Page 1 of Forever & Again
Prologue
April 1854
Langston Hall - London, England
He heard her words the moment she said them. Her voice wasn’t raised, but it didn’t need to be. “Well,” Lady Grace Rockwell murmured to Miss Weston. “Now you know exactly the sort of man to avoid.”
Oliver didn’t flinch. He didn’t turn around. Instead, he smiled the kind of smile he’d perfected over the years—all charm, teeth, and polished indifference. He kept walking, weaving through the throng of silk, satin, and stiff laughter until she was far enough away to be seen and not heard. But her words echoed anyway.
He was certain that her comment was not meant for him to hear, but he was also certain that it was likely not the first time, nor would it be the last, that someone would whisper similar sentiments behind his back.
Oliver knew who he was in this world, or at least who the world believed him to be. A flirt. A rogue. A man who had never met a ballroom he couldn’t charm or a debutante he couldn’tleave blushing. That version of himself was easier than the alternative—when you wore the mask well enough, no one asked what was hiding underneath. No one wanted depth from a man they had already decided was only surface.
Oliver glanced back across the ballroom to see Benjamin Weston leading Grace to the center of the floor as the music swelled into a waltz. They turned together slowly, making a picture-perfect pair. Grace laughed at something Benjamin said, her head tipping back and her eyes closing, as if nothing in the world existed beyond him.
Oliver shoved aside the ache rising in his chest and did what he had always done; he pivoted to the nearest debutante with soft eyes and no expectations, and offered her his most insincere smile and a practiced compliment. She giggled, predictably, and he let her flirt back as he took another sip of champagne, allowing the mask to slip flawlessly into place. It was heavy, but not as heavy as what it covered.
It didn’t take long for him to find himself alone again, watching the world dance around him, feeling as though he was the only one who found evenings like this less of a dream and more of a haunting nightmare.
“Enjoying yourself?” Oliver turned as Benjamin Weston clapped a hand to his shoulder. His friend grinned, his cheeks flushed from dancing and champagne—or possibly just the sheer delight of being in love with a woman like Grace Rockwell.
“Unbearably,” Oliver replied. “Tell me again why we subject ourselves to these things.”
“Because it makes our mothers happy.”
“And because you look devastatingly handsome in a white cravat?”
Benjamin chuckled. “If you are not careful, you will be banned from the Season.”
“Again?”
They both laughed, and Oliver let himself rest in the easy familiarity of their friendship.
“I saw you watching,” Benjamin said, breaking the quiet moment. Oliver didn’t even bother pretending. “She is captivating.”
“She is mine.” There was no edge in Benjamin’s voice, only quiet joy. Oliver smiled, letting his friend's happiness slip through the chinks in his armor.
“I know.”
The ache in his chest returned as he caught the sparkle in Benjamin’s eyes as he watched Grace from across the room. How long had it been since he had been so blindly in love that the rest of the world simply melted away?
“You look happy,” Oliver said quietly, his friend’s usually exuberant expressions softening into pure contentment as his eyes stayed locked on Grace.
“I am.” Benjamin finally turned back towards Oliver, his face full of more sincerity than most people ever offered him. “Are you?”
Oliver swallowed the lump in his throat and forced a smile back on his face. “I am insufferable, which is all I really aspire to be.” Benjamin laughed, falling for the act as everyone else did.
“Don’t go too far, friend. Some of us need you to be respectable enough to be seen with.”
Oliver didn’t answer, and Benjamin gave him a soft, knowing smile before he wandered back towards Grace again. Oliver lingered to watch them a moment longer before drifting in the opposite direction. But when he looked back, Benjamin had been drawn into a conversation with another gentleman, and Grace stood slightly alone. She didn’t look abandoned—she seemed completely at ease and content, and probably had no desire to speak to him. But something about her radiated peace,and try as he might, Oliver could not resist allowing it to pull him in.
He crossed the ballroom before he could talk himself out of it. “Lady Rockwell.”
She turned to greet him, her eyes narrowing slightly in suspicion. “Lord Blackburn.” Her tone may have been mistaken for politeness if Oliver were not already aware of her opinion of him.
“No need to sound so disappointed,” he quipped.
“Disappointment,” she replied, “would require interest.”
