Page 13 of An Alliance with the Earl (Marrying for Love #5)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

T heballroom hummed with energy, a swirl of silk and motionas dancers wove intricate patterns across the polished floor. The lively strains of a country reel filled the space by a small but talented quartet in the corner. The rhythmic stomp of heels and the soft sweep of slippered feet added to the music’s pulse.

Olivia stood near the edge of the room, taking in the grandeur of the evening. This house party ball was meant to be a structured affair, designed to ensure that each guest danced with a variety of partners. Lady Lansdowne had drawn the pairings ahead of time, and while Olivia did not particularly care to be shuffled from partner to partner, she appreciated the logic behind it. The gathering was meant to foster new connections, new possibilities.

It had been a full day since Olivia had last spoken to Lord Cheshire in the library, and yet,his words still lingered in her mind.The dull ache in her palm from yesterday’s splinter was a faint reminder of their conversation—of the way he had challenged her to think aboutwhere she was going, rather than what she was leaving behind.

She had spent the morning poring over maps, tracing the unfamiliar names of places she had never truly considered before. But here, surrounded by the sweeping grandeur of society’s favorite distractions—dance, music, and endless conversation—she found her thoughts drifting once more.

She smoothed her gloved hands over the fine embroidery at her waist, adjusting the ribbons that needed no adjusting. The night was unfolding exactly as expected, filled with carefully arranged partners and polite conversation.

And yet, as the room surged with movement, her gaze flickered toward the crowd, seeking—or perhaps anticipating—a familiar figure among the shifting silhouettes.

She glanced across the ballroom and found Lord Cheshire where she had last seen him—engaged in an animated discussion with one of the other gentlemen while waiting for his next set. He was a striking figure, dressed in deep green with a silver-embroidered waistcoat, his dark hair impeccably styled. The flickering light caught in the sharp angles of his face, lending an air of quiet confidence that seemed to draw the notice of many.

Olivia schooled her features, determined not to let her gaze linger too long. It would not do for anyone to suspect how very much she preferred his company to all the other gentlemen present.

The evening had already passed in a blur of dances, some pleasant, others less so. Twelve couples meant twelve different partners, and Olivia had danced with each gentleman at least once. Some were gracious, others dull, and a few were so consumed with speaking about their own attributes that Olivia had counted the steps until their set was over.

Still, the ball was beautiful, and she could not deny the thrill of being part of such an elegant occasion.

Her gown was made from a light blue satin, soft as moonlight, with delicate pearl trimmings along the neckline and sleeves. The empire waist was gathered just beneath the bust, accentuating the graceful lines of the dress, while the skirt floated in ethereal folds whenever she moved. A single pearl comb held her light curls away from her face.

It was the kind of gown that made a lady feel like a princess.

And yet, she had never given much thought to her attire—not in the way other ladies did. But tonight, as she turned toward Lord Cheshire, she found herself wishing to be seen.

To be noticed.

As if on cue, Lord Cheshire’s gaze landed on her. His lips curved into a slow smile, and when he crossed the floor to her side, there was something decidedly different in the way he regarded her.

He bowed, his blue eyes warm.

“You look like a Grecian goddess,” he said softly.

The compliment struck her unexpectedly, sending a ripple of warmth down her spine. She had received countless compliments this evening, some blatant and others whispered behind fans, yet none had unsettled her quite like this one.

Because he meant it.

And perhaps—just perhaps—a small part of her wanted to believe it.

She lowered her eyes to hide her sudden discomfort, though she could not suppress the small smile that played at her lips. “That is very kind of you, Lord Cheshire. Though I fear you have been subjected to an overabundance of celestial metaphors this evening. I believe I heard Lady Catherine compare me to the moon not an hour ago.”

Lord Cheshire tilted his head slightly. “Then she was wrong,” he murmured. “The moon only reflects light. You shine on your own.”

Olivia’s breath caught, her heart skittering painfully against her ribs.

She laughed softly, more to steady herself than anything else. “I daresay I do not know what to say to that.”

He grinned, looking impossibly pleased with himself. “Then say nothing at all. Come, we are to dance.”

He offered his arm, and she took it, allowing him to lead her toward the center of the floor for one of the final waltzes of the evening.

For most of the ball, conversation had been the lifeblood of the evening—partners spoke in measured pleasantries, exchanged light flirtations, or discussed the merits of the house party thus far.

But as Lord Cheshire took her into his arms, Olivia suddenly found herself without words.

The music swelled, and they moved together in perfect synchrony.

She had spent the evening discussing and debating, making conversation with gentlemen she would likely never see again after the house party, but here, in Lord Cheshire’s arms, the silence between them was somehow louder than words.

The sensation was unnerving.

She felt hot and cold all at once, a peculiar tingling creeping over her skin as his hand rested firmly at her back, guiding her through the steps. He was an excellent dancer, moving with a grace and precision that made following him effortless.

She had not felt this way with any other partner.

She should have teased him, should have made a remark about how he had so clearly tricked her into thinking he was a master of charades, only to prove himself entirely incompetent at keeping a straight face.

But she couldn’t.

Not now.

Not when every step, every breath felt too intimate, too revealing.

It was a strange realization—one that sent a whisper of something deep and unfamiliar through her chest.

When had this changed?

When had she gone from enjoying their harmless arrangement to this?

She could feel his steady gaze on her, could sense the moment his hand tightened ever so slightly at her waist, drawing her a fraction closer.

Her breath hitched, and though she did her best to steady herself, she knew she was trembling.

If Lord Cheshire noticed, he said nothing.

But somehow, that only made it worse.

As the final notes of the waltz faded, he guided her through the last step, his grip on her hand lingering for a heartbeat too long.

When he finally released her, Olivia felt strangely unmoored.

She had danced with a dozen gentlemen tonight, but this—this—had felt different.

And the way he was looking at her now—as if he too had felt the shift—made her heart beat all the faster.

He bowed, and she curtsied, forcing herself to compose her features, to steady her racing thoughts.

It was only a dance.

Only a dance.

But as she stepped away, rejoining the flow of guests, she could not quite shake the feeling that something between them had changed.

The next morning, Ivy Manor was alive with activity as the gentlemen gathered for a day of shooting, their voices carrying through the corridors in boisterous camaraderie. The ladies, left to their own diversions, had been invited by Lady Lansdowne to partake in creative pursuits—a rather domestic endeavor that Olivia had little skill in but was determined to endure for the sake of social propriety.

She found herself in a sunlit morning room, the windows open to allow the fresh breeze to stir the lace curtains. The scent of paint, fabric, and perfumed soaps filled the air, mingling with the ever-present murmur of conversation. Some of the ladies had taken to embroidery, others were painting decorative screens, while a few worked on bonnet-trimming, securing delicate ribbons and flowers to straw frames.

Olivia, unsure of what to do with herself, had selected a small wooden box to paint, something light enough that she could sketch her design before committing to the brushstrokes. But no sooner had she set her pencil to paper than she found herself under siege.

“Lady Olivia,” Miss Julia Harper leaned forward, her sharp eyes glinting with curiosity. “I must ask, how very serious are you and Lord Cheshire?”

Olivia’s hand stilled, though she kept her expression pleasantly indifferent. “I suppose that depends on what you mean by serious.”

Miss Harper exchanged a knowing glance with Miss Spencer, who set aside her embroidery hoop. “Come now, Lady Olivia, you cannot be unaware of how many young ladies here would love to capture his attention.”

“Indeed,” Miss Spencer added, dipping her brush into a delicate shade of pink. “He is, after all, an earl.”

Olivia glanced at the intricately embroidered handkerchief resting on Miss Spencer’s lap, its floral pattern stitched in golden thread. The women surrounding her were all beautiful, accomplished, and ambitious.

Miss Harper sighed wistfully, tilting her head. “As the only earl present, he is certainly the most eligible gentleman here. Even with a viscount and a baron among us, Lord Cheshire is the highest-ranked of them all.”

The comment gave Olivia pause. She had never truly considered Lord Cheshire’s rank in society, not beyond the casual awareness that he was titled. To her, he had simply been Lord Cheshire—the man who made her laugh, who had encouraged her to play the pianoforte again, who did not press her when she wanted to be silent. She had never thought of him in terms of status or wealth, nor of what a true match with him might mean outside the confines of this house party.

Miss Harper leaned forward, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “If you are not overly attached to him, you must tell me now. There are several of us who would like the opportunity to turn his attentions elsewhere.”

A strange sensation prickled at Olivia’s chest, though she kept her tone light. “I was unaware that one needed permission to court Lord Cheshire.”

Lady Catherine laughed lightly, swirling paint onto her screen. “Do not be coy, Lady Olivia. You have had the most time in his company. If you are merely passing the time, and have no intention to have an understanding with him, it would only be fair to let someone else have a chance.”

The other women murmured their agreement, each one eyeing her with varying degrees of curiosity and expectation.

Olivia, acutely aware that Mrs. Morris was within earshot, gave a diplomatic smile. “We have spent much time together, yes. But it is hardly my place to dictate where Lord Cheshire’s affections lie.”

This response seemed to dissatisfy everyone, but they could hardly press her further. Still, as Olivia turned back to her painting, she felt a tangle of emotions twist inside her.

She had never once thought about Lord Cheshire in terms of his eligibility, yet every other woman here had.

And that was worth noting.

Later in the afternoon, when the gentlemen had returned from shooting and the ladies had set aside their creative projects, Olivia found an opportunity to speak with Lord Cheshire alone.

She found him leaning against one of the garden trellises, the scent of roses hanging in the warm air. He looked contented, having spent the morning outdoors with his rifle, his expression one of leisure and amusement.

“You look as if you have something to say,” he remarked, his blue eyes flickering with curiosity as she approached.

Olivia hesitated, then folded her hands in front of her. “The women were speaking about you today.”

His brow quirked in mild surprise. “I do hope it was complimentary.”

“Oh, quite,” she said wryly. “You are a most eligible catch, it would seem.”

Lord Cheshire’s smile widened, though it did not quite reach his eyes. “Is that so?”

“Indeed. Your title, your wealth, your fine estate—there are several ladies here who are most eager to know you better.”

Lord Cheshire let out a low chuckle, running a hand through his hair. “And this is precisely why we made our arrangement, Lady Olivia.”

She studied him for a moment, then tilted her head. “And what if I were just like them?”

He stilled, his gaze locking onto hers. “Then we would not be in an arrangement together.”

A strange silence settled between them, and Olivia felt something shift in her chest.

She had told herself that this was all temporary. That their time together was an illusion, a charade they were both content to play out.

But she had not anticipated how much she had come to value his company.

And that—that—was dangerous.

She forced a smile, pushing aside the ridiculous ache in her heart. “Then it is fortunate I am not like them.”

His expression softened, and for a moment, neither of them spoke. Then, as if sensing something in her demeanor, he asked quietly, “Are you trying to get rid of me, Lady Olivia?”

She forced out a small laugh. “Of course not, my lord. I am merely giving you the option to be rid of our arrangement, should you wish to get to know someone else.”

Lord Cheshire’s expression turned serious. He stepped closer, the warmth of his presence unnerving in its intensity.

“I don’t want anyone else,” he said, his voice firm. His gaze never left hers. His eyes widened slightly.

She raised her eyebrows at his words, her breath hitching in her throat from the protective way he looked at her.

And then the moment shifted. He paused, then coughed. “Besides, we made a deal, and I intend to keep it.”

Olivia swallowed, her heart faltering for the briefest of moments. “Are you sure?”

“Of course I am. There is nobody here I’d rather be in company with than you.” His tone was light and jovial—completely unaffected.

The words unraveled something inside her, and she quickly looked away, her breath catching.

She could not—would not—let this change things.

She had plans, dreams that did not include a husband or an estate. She had spent too long convincing herself that love was dangerous, that it led only to heartbreak and disappointment.

She had promised herself that she would never fall so easily again.

And yet…

As she met Lord Cheshire’s gaze, she realized with a quiet, terrifying certainty—

She was going to miss him when she left.