Sarah let her guard drop for a moment, but she continued to study him with her questioning gaze. “A truce?” She repeated him as though the word itself was completely foreign.
Oliver nodded. “Terms were negotiated, conditions set, and hostages released. Open fire has been suspended for the foreseeable future.”
Sarah stared at him in silence, her expression halfway between suspicion and amusement. “And she agreed to this?”
“Well,” Oliver tipped his head, “she agreed under duress and severe misgivings, but yes.”
Sarah exhaled slowly as some of the tension eased from her posture, but the fierce protectiveness still lingered. “While this does possess all of the characteristics of a miraculous transformation, I simply do not know whether I should be relieved or very concerned.”
Oliver laughed and gave her a playful wink. “You would be wise to choose both.” Sarah shook her head, a smile flickeringat the corner of her mouth. “Go on, then,” she said, nodding back towards the terrace doors. “Before I decide to revoke your invitation and send you packing myself.”
“Charming as ever, Mrs. Fenwick,” he said, grinning, as he sauntered toward the house. “And may I add, you are absolutely glowing this morning.”
He heard Sarah chuckling behind him, but as he crossed the threshold, his smile faded. Because for all his jokes and easy bravado, part of him knew Sarah’s instincts were not wrong. Things were changing, and whether they would end in grace or ruin still remained to be seen.
Chapter Five
The dining room at Somerton was neither large nor grand, but tonight it felt perfectly sized—cozy and bright, with the candlelight glinting off polished silver and gentle laughter reaching into every corner of the room.
It was only the four of them: Matthew, Sarah, Grace, and Oliver. There were no formal airs or audience to perform for, though Oliver did enough performing to amuse an entire royal court.
Grace picked at her roast lamb with mild disinterest, half-listening as Sarah enthusiastically detailed the lawn party scheduled for the following afternoon at the neighboring Rutherford estate. “I do hope they’ll set up the archery targets,” Sarah said, her face alight. “It has been ages since I had the chance.”
“I believe there is also croquet,” Matthew added with an amused smile. “Which should prove ample opportunity for bloodshed.” Sarah laughed, and Grace couldn’t help but smile as well.
“I expect you will find the company pleasant.” Matthew went on. “The Rutherfords always manage to draw quite acrowd. Plenty of eligible young ladies, or so I am told.” He cast a sly glance down the table at Oliver. “A veritable buffet for the summer’s most notorious flirt.”
Oliver set his fork down with exaggerated offense. “I am wounded, Fenwick—but not at all surprised.”
Grace sipped her wine, attempting to hide her amusement behind the rim of her glass. “Actually,” she said, setting the cup down with deliberate grace. “Lord Blackburn will not be entertaining the attentions of any young ladies this summer.”
The room went still. Even Oliver seemed momentarily robbed of speech, which for him, was nothing short of a miracle. Finally, Matthew found his voice. “I beg your pardon?”
Grace shrugged as though she hadn’t just set fire to the very foundation of Lord Blackburn’s carefully curated reputation. “It is part of our truce.”
“Your truce?” Matthew echoed, glancing helplessly at Sarah. She only shook her head, clearly just as bewildered. Oliver lifted his wine glass to his lips, looking like he very much wished he could disappear inside of it.
Grace straightened in her chair, savoring, for once, the distinct pleasure of holding the upper hand between the two of them. “Oliver has agreed not to engage in idle flirtations for the duration of his stay at Somerton.”
Matthew laughed out loud and leaned back in his chair with an enormous grin. “Good heavens, Gracie. Did you make him sign that in blood?” Sarah’s eyes sparkled as she glanced between the two of them. “Did you truly agree to that?”
“There was considerable pressure,” Oliver said solemnly. “Threats, blackmail, possibly poison.” Sarah and Matthew laughed as Oliver turned and smiled wickedly in Grace’s direction.
“You know, Lady Rockwell, if I must reform my wicked ways, perhaps I should turn my attentions towards…”
Grace leveled him with her gaze, causing Oliver to falter mid-sentence. He feigned a cough and cleared his throat reaching for his glass. “Towards improving my lawn game strategy.”
Matthew was now nearly doubled over with laughter. Sarah, who was much more contained than her husband, raised her glass in a toast. “I think it is simply inspired.” She said in absolute delight. “It is about time someone attempted to domesticate this wild creature.”
“Domesticate!?” Oliver looked at them all, appalled. “I am a free spirit! An untamed stallion.”
“A stallion?” Grace snorted. “You are a house cat with expensive taste.” Matthew, who had just managed to compose himself, choked on his wine. Sarah covered her mouth, laughing too hard to speak.
Oliver clutched his chest as if wounded. “How dare you, ma’dam. I am feral and majestic.”
“Feral, I believe.” Grace turned back to her plate, plucking a potato in her mouth with triumph. Oliver turned to Matthew for support. “Are you going to allow this slander?”
Matthew wiped the tears from his eyes, finally managing to return to a normal rhythm of breathing. “Oh, I am thoroughly enjoying this.”
