Page 23 of An Alliance with the Earl (Marrying for Love #5)

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

E dward had not spoken a word to Olivia about his feelings. Not since the moonflower garden. Not since she had stopped him from a full confession.

And he had honored her wishes.

He sat in the quiet of his chamber, the low flicker of candlelight casting long shadows against the oak-paneled walls. In his hands, he held a well-worn letter—creased from being folded and unfolded too many times.

Alexander’s reply.

His oldest friend, now also his brother-in-law, had written back at last. Edward had torn open the seal upon receiving it that morning, devouring the words before he had even finished dressing.

Now, as the final night of the house party loomed, he read it again, slower this time.

My Dear Friend,

I can well imagine the torment of your situation. You have chosen to care for a woman who does not yet allow herself to be cared for. It is a difficult thing, to love someone who is not ready to receive it.

If there is anything I have learned, Edward, it is this—patience wins the day where pressure never could.

Do not press her. Let her figure out her own mind in her own time. If you are what she needs, she will find her way back to you.

And if she does not? Then you will at least know that you loved her without condition, without pressure, without expectation.

But if I know you, Edward, I believe that time will be your ally.

Alexander

Edward exhaled, folding the letter and tapping it against his thigh.

Patience.

He had never been a particularly patient man. He had spent his life acting on impulse, on charm, on wit and easy confidence.

Yet Olivia was different.

She was not some debutante who would giggle at his every word, who would swoon over the mere mention of his title. She was not someone he could simply charm into affection.

No—Olivia had to choose him .

And until she did, he would do as Alexander advised. He would wait.

There was a soft knock at the door.

“Enter,” he called.

His valet stepped inside, carrying his evening attire. “The guests are beginning to gather, my lord.”

Edward nodded, rising to his feet. His hands moved through the motions of dressing—removing his day coat, exchanging it for a deep green evening jacket, smoothing the crispness of his embroidered waistcoat.

He let his valet fuss over his cravat, but his thoughts were elsewhere.

Would he have one final moment with Olivia tonight? Would she grant him a look, a glance, something to tell him that this— whatever this was —was not over?

Or would this be the last evening he would ever spend in her company?

The thought sent an ache through his chest.

He exhaled and gave himself one last look in the mirror. Steady, composed.

If tonight was their last night together, he would not ruin it by making it harder for her. He would honor her wishes through the entirety of the house party. He would play the part he had agreed to. But tomorrow the house party would be over. And then he would be free to figure out a new path, and perhaps make a new alliance with her—one that would be better than just this pretense. The idea gave him hope.

Only one more night of this alliance.

He would see what tomorrow would bring. And the next. And the next.

And if Alexander was right—if time was indeed his ally—then perhaps she would come to the same conclusion that he had at some point in the near future.

The carriages rattled over the gravel drive of Ivy Manor, each guest departing in turn, some with their own retinue of footmen and valets, others squeezing into hired coaches. The festive air of the house party had shifted into something more subdued, the remnants of laughter and music dissolving into the cool morning breeze.

Edward strode through the front hall, heart pounding, just in time to see Olivia’s carriage pulling away down the tree-lined drive.

Too late.

He had waited—hesitated—long enough for the moment to slip through his fingers.

He cursed under his breath, striding across the gravel toward where Lady Lansdowne stood watching the retreating carriage with a fond smile.

She turned at the sound of his approach, her gloved hands clasped neatly in front of her.

“If you hurry, my lord,” she said with a knowing glance, “you might yet catch her in town.”

Edward stopped before her, every muscle tight with urgency he struggled to contain.

“Where will she be?” he asked, his voice low.

“Winfield’s Tea Shop,” Lady Lansdowne said smoothly. “They plan to stop for refreshments before continuing their journey.”

Edward inclined his head, a brief, respectful bow masking the frustration burning in his chest.

“Thank you, my lady,” he said.

Lady Lansdowne smiled, the look in her eyes far sharper than the genteel curve of her lips. “Do not tarry, Lord Cheshire. Some opportunities are not meant to be missed twice.”

He did not need the warning.

Without another word, Edward turned on his heel and headed back toward the manor to retrieve his coat and horse.

He had wasted enough time already.

He had left Alexander’s latest letter in his chamber, but retrieving it was only half of his errand. He needed something more.

Something to go with the little wooden duck he had carved for Olivia.

The duck itself had been a jest, a memory of their time on the lake. But now, as he thought of her leaving—truly leaving—he wanted to offer her something more lasting.

Something that meant something.

He needed to buy her a present in town. His trunks were already on their way to Alexander’s home not too far from Ivy Manor, so he rode his horse into town. If he hurried, he could secure a gift for her before he said goodbye to her at the tea shop.

He needed something personal. Something meaningful. He wanted her to remember him while she was traveling on the Continent. He needed that. He could be patient, but he did not want to be forgotten.

He passed a few shops of ribbons and lace. Nothing felt quite right to give to her.

What would she take with her on her travels?

His eyes landed on a small shop in the village, tucked between the cobbled street and the apothecary. Inside, bound in smooth leather and gilded at the edges, lay the perfect gift. A notebook. She was nearly finished with the one she’d brought with her to Ivy Manor. It would be the perfect gift to go with the wooden duck.

The bell above the door chimed as Edward stepped into the small bookshop nestled between the apothecary and the tailor. The scent of aged parchment and fresh ink filled the air, mingling with the faintest hint of beeswax from the candles burning near the front counter.

Rows of neatly bound tomes lined the wooden shelves, but Edward knew precisely what he sought. He scanned the displays until his eyes landed on a collection of blank journals—some simple, others more ornate, but none quite right until he saw it.

A notebook, bound in fine dark green leather, soft to the touch, the corners reinforced with delicate gold tooling. Sturdy, elegant, enduring.

He lifted it from the shelf and thumbed through the crisp, untouched pages, imagining them filled with her careful sketches—the towering spires of cathedrals, the crumbling ruins of Rome, the moonlit Seine.

His throat tightened.

Would she ever sketch Ivy Manor? Would she remember their time here? Would she remember him? Would she sketch the moonflower garden from memory? Would she ever draw him?

The thought sent a rush of warmth through him, but he tamped it down. He had one last opportunity to say goodbye, and he wouldn’t cloud that with feelings of melancholy and what if’s.

He was going to be bold, but not overbearing. He was going to tell her how he felt. Edward swallowed down the thought and turned to the counter.

The shopkeeper, a thin older man with round spectacles perched at the edge of his nose, glanced up from the ledger he was scribbling in. “Good day, my lord. Have you found what you’re looking for?”

“Yes,” Edward said, placing the notebook on the counter. “I’d like this wrapped as a gift.”

The clerk’s bushy brows lifted. “A fine choice, my lord. A gift for someone special, I presume?”

Edward hesitated. His grip tightened imperceptibly around the edge of the counter before he forced a neutral expression.

“Something of the sort.”

The man gave him a knowing smile and reached beneath the counter, pulling out a length of silk ribbon the color of deep burgundy and a square of parchment paper.

“Would you care to add a note into the volume before I wrap it, my lord?”

Edward’s pulse quickened.

A note.

Yes, of course. He could not simply hand her an empty book without giving her a reason to keep it.

“I would,” Edward said, his voice steady. “Might I borrow a quill and ink?”

The clerk nodded and slid a fresh quill and inkwell across the counter.

Edward turned the notebook toward him, carefully opening to the first page.

He exhaled slowly, his mind racing with words that would never suffice. He could not tell her everything—not yet. But he could tell her something.

Dipping the quill into the ink, he let the words flow onto the page in his measured script:

“To the woman who will capture everything in the world, including my own heart. Here is something for your travels . ”

Edward stared at the words for a long moment, his breath uneven.

It was bold.

Perhaps too bold.

But then again—had he not wasted enough time in hesitation?

He quickly signed his name below before he could think too much about it.

He set the quill down, let the ink dry for a moment before closing the book. With practiced efficiency, the man wrapped the book with care, tying it with a neat bow.

Sliding it back across the counter, he met the shopkeeper’s gaze. “Thank you very much.”

The man inclined his head. “It is my pleasure, my lord.”

Edward paid him and left the shop with the package tucked beneath his arm. The carved duck was in his pocket and he set off toward the tea shop.

The house party was over, their alliance was no longer in effect, and he was ready to propose a new arrangement—one built not on pretense, but on something real. Even if he had to wait.

Edward reached the bustling square, his eyes scanning the street for Olivia. He’d gone into the tea shop and was informed that Olivia was still outside. He held the wrapped notebook and the duck in his hand, anticipating giving her the small tokens and saying his goodbyes.

And then—he saw her on the other side of the street.

She was a vision. He stepped forward, but then stopped.

Across the way, standing near a smartly dressed gentleman.

Edward stilled. His pulse stopped.

The man leaned in close—too close.

Then, he pressed a kiss to Olivia’s cheek.

The blow landed somewhere in Edward’s chest. His hand clenched around the notebook.

A woman from the house party, Miss Harper, stepped up beside him, her voice bubbling with excitement.

“Isn’t it the most wonderful news?”

Edward’s throat tightened. “What news?”

“Lady Olivia’s former fiancé has returned—to win her back.”

Edward swallowed hard. “Her former fiancé?”

Miss Harper nodded enthusiastically. “Mr. Rotwell. Her brother, Lord Ainsworth, is here as well, and they will all be traveling together. They will sail to France first. Isn’t it romantic?”

Romantic?

Edward’s carefully constructed speech unraveled in his mind, piece by piece. The confession, the offer, the plan. All of it—useless now.

Of course. Of course.

His heart had been a fool to hope.

Olivia had told him from the very beginning—she was not interested.

And he had nearly made a complete fool of himself.

He forced a smile, nodded, tamped down every ounce of the disappointment threatening to rise up and choke him. Time, it seemed, had betrayed him, and played favoritism to the past relationship.

He swallowed. “That is excellent news,” he said, his voice even. “I wish them both every happiness.”

The words burned as they left his tongue.

Miss Harper beamed, clearly unaware of the fracture forming inside him.

He turned slightly, inhaled deeply, then glanced at the notebook and duck in his hands.

A gift meant for someone who no longer needed it.

He exhaled slowly. “Would you do me a kindness, Miss Harper?”

She perked up. “Of course, Lord Cheshire.”

“I had planned to give Lady Olivia a small token,” he said, extending the carved duck. “Would you deliver it for me?”

Miss Harper took it eagerly, but before he could withdraw his hand, she snatched the notebook from his grasp as well.

“I’m certain she will be delighted.”

Edward almost protested. Almost .

But what was the point?

He had already lost.

“Thank you, Miss Harper.”

Miss Harper tilted her head. “Are you sure you do not wish to deliver it yourself?”

He shook his head. “I must make haste to see my brother.” Hopefully Alexander would have some wise words for him for this moment.

“Very well, Lord Cheshire. I will deliver it.”

With a sharp bow, he turned on his heel and strode back toward his horse in the opposite direction. He sent a prayer of thanks heavenward that he did not have to cross her path to get to his horse. He did not want to be introduced to the man who had won her heart. It was much better to leave before that embarrassment had happened.

The sooner he arrived at Alexander’s estate, the better. He needed to put distance between himself and this town, this house party, and Olivia.

Edward swung himself onto the saddle, adjusting the reins. His jaw was tight, his heart an uncomfortable weight in his chest.

One last time, he let his gaze drift back toward the tea shop, where Olivia was still standing, smiling at her former fiancé.

He turned away, pressed his heels to his horse, and rode hard.