Grace’s words tumbled out so quickly they barely sounded convincing to her own ears. “I promised them that I would do my best to be cordial, and that is all I am trying to do.”
Oliver’s lips pressed together tightly. Grace could hear the scoff rise from the back of his throat. “Do you ever do anything for yourself?”
His question caught her off guard, and Grace took a small step back.“I beg your pardon?”
“You apologize to me and tolerate my company because you were asked to. You bury the fact that you feel hurt and betrayed by Champion’s presence here because of how much Benjamin loved him.
And please, do not try to convince me that you accepted an invitation to Somerton because you were so eager to see how well Matthew and Sarah are doing living the life that was supposed to have been yours. ”
Oliver paused, though Grace wasn’t sure if it was to compose himself or to make sure she wasn’t going to slap him. She stayed silent as he stepped towards her, filling the space that she had just abandoned a few moments earlier.
“You are allowed to be selfish, Grace. You are allowed to tell people what you need.” His voice lowered to a whisper.
“You are allowed to feel grief and anger without feeling guilty. Because if you do not, if you continue to bury your feelings to protect those around you, you will find yourself not only becoming a person you do not recognize, but one that you may not even like.”
Grace felt the anger trying to rise, but she swallowed the bitter taste before it could fully surface.
It wasn’t anger towards Oliver, but for all she had endured and all she had lost. She could not deny the truth of what he had said, but she also was not ready for what it meant if she allowed herself to feel it. Acceptance.
Grace picked up the fishing pole and turned back to the water.
“What are you doing?” Oliver huffed in exasperation.
“I would think that it is obvious,” Grace said, refusing to turn back and look him in the eyes. She was still unsure how he was able to read her so well, but if she had any chance of retaining even the faintest sliver of her pride, he could not see her cry. “I am fishing.”
“Grace…” Oliver took a step even closer.
“You asked me what I wanted, Oliver, and this is it.”
She could feel his gaze steady on the side of her face.“You want to fish?” He asked.
“Yes.” Grace let the word go with a shaky breath.
Ever since Benjamin had died, everyone treated her like a fragile thing that could shatter at any moment.
She had thought that if she continued to take care of everyone else, like she always had, they would start to see her for who she once was—maybe she would start to feel normal again as well. But she didn’t.
Being at Somerton hurt. Seeing Sarah and Matthew hurt, and despite how much she loved them, she could not bear the thought of spending one more moment feeling as though she were the subject of their pity.
As aggravating as Oliver was, she could not help but admit that he was the only person she had in her life who dared speak to her truthfully, without reservation, and saw her as more than what she had lost. When she was with him, she felt the freedom to be who she was now, and not who others expected her to be.
But how was she supposed to tell him that?
She turned her head to face him slowly. He stood beside her, his posture relaxed, but she could see the tension in his jaw.
“I want to fish.” She said softly.
His eyes softened. “Then let’s fish,” he said as he dropped his line in the water with a smile.
They stood there in the still quiet of the woods, neither one of them saying a word, but Grace could hear the truth echoing all around them.
She wouldn’t have to say anything at all. Somehow, he already knew.