Chapter Thirteen
Grace’s mother always said that men could avoid wars if only they would take the time to sit down for tea.
It was difficult to remain angry when surrounded by the warm aroma of herbs and the sweetness of pastries and breads.
By the time they had finished, it was unlikely they would even remember what their quarrel had been about.
Grace suspected that might be a slight exaggeration, yet she could not deny that from the moment she sat down to tea with Sarah in the garden, everything felt almost normal.
Their conversation began harmlessly enough with the menu for their upcoming dinner party, but slowly—as they so often did—Grace’s thoughts drifted towards Benjamin.
At present, Sarah was recounting her battle with her cook over the main course. “She wants veal with mushroom gravy,” she huffed.
Grace listened with concealed amusement. Marriage and motherhood might have begun to temper Sarah’s reckless streak, but her fierce opinions remained gloriously intact.
“I believe we reached an agreement,” Sarah declared with a triumphant sigh.
“Though I don’t trust Cook not to slip something by me.
Fortunately, she is not yet aware that I have spoken to the shopkeeper.
No matter what she orders, he will deliver what I requested.
We will be having lamb with mint sauce.”
Grace smiled, watching her friend wield domestic battles with the same fire she had once brought to their youthful mischief.
A part of her would always grieve the life she couldn’t have with Benjamin, but at the present moment, she couldn’t help but feel a small rush of pride at how flawlessly Sarah had stepped into her role.
“Benjamin would be so proud of you,” The thought slipped out before Grace could stop it.
Of course, it was the truth; Benjamin Weston’s devotion to his little sister had been nearly unmatched.
To see her commanding dinner parties, managing a household, and married for love would have been one of his greatest joys.
Yet Grace braced herself for the shadow his name so often cast over them.
Sarah’s eyes glistened with tears, but she quickly composed herself. “Of course he would be.” She cleared her throat before offering Grace a wry smile. “Benjamin never would have come within miles of a table serving mushroom gravy.” She nearly spat the words.
A startled laugh broke from Grace’s throat, followed by a flood of relief.
This was the first time they had spoken of him with such ease.
The realization nearly hurt as much as her grief, but as they continued to discuss more of Benjamin’s strong opinions, the only pain that remained in her chest was from laughter.
“I don’t think I ever realized how particular he truly was,” Grace said with a sigh.
“He had his moments,” Sarah nodded. “But nothing that couldn’t be cured by a sweet cherry tart.”
Grace felt her face warm at the mention of the small red fruit. She quickly lifted her teacup to her lips in an attempt to hide her smile behind the rim. She could feel Sarah’s curious gaze on her. “Grace, are you blushing?”
“Do not be ridiculous.” Grace let the warm tea slip down her throat, willing it to steady the flutter in her stomach.
But ever since their morning spent in the orchard, Grace had been unable to stop the feelings that rose every time she thought about Oliver—and nearly everything reminded her of him.
A line of poetry about sparrows had carried her back to the afternoon they spent birdwatching.
A game of chess with Matthew had turned into a memory of sitting for hours in the garden with Oliver, sunlight falling across the board.
Even Sarah’s mention of their childhood summers spent fishing in the pond at Edenfield had not conjured Benjamin’s face, but Oliver’s.
A slow realization started to form in Grace’s mind. “Sarah,” Grace blurted out, cutting her off mid-sentence—though she had no idea what her friend had even been speaking about. “How well did Benjamin know Oliver?”
Sarah blinked, seeming a little startled. “Well enough, I believe. The Duke once told me he had been good friends with Benjamin their last few years at Eton, and wherever he was, Oliver was usually not far behind.”
Grace nodded slowly. It was possible that Oliver knew Benjamin well enough to learn his his favorite pastimes—even the ones he and Grace had shared together. Or it was all just an incredible coincidence.
“I never really thought of it before,” Sarah said, drawing Grace from her thoughts. “But they are quite similar.”
“Who?” Grace demanded. “Benjamin and Oliver?”
“You do not agree?”
“I do not understand how you even came to that assessment, they are nothing alike!” Grace’s voice was sharper than she intended, but the idea unsettled her more than she wanted to admit.
“Really?” Sarah tilted her head, her tone needling causing Grace to clench her fists in her lap.
Of course they weren’t alike. Benjamin had been steady and dependable, with a kindness that soothed her.
Oliver was infuriating, unpredictable, and far too quick with his wit.
Yet, she could not seem to shake the feeling that he saw her more clearly than anyone had in a very long time, and the memory of his smile and laugh stirred something in her chest that she did not wish to give a name.
Grace felt the frustration rise hot in her chest. She scrambled for anything—anything—she could use a rebuttal. “Oliver’s hair is nearly a shade lighter, and his eyes are two shades darker,” she blurted, hearing the weakness in her argument even as it left her lips.
“Oh, you are right.” Sarah gave a solemn nod, a definite contrast to her eyes that sparkled with mischief. “How could I have made such an error? They are completely different.” Her exaggerated sincerity was punctuated with an eye-roll so grand her eyes nearly disappeared inside of her head.
“Sarah…” Grace’s warning was weak, almost pleading.
“I am curious though,” Sarah pressed, her smile sharpening. “How you have become so keenly aware of the exact shade of Oliver Blackburn’s eyes.”
“It was entirely unintentional, I assure you.” Grace forced the words out quickly, as if speed might disguise the heat creeping into her cheeks.
“I do not know you have managed to notice anything about him, seeing as how you refuse to speak to him.”
“Considering I spent the entire day with him yesterday, I would say I speak to him more than plenty.” Grace shot back before she could stop herself.
“Yesterday?”
Grace’s heart plummeted to her stomach as she realized her mistake.
“What of tea with Mrs. Wellick? Matthew said you were out all afternoon.” Sarah’s voice was quieter now, but it carried a sharp edge.
Grace felt the air rush from her lungs, suddenly unable to take a breath, let alone make an excuse. She could do nothing but stare, tongue-tied, her silence more telling than words.
“You were with Oliver?”
“Sarah, I can explain…”
“Explain what?” The mischief was gone from Sarah’s face, replaced by wounded disbelief. “Why you lied to me, or why you have been avoiding me since you arrived at Somerton?”
“That is not fair.” Grace’s voice shook, though whether from anger or shame, she wasn’t entirely sure.
“No, it is not fair!” Sarah’s composure cracked, her words sharp with wounded indignation. “I knew something was wrong. Matthew told me to give you space, and I have tried.”
Grace’s breath caught in disbelief. “Forcing me into endless social obligations and cornering me every time I descend the staircase is not space, Lizzy! It is smothering!”
Sarah flinched as though the words had been a slap. Grace knew she ought to feel sorry, but she could not summon the feeling. Months of burying her grief, rage, and her every unseemly emotion had left her too weary to care.
When was everyone going to realize that she was not the same woman she had been before Benjamin died, and that she very likely never would be again?
“So you prefer Oliver’s company to mine?” Sarah asked quietly, pain lacing her voice.
“I do not prefer his company….”
“Is that where you have been every day?” Sarah’s voice trembled. “All this time, I thought you simply wished to be alone, but the truth is you do not wish to be around me.”
“What do you want me to say, Lizzy?” Grace’s voice cracked under the weight of her frustration.
Sarah’s eyes glistened, her hands tightening around the edge of the tea table as though bracing for impact. “I want you to tell me the truth.”
“Some days I can not even bear to look at you!” The confession burst out, cold and harsh. Grace pressed a trembling hand to her temple, ashamed even as the words left her lips. “Being here, at Somerton, with you and Matthew, makes me feel as if I am losing Benjamin all over again.”
Sarah’s face went pale. “Then why did you come?”
“Because you asked me to!” Grace shot back. “Did you even think, before you sent that invitation, how painful it might be for me to get a glimpse of the future that was ripped away from me?”
“Of course I did…” Sarah’s voice wavered.
“Then why did you send it?”
“Because I missed you!” The words broke free like a sob, Sarah’s cheeks flushed with sudden anger. “Did you ever think that it also hurts me to look at you? That every time I walk these halls all I can think of is Benjamin.”
“It is not the same. I loved him,” Grace’s voice was barely more than a whisper, but it was carried by the weight of her grief.