Page 2 of Forever & Again
Oliver laughed. It was not loud or laced with his usual air of flirtation, but a small, genuine laugh that almost felt foreign in his chest. “I suppose that is fair. Seeing as how we have yet to have a proper conversation, I can understand how you might be unimpressed.”
“I would not say I am unimpressed,” she replied smoothly. “I would say you meet expectations precisely.”
Oliver grinned again, catching the faint flicker of amusement in Grace’s eyes. “May I?” he asked, gesturing toward the space beside her. She gave a reluctant nod as he stepped closer, turning with her to face the crowd. They stood there for a moment, the din of the ballroom folding around them.
“I do believe your future sister has caught the eye of the very elusive Duke, which I assure you is no easy task. We have been friends since birth, and he still hardly glances my way,” he said, nodding towards The Duke of Kenswick and Miss Weston deep in conversation on the terrace.
Matthew Fenwick also stood just a few paces away, pretending to be interested in whatever Miss Monroe was attempting to tell him, but his eyes were also locked on the couple standing just outside. Oliver shook his head—how could a man be so obvious in his affections, yet go his whole life without acting on them?
Grace’s posture stiffened, “Yes. They seem to be dancing around something.” She followed his line of sight, her eyes also landing on Matthew, who was still hovering nearby.
“Something scandalous…” Oliver mused, “...or serious?” Grace didn’t answer right away. Her gloved fingers played with the lace at her sleeve.
“Come now,” he urged. “You must have some thoughts on the matter.”
“I suppose,” she said at last, “that depends on how one views the prospect of marrying for security.”
Oliver studied her profile, surprised by her refreshing honesty. “Care to share your opinions?” he asked, though he knew it was a risk to push her further.
Sarah Weston was her dearest friend, as Nathaniel was his. While Oliver had his own concerns over the match—namely, the tall, redheaded Scotsman still watching Sarah’s every move—Oliver was curious to hear Grace’s.
She turned towards him and arched a brow. “You are incredibly persistent, Lord Blackburn.”
Oliver laughed again. “I lack the patience for persistence,” he said with a shrug. “I am simply ignoring your obvious disinterest.”
Grace almost smiled. The corners of her mouth twitched as if she couldn’t hold it back, but she composed herself quickly. “No eligible heiress has caught your eye tonight?” she asked. Oliver chuckled. “Oh, I am terrible with heiresses. There is far too much pressure to behave.”
Grace turned towards him, finally gifting him with a small smile. “And you are famously terrible at that.”
“Thank you for noticing.”
Grace shook her head, the sound of her faint laughter pulling at something in his chest that he didn’t realize could still be tugged.
The sharp pain once again started throbbing behind his ribs. It wasn’t because of her; she was Benjamin’s. It was the memories she evoked. Memories of who he used to be before charm became armor and indifference became survival.
“Well,” he said, adjusting his cuff, more out of habit than comfort. “I should thank you for indulging me, Lady Rockwell, but I shall take up no more of your evening.” Oliver bowed before letting himself be swept back into the blur of the ballroom, where the laughter felt hollow, the eyes looked right past him, and conversations only skimmed the surface.
As he glanced across the room, he saw Benjamin draw Grace gently back to his side, and Oliver felt the weight of everything he’d buried settle in his chest—everything he had lost, and everything he believed he never deserved to have again.
Chapter One
June 1855
Somerton - Berkshire, England
Grace closed her eyes and pressed her back further into the cushion of the chair, as if doing so would allow it to swallow her whole. If she tried hard enough, perhaps the entire wall would take pity on her and open up to swallow her and the chair into blessed silence. At the moment, she would welcome anything that allowed her to escape the sights and sounds of the overcrowded drawing room she currently found herself in.
It had been over six months since Grace had found herself a part of any sort of social gathering, so when Sarah and Matthew had extended the invitation to spend the summer at Somerton, she had naively imagined a quiet and slow reentrance into society—a handful of lawn parties, long walks through the gardens, perhaps the occasional dinner with neighboring lords and ladies eager to boast of their large estates and well manicured lawns.
What she hadn’t accounted for was Sarah’s determination to turn the summer into an event that rivaled a London Season.Grace knew her friend meant well, but that didn’t stop the painful knot from tightening low in her stomach.
The room itself was beautiful. It was modest in size, but the ceiling was painted like a sky at dusk—pinks and blues, with delicate vines. The carved moldings shimmered faintly in the candlelight, and the wallpaper was a delicate floral pattern that mirrored the blossoms that filled the estate's orchard in the springtime. It was elegant. It was enchanting.
It was supposed to be hers.
Grace tried to shake off the thought, along with the sting that rose behind it. She wasn’t jealous—not truly. She would never wish away the happiness of the life Sarah and Matthew had built together, but walking Somerton’s grounds and seeing Sarah move with such quiet authority—pregnant, glowing, and loved—left Grace aching under the weight of what she had lost. This house and this life had been her dream and her future; that future had died on Christmas Eve with Benjamin.
Benjamin had been Sarah’s brother and Matthew’s closest friend, but he was Grace’s entire world. Somerton had always been meant for them, but when Benjamin died just weeks before their wedding, the estate was signed over to Matthew and Sarah, giving them a chance at the life they deserved to have together.
