Chapter Thirteen #2
“So did I!” Sarah’s eyes were blazing through her tears.
“I lost my brother, Grace. He was my best friend. And now every day I must live with the knowledge that the life I have is only mine because he died. You are not the only one hurting.” She drew in a shuddering breath.
“But you are right—it is not the same. Because instead of taking my grief and using it as an excuse to hold people at arm’s length, it has made me realize I cannot waste another moment taking the people I love for granted, no matter how painful it may be. ”
Sarah rose to her feet, her hands clenched at her sides. “Maybe Matthew was right—perhaps you and Oliver are much more alike than you care to admit.”
Grace sat frozen, watching Sarah’s retreating form, the sunlight glinting off her golden curls in cruel contrast to the storm she left behind. Grace was too broken to follow, and too angry to cry.
Her mother had been wrong—tea did not prevent wars. It only offered a more delicate battlefield.
Grace sat on the cool stone bench nestled among the roses of Somerton’s gardens. The fragrant evening air wrapped around her, offering only the illusion of peace. Sarah had taken her dinner in her room, and Oliver and Matthew had barely offered two words at the table.
Grace knew the words she had spoken to Sarah had been too harsh. The truth had lifted a weight from her chest, but it had been replaced by a hollow ache as she had watched Sarah’s retreating figure fade from view.
Grace heard the soft, steady sound of footsteps behind her, crunching along the gravel path. She knew the silence wouldn’t last long. She was only surprised Oliver had taken this long to find her.
“If you are here to scold me, I am in no mood,” she said, keeping her eyes fixed on the roses, unwilling to face the disappointment she expected to find when she faced him.
“When have I ever scolded ye?”
Her chest tightened at the sound of the familiar Scottish lilt. She turned around, startled, as Matthew stepped from the shadows of the arbor.
“You look surprised.” He he said, lowering himself onto the bench beside her. A hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Were you expecting someone else?”
Grace shifted her gaze back to the bushes in front of them, though she could still feel the weight of his eyes on her. “Matthew,” she whispered, the lump in her throat making it difficult to speak. “I am sorry…”
“You do not need to apologize,” he interrupted gently.
Grace looked at him in surprise.
“You were not wrong in what you said,” he went on, “but neither was Sarah.”
Grace shifted uncomfortably under his gaze.
“You know that I am not always the most skilled at saying what needs to be said,” he admitted. “But I hate to think that losing Benjamin might be the very thing that tears us apart, when he was always happiest when we were together.”
Grace’s throat tightened. His words carried no reprimand, yet the guilt stirred deep in her stomach.
Sarah had lost her brother, Matthew had lost her best friend, but if she allowed the shadows of Benjamin’s memory to only cast darkness over every part of her life, she would lose everyone she had ever loved.
Matthew finally stood to return to the house, but Grace called out to stop him. “What did you and Sarah mean when you said Oliver and I are alike?” She asked when he had turned back to face her.
“That seems like a question you should ask Oliver.” He paused, a dim twinkle in his eye. “And from what I have heard, you should have plenty of opportunities.” The playful smile that stretched across his face gave Grace a flicker of hope that they could survive this after all.
She sat in silence as Matthew walked away, though the sound of her own thoughts were deafening.
She had expected the summer to be difficult, but not in the ways she had experienced.
Her heart was sore from the constant ache, but it wasn’t Benjamin’s absence that caused her the most pain—it was the realization that she was able to find moments of joy when he was not a part of them.
Grace could feel Oliver’s presence before she saw him.
She looked up as he reached her, her heart stuck somewhere between the flutters in her chest and the lump in her throat.
In the waning light, his eyes resembled the inky dark sky at midnight, and she had a feeling that the soft shimmer inside of them was not from his easy humor, but unshed tears.
Grace fixed her gaze on her lap as he came to stand in front of her. It was much easier to think clearly if she was not looking at him.
Why did the man have to be so infuritatingly handsome. Her cheeks warmed at the unexpected thought. She cleared her throat as though it would clear her mind. “Have you come to tell me I was wrong?” She forced out, hoping she sounded more at ease than she felt.
“No,” His voice was softer than normal, sending a chill down Grace’s arms—or most likely it was just the fading sun and the coolness of the evening.
“I have come to ask if you are alright.”
Grace raised her chin to meet his eyes again. When they met Grace felt the chill wrap itself around her entire body. She felt frozen under his gaze, unable to speak and unable to look away.
He still stood in front of her as though waiting for an invitation to join her, but she was unable to form the words. As long as she remained fixed on his gaze, she was unable to form a single coherent thought.
Oliver finally turned away first, scanning the perimeter of the gardens. “Would you like to take a walk with me?” He asked softly.
“I do not know the right way to navigate this.” It was not an answer to his question, but the words had escaped before she could think better of them.
Out of all the people in the world capable of offering her their wisdom, she never thought she would find herself desiring to speak to Oliver Blackburn.
“The garden paths?” His eyes light up above his wry smile. Grace shook her head, knowing he was fully aware of her meaning. His shoulders lifted with a deep sigh before lowering himself onto the bench beside her.
“There is no right way, Grace.” He avoided looking at her, but she could clearly see the reflection of the tears he held back still in his eyes.
“I used to think that grief had a shape,” his voice was rough like gravel. “But it is not something you can trace the contours of and live around. It changes, and the moment you think you have got ahold of it, it turns into something else.”
His words broke something loose in Grace’s chest. Not from her own pain, but from a desire to protect him from his—whatever it was that he held onto so tightly.
“Sarah’s grief looks different than yours, but it is not any less real. Be patient with her. I am sure if you ask, she will extend you the same courtesy.”
Grace watched him intently. The softened set of his jaw, the sadness in his eyes disguised as indifference, the smile that shone bright but never quite reached his heart.
She could hear the crack in his voice just before it bent it into lightness and jest. How had she never seen him like this before, when now every detail was achingly clear?
Oliver shifted under her gaze, uneasy. “Why do you look angry?”
Grace forced a soft smile. “Because you are making it incredibly difficult for me not to like you.” The honesty felt strange on her tongue, yet it sparked something warm in her chest.
Oliver laughed. “That was the plan, remember.”
Grace’s smile faltered as his laughter lingered in the air. The questions that had been pressing on her since tea rose to her lips. Did she truly want to hear his answer? She feared that if she knew his true motives, it might unravel the last bit of distance she was trying so hard to maintain.
“Oliver, were you aware that fishing was one of Benjamin’s favorite pastimes?”
She felt him tense beside her, the truth of what she had suspected becoming more and more clear.
“He may have mentioned it in passing once or twice.” His voice cracked slightly, his posture shifting on the bench in unease.”
“As well as archery?” She pressed on.
“Now that you mention it, that does sound familiar.”
“He was also most intrigued by birds.”
Oliver stayed silent. The fact that he was becoming increasingly nervous under her questioning made Grace surprisingly more comfortable, and truthfully, a slightly amused.
“Eveytime it rained, he would come sit in the library with me and teach me chess.”
Oliver cleared his throat, in an attempt to shift his tone back towards ease, “He was a horrible teacher…”
Grace caught his eyes in hers, no longer willing to let him hide. “What was your plan in all of this?”
His hands fidgeted in his lap, his breathing quickening under her scrutiny, but he did not look away. His face softened, and the boldness she had felt just a moment before melted away.
“Are you aware of how often you spoke of Benjamin this past week?” He asked.
Grace did not answer—not because she didn’t want to, but because she couldn’t.
She had once spoken of Benjamin so rarely, the pain so sharp, that she could recall every instance his name was uttered.
But now her mind was crowded with moments shared with Oliver, Sarah and Matthew, where Benjamin’s name slipped easily from their lips amidst laughter and gentle jests.
“Grace, I do not care if you find me insufferable.” Oliver paused, his gaze searching her face. “Actually, that is not true,” he admitted, his voice dropping. “I desperately want you to like me.” His eyes held hers, and for a moment Grace forgot how to breathe.
“Which is truly puzzling considering you drive me utterly mad…”
“I drive you mad?” Grace nearly shouted in indignation. Yet the softness in his gaze, coupled with the gentle warmth of his laughter, sent her stomach into knots. She truly was the one who was mad, if this was the effect he could have on her.
“I did not force you to spend time with me in an attempt to win you over.” He explained.
Grace tilted her chin, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of seeing how he was beginning to disarm her. “So it was torture, then?”
Oliver’s mouth twitched with a smile, but he remained composed.
“Not at all.” The playfulness in her chest faltered when she saw the sincerity in his eyes.
“I only wanted you to see that memories of Benjamin do not always have to proceed pain. Sometimes they can bring joy—or they can simply exist. You will carry him with you always, but there is still room for new memories without erasing the old.”
Grace let his words press hard against the fragile walls she had worked so hard to build. “You are much more complicated than people give you credit for, Lord Blackburn.”
“Please do not tell anyone.” Oliver leaned back, breaking the intensity with a smile. “It would be disastrous for my reputation.”
Grace wondered how he made it seem so effortless —shifting from sincerity to jest, loosening the knot in her chest with nothing more than a crooked grin. That was precisely what made him so dangerous.
Every moment she spent with him chipped away at her resolve, leaving her far too aware of how perilously close she stood to feeling something again.
And as if falling in love weren’t treacherous enough, the man beside her was the last person she had ever imagined trusting with her heart.