“Sometimes, it feels wrong to laugh.”
“It’s not wrong, Grace. It’s healing.”
“I am not ready to heal.” Grace tensed when the words came out sharper than she had meant them to, but Sarah just nodded silently.
Grace knew she meant well, but it was easier to heal when you still had the person you loved standing by your side to help you through it. They sat in the uncomfortable silence until their tea had long gone cold, and raindrops started tapping against the windowpane.
“I do not know who I am becoming.” Grace finally broke the silence. “I do not recognize her.”
Sarah gave her a soft smile, “That’s alright. You will find who you once were again.” Grace managed to return the smile, but the heaviness refused to lift from her chest.
Chapter Six
The Rutherford estate was a sea of color and noise—not a shimmering, glass-like sea one might dream of strolling beside on a summer afternoon, but a wild and raging tide that swept you out without warning and left you stranded with nothing to do but hope you’d make it back to the shore alive.
Parasols bobbed across the lawn, the metallic clink of croquet balls striking mallets echoed against the hedges, and laughter that was just a bit too bright to be genuine cut through the heavy summer air.
Grace lingered near a trellis of climbing roses, her parasol dangling idly from her wrist, wishing that she could be anywhere else. Mr. Pembroke, the earnest young gentleman she had been introduced to a few moments ago, was doing his best to impress her with tales of his family’s new carriage and his very earnest ambitions for Parliament.
Grace nodded politely. She was doing her best to pay attention—the poor boy was barely 20 and quite obviously unnerved by public gatherings—but if she was completely honest with herself, she could not recall a single word he had spoken in the past five minutes. Her mind was otherwise occupied.
They arrived only a quarter of an hour ago, and already Oliver stood across the lawn in the center of a flock of young ladies. The fact that he found himself the center of their attention so quickly wasn’t what was surprising to Grace; it was Oliver himself.
He wasn’t laughing or tossing clever winks. He stood with his hands clasped lightly behind his back, listening to one of the ladies speak, with what appeared to be genuine interest. It was almost unsettling, yet Grace couldn’t force herself to look away.
As if he could feel her gaze, Oliver suddenly looked up, his eyes locking on hers. Grace felt herself brace for impact as he abandoned his circle of admirers and made his way across the lawn, his path aimed directly at her and Mr. Pembroke.
“There you are,” Oliver said brightly, sliding into place beside her as if it were exactly where he belonged. “I have been sent here on a most perilous mission.”
Grace blinked, the color draining from her face. “A mission?”
“Yes,” Oliver said, learning in to fill the space between her and Mr. Pembroke. “Retrieve Lady Rockwell for croquet. Immediate action is required. Lives may depend on it.” He whispered as though he were divulging a great secret, though Grace knew that everything coming out of his mouth was as false as the smile she still managed to keep on her face.
Mr. Pemrboke looked between them, unable—or unwilling—to hide the confusion on his face. “We hadn’t quite finished….”
“Croquet waits for no man, Mr. Pembroke.” Oliver lifted his hand to rest lightly on the small of her back. “Or woman.”
Grace tensed immediately. “I am not playing croquet with you.”
Oliver’s expression remained perfectly serious, but she could see the unmistakable twinkle in his eye as he applied justa bit more pressure to his touch. “The battlefield calls, Lady Rockwell.”
He was toying with her.Grace felt her breath hitch, and Oliver must have noticed, because he threw her a wink before turning back to Mr. Pembroke as if he was daring him to protest.
Apparently, tangling with Lord Blackburn over lawn games was not something the young Pembroke had prepared himself for today, because he quickly excused himself, mumbling something about the refreshments table.
As soon as they were alone, Grace stepped out of Oliver’s grasp. She turned on him so sharply she nearly lost her balance. “What do you think you are doing?”
“Saving you from death by polite conversation." Oliver smiled innocently. “You’re welcome, by the way.” His tone and posture were perfectly relaxed and completely unbothered. A stark contrast to Grace, who was barely holding on to her composure.
“I did not ask to be saved.”
“You were radiating distress.” Oliver was completely unfazed, his head tilted slightly, and the corners of his mouth twitched upward.
The fact that he was enjoying this made Grace’s frustration rise even more. “I was having a conversation.”
“With Jonathan Pembroke,” he replied, his voice dipping in mock gravity. “That is a fate worse than boredom.”
“And what were you doing?” Grace crossed her arms tightly over her chest. “Holding court with half of the county's unmarried daughters?”
