Page 7 of Forever & Again
Grace peeked at her with one eye. “You are not suggesting I befriend him, are you?”
“Of course not. I would never dream of it,” Sarah replied, pausing at the door with a knowing smile. “I’m only asking that you do not strangle him. Matthew has grown rather attached.”
Grace exhaled slowly, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “No promises.”
Sarah’s soft laughter followed her out of he room, as the door clicked shut behind her. Grace settled back into the pillows, the quiet of the room settling around her like a shroud. This summer might not be the peaceful retreat she had hoped for, but it might possibly be enough to distract her from the hollow feeling in her chest.
Chapter Three
The scent of warm bread and honey drifted lazily through the breakfast room. Sarah sat at the table, her plate mostly untouched and her tea cooling as she watched the door with quiet expectation.
“She’s not coming.” Oliver offered from his place at the sideboard as he poured himself a generous cup of coffee. “She has seen the guest list and decided that we are not worth the effort.”
“At least one of us,” Matthew murmured over the rim of his cup, slowly taking a sip of his tea. Oliver slid into his seat at the table as he smiled and raised his cup toward Matthew in a mock salute. He was fully aware that his presence was the reason behind Lady Rockwell’s absence; the mystery was why he cared.
Sarah shot them a look proving that, despite the early hour, she was already thoroughly exasperated with them both. “She is just slow in the morning.”
“She is a ghost in the morning,” Matthew whispered absent-mindedly, stabbing at his eggs. Oliver grinned, “Ah, the elusive Lady Rockwell. Perhaps she requires a summoning charm.”
“She requires time,” Sarah said gently, though her eyes carried a warning. Before Oliver could respond, the door opened and Grace entered. She was undeniably breathtaking—but the coldness in her eyes struck him like an unexpected frost attempting to smother the first signs of spring. Her gaze flickered around over the room, settling everywhere but on him, as she took the seat furthest from Oliver without a word.
“Good morning,” Sarah offered, her voice soft and hopeful. Grace nodded once in her direction, “Good morning.”
Oliver could have left her alone—he could have left them all to eat their breakfast in peace—but what would be the fun in that?
“You missed the sunrise,” he said, and her gaze rose to meet his. “It was absolutely stunning, much like myself, if I may say so.”
Grace blinked at him slowly. Sarah stared at him with a mixture of mortification and amusement. Matthew didn’t even bother to hide his smirk.
Oliver leaned back in his chair, completely undeterred by her lack of response. “I admire your restraint. My charm overcomes most people by breakfast.”
“Most people are fools,” Grace replied coolly, rising to fill her plate, or perhaps it was just an attempt to put more distance between them. Oliver stole a glance at Matthew, whose entire expression was a reminder totread lightly.
Unfortunately, Oliver’s good sense wasn’t quick enough to keep pace with his mouth. “Well, thank heavens you are here to raise the average intelligence in the room.”
Grace slid back into her chair, not even sparing him a glance. “You are remarkably chatty for someone who contributes so little.” She remarked, cutting into her food with much more force than necessary.
Matthew choked on his tea, and Sarah set her fork down with a loud clink. “We were thinking of going riding this morning,” she interjected before Oliver could retort. “It would not be far, just around the grounds. It is a beautiful day.”
Grace’s knife paused mid-air. “You three go ahead.”
“Oh, come now,” Oliver drawled. “You can not possibly hide in your chambers all summer. Surely the horses would appreciate your company more than your walls do.”
“I would rather be trampled by a horse than endure an entire morning in your presence.” Oliver’s eyes glimmered in satisfaction. “Death by stampede; sounds poetic.”
“It sounds tempting,” Grace muttered.
“If you insist on martyrdom, might I suggest a slightly nobler method? Drowning while rescuing a kitten, perhaps?”
Grace set her teacup down with a sharp thud. “I would rather drownyou,” she said, her voice rising just enough to betray the crack in her resolve. Sarah shifted in her seat, resting a calming hand on her friend’s arm. “Grace…”
“I do not wish to go riding,” Grace snapped, rising abruptly. “I do not wish for company, and I certainly do not wish to sit here while Lord Blackburn prattles on like a parrot.”
Oliver’s smirk deepened. “Shall I squawk for you? Would that better meet your expectations?”
She took a steadying breath, eyes no void of ice and full of fire, locked on his.
“Allow me to make myself perfectly clear, Lord Blackburn—I do not wish to speak to you again for the remainder of the summer.”
