Page 20 of Forever & Again
“Some would even say impossible.” Oliver held his breath, worried that maybe he was asking for too much.
Grace thought for a moment longer before shaking her head in defeat. “Alright. I agree.”
Oliver breathed a sigh of relief. “Good. We shall begin tomorrow.”
“Should I be concerned?”
“Only mildly,” he said with a wink.
Grace laughed as she turned to return inside, and Oliver felt something crack in his chest as he noticed her steps seemed just a little lighter.
He hadn’t expected her to accept his challenge, but now that she had, he wasn’t sure how he was supposed to think about anything else.
She would probably still believe him to be insufferable by the time they got to the end of the summer, but that was not what truly mattered to him. At worst, he would help provide her with a little extra distraction to keep her mind off of her grief, and at best, maybe he could help her give her heart a chance to heal—even if it ruined him in the process.
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 asnot 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?”
