Page 6 of An Alliance with the Earl (Marrying for Love #5)

CHAPTER SIX

T he breakfast room was nearly empty by the time Olivia set aside her napkin and took a final sip of tea. The sunlight streamed through the tall windows, illuminating the remnants of a leisurely morning repast—the silver trays on the sideboard now half-cleared, with only a few pastries and slices of ham remaining. A footman discreetly moved through the room, gathering the abandoned plates and refilling a lone porcelain teapot left steaming on the table.

With the morning largely passed, Olivia found herself uncertain as to what the day might hold. She had spent the earlier hours sketching in the moonflower garden, and now, with no clear direction on what activities had been arranged, she hesitated. Would the guests be left to their own devices? Or had Lady Lansdowne, ever the vigilant hostess, already devised a scheme to keep them all engaged?

Her musings were interrupted by the arrival of Lord Cheshire.

“Lady Olivia,” he greeted, inclining his head in a polished bow before taking the chair opposite her. He was impeccably dressed for the morning, his waistcoat of hunter green embroidered subtly with gold thread, and his cravat arranged with studied carelessness.

“Lord Cheshire,” she replied, noting the slight amusement in his expression, as though he had come upon some particularly diverting thought.

“I find myself in the enviable position of delivering news,” he began. “While you were lost to the artistic world this morning, the rest of the house party has been divided into groups. Some have chosen to ride out toward the hunting lodge, while others have opted for an expedition to the lake, with the intent to fish.” He paused, watching her reaction. “I was, of course, honor-bound to ensure that you had not been assigned to some dreadful occupation against your will.”

“And what of the unfortunate souls who did not have an advocate such as yourself?” she asked archly, the corner of her lips lifting.

He put a hand to his heart with mock sincerity. “I shall pray for them.”

She gave a soft laugh. “And do I have a choice in the matter? Or has my fate already been sealed by Lady Lansdowne?”

“You have every choice, I assure you.” His blue eyes glinted with humor. “So tell me, Lady Olivia, if you could spend your morning as you pleased, what would you do?”

She tilted her head in consideration. “I believe I should like to take a boat to the small island in the lake and perhaps do a bit of sketching there.”

Lord Cheshire’s brows lifted, a pleased expression overtaking his features. “An excellent choice. I shall arrange it at once.”

She blinked. “Will you accompany me?”

“I would not entrust your safety to anyone else,” he replied smoothly, though there was an unmistakable warmth behind the jest.

A few minutes later, with bonnet and hat secured, they departed the house, taking the winding path down toward the serene waters of the lake. Mrs. Morris followed them at a discreet distance. The air was crisp, touched with the scent of wildflowers and damp earth, and the gentle lapping of water against the dock reached Olivia’s ears as they neared the rowing boats moored along the shore.

Once they were at the lake, Mrs. Morris sat at the edge of the water on a bench. “I believe I will enjoy my time quite comfortably from here,” she said.

Olivia smiled at her. “Thank you, Mrs. Morris. We shan’t be long.”

“Take your time dears. I have a book with me and should love the opportunity to read several chapters in the outdoors.”

Lord Cheshire led her to a fine wooden skiff, polished and sturdy, and extended his hand to assist her aboard. Once seated, he took up the oars, the smooth pull of the strokes gliding them across the still lake toward the wooded isle in the distance.

It was not until they were a good way from shore that he spoke again.

“I should like to inform you,” he said conversationally, “that our plan is already in motion.”

She turned toward him, brows raised. “What do you mean?”

He lowered his voice, though there was no one around on the lake. “I have secured Lady Lansdowne’s approval for us to be paired together in the coming days.”

She blinked. “Already?”

He nodded. “It was a necessary measure. She is highly strategic when it comes to matchmaking, and I did not wish to leave our arrangement vulnerable to outside forces.”

Olivia absorbed this, considering. “Did she question you?”

“Naturally.” His voice carried a note of amusement. “And you may be pleased to know that before she would even consider such an arrangement, she demanded that I give some admirable reason for my preference.”

Olivia’s heart skipped a beat. “And what did you tell her?”

Lord Cheshire’s expression was unreadable, save for the trace of a smile that played at his lips. “I told her that you were a lovely artist, and that I had come across you this morning in the moonflower garden, where we spoke briefly and you graciously showed me your sketches.”

She stared at him, astonished. “You told her about that?”

“I omitted certain details,” he assured her. “Our true arrangement remains undisclosed. But you should know that Lady Lansdowne is no fool. You will not be able to fabricate something about me should she question you. It would be prudent for us to know something of each other.”

Olivia considered this. “Are you suggesting we undergo some sort of preparatory study of one another?”

“I believe it would be wise,” he said, eyes twinkling. “Should we be forced to demonstrate any sort of convincing attachment, I should at least like to know whether you prefer coffee or tea in the mornings.”

She gave him a speculative glance. “And how shall we go about this? Am I to conduct an interrogation, or shall I simply listen as you compose a grand narrative of your own importance?”

He leaned back slightly, tilting his head. “Why not both?”

She laughed. “Very well, then. What shall you tell me of yourself?”

He smirked, gaze turning thoughtful. “Hmm … let us see. I have a brother who, though he looks like me, is vastly different in disposition. I once accidentally won a fencing match by sneezing at the precise moment my opponent lunged. I can play the violin terribly, but the piano quite well. And when I was ten, I attempted to befriend a fox cub, only to discover its mother was not in favor of such a friendship.”

Olivia’s laughter rang out over the water. “You expect me to believe any of this?”

“I assure you, all of it is true.”

“You do not expect me to believe that you won a fencing match by sneezing?”

“I would not lie to my dearest confidante.” He placed a hand over his heart with an expression of mock solemnity.

She shook her head, eyes dancing. “You are quite absurd, Lord Cheshire.”

“And yet, here you are, in a boat with me, seeking my company, and being in an alliance with me. Who is the absurd one—the one who is absurd, or the one who spends time with the absurd?”

She laughed, conceding the point. “I believe I shall have to remain ever vigilant, lest I fall victim to one of your outrageous fabrications.”

Lord Cheshire chuckled, his oars dipping rhythmically into the water as they neared the small island shore. “It is merely one of my many charms, Lady Olivia.”

She exhaled in a huff of amusement. “I shall reserve judgment on that matter.”

As the boat glided to the bank, Olivia stepped onto the soft earth, inhaling the fresh scent of the lake air. A cool breeze rustled the leaves above them, sending dappled patterns of light across the water’s surface.

She turned back toward him, a smile still lingering on her lips. “Shall we begin our adventure, then?”

He extended a hand, his eyes warm. “I thought we already had.”

The moment Olivia stepped onto the small island, she was struck by the serenity of the place. A copse of trees formed a natural barrier around the grassy clearing, their branches swaying gently in the morning breeze. The water shimmered in the sunlight, casting golden ripples along the shore. It was quiet, save for the occasional birdsong and the soft rustling of leaves.

Lord Cheshire followed her lead, his steps deliberate as he surveyed their surroundings. “I must admit, Lady Olivia, this is a rather fine spot you’ve chosen. I can see why you wished to come here.”

She smiled. “It is quite perfect, isn’t it?”

“I imagine you are already selecting which corner of this fine island you will immortalize in your sketchbook.”

“Indeed, though I am spoiled for choice,” she admitted, tilting her head as she studied the landscape. “But before I do, I believe you had promised to learn more about me. What shall you ask?”

Lord Cheshire clasped his hands behind his back, a thoughtful expression crossing his features. “Very well, let us start with something most pressing—have you ever attempted to befriend a fox cub?”

She let out a soft laugh. “I have not, I fear. My childhood was woefully devoid of daring encounters with wild creatures.”

“A pity,” he said, shaking his head in mock solemnity. “I had thought to find a kindred spirit. But perhaps it is for the best. The fox’s mother was quite unsympathetic to my attempts at fostering friendship.”

Olivia gave him a pointed look. “I should think she would be.”

He chuckled. “Indeed. I did not press the acquaintance after that.”

They walked further inland, the grass soft beneath their feet. Olivia’s fingers twitched toward her satchel, where her sketchbook and pencils were tucked away. Lord Cheshire, perceptive as ever, caught the movement and smiled.

“Would you like to sit and sketch?” he asked. “I have a distinct suspicion that you would.”

Her eyes twinkled. “I would. If that would be agreeable to you?”

“I should like nothing better,” he assured her. “Come, let us find a suitable spot.”

He led her toward a wooden bench, partially shaded by a tree, its branches casting delicate patterns of light and shadow across the ground. Olivia settled herself upon it, drawing out her sketchbook and charcoal pencils, while he took a moment to wander a short distance away. When he returned, he held a piece of wood in one hand and a small pocket knife in the other.

She raised a brow. “And what, pray, do you intend to do with that?”

“I shall whittle,” he said simply.

She let out a small laugh. “You whittle?”

“I have many hidden talents, Lady Olivia,” he said with mock seriousness. “Some might call me a man of unparalleled skills.”

“Some?” she echoed, amused.

“My mother, certainly,” he admitted. “My brother, however, would say I am quite useless at anything truly practical. The truth, I suspect, is somewhere in between.”

Olivia shook her head and returned her attention to her sketchbook, letting her pencil glide over the page in slow, deliberate strokes.

The steady rasp of a blade against wood filled the air, rhythmic and unhurried. Olivia glanced up from her sketchbook, watching as Lord Cheshire sat a few paces away on a fallen log, his long legs stretched out comfortably before him, as he focused on the piece of wood that was becoming an odd shape. Shavings curled at his feet, catching the dappled afternoon light filtering through the trees. He seemed content in the silence.

She hadn’t expected him to be the sort of man who whittled. Then again, there were many things about him she hadn’t expected.

“What are you making?” she asked, shifting slightly to take a closer look.

He didn’t look up.“That is an excellent question.”He turned the block over in his palm, studying it as if he had no idea himself.“At present, it appears to be an unfortunate-looking dog. Or possibly a misshapen horse.”

Olivia bit back a smile.“So, a masterpiece in progress.”

“Indeed.”His knife scraped gently against the wood again.“Though, if Lady Lansdowne asks, you must say I was crafting something meaningful. A swan, perhaps. Or a delicate rose.”

She smirked.“You expect me to lie?”

“I expect you to be kind.”He finally glanced up, a spark of mischief in his eyes.“Speaking of which, what shall I tell Lady Lansdowne about you when she inevitably inquires?”

Olivia sighed, flipping a page in her sketchbook.“Must she inquire about me at all?”

“Oh, most certainly.”He tilted his head.“And when she does, I should like to have something unique to tell her.”

She arched a brow.“You could say that I sketch.”

He scoffed.“Too simple. She already knows that.”

“That I enjoy travel?”

“Also too predictable.”He tapped the end of the knife against the wood, his blue eyes dancing.“Come now, Lady Olivia. There must be something about you that would surprise even the ever-curious Lady Lansdowne.”

Olivia pursed her lips. She didn’t particularly enjoy being pressed, but there was something about the way he asked, the genuine interest in his expression, that made her pause.

Finally, she said,“I don’t like cut flowers.”

Lord Cheshire blinked.“I beg your pardon?”

She smoothed her hand over the page of her sketchbook, tracing the edge of the paper.“I don’t like cut flowers,”she repeated simply.

He leaned forward slightly, as if waiting for her to admit she was joking.“That cannot possibly be true.”

“And why not?”

“Because it is positively un-English.”He gestured vaguely to the vast green surroundings, the wildflowers blooming at the edge of the clearing.“Flowers are meant to be gathered, arranged, displayed.”

“Flowers are meant to be appreciated where they grow.”

He leaned forward and studied her.“You mean to tell me you have never accepted a bouquet?”

“Oh, I have.”She flipped open her sketchbook, scanning the pages before stopping on a delicate rendering of a wild rose.“But I’ve never liked it. It seems selfish to take from a garden just to watch something wilt. I prefer to admire them where they belong.”

His gaze flickered to the drawing.“That is a rather tragic way of looking at it.”

She smiled faintly.“Or perhaps I find them more beautiful when they are left to thrive.”

He exhaled a soft breath.

She turned another page, revealing a series of botanical sketches, each meticulously detailed.“I prefer to draw them as they are.”She pointed to one of the pages, where the delicate curls of bluebells arched toward the ground.“These, I found near the wood’s edge after a storm. The petals were weighed down with rain, so I sketched them as they were—heavy, bending, but still lovely.”

She flipped to another, a spray of Queen Anne’s lace, its tiny white blossoms captured with exquisite detail.“These I found along a country lane. I sat on a stone wall for nearly an hour, watching how they moved in the wind.”

Lord Cheshire leaned closer, his gaze sweeping over the pages with an intensity she hadn’t expected.

Then she turned to the last drawing.

It was different from the others. More delicate. More carefully rendered. A white flower with long, elegant petals, stretching outward like a starburst.

“This one…”She hesitated, glancing down at it.“I don’t even know what it’s called. I’ve only seen it a handful of times.”

He studied the drawing, his brow furrowing slightly.“It looks almost like a lily.”

She nodded.“I think so, but not quite. The petals are thinner. I’ve never found it in the same place twice.”

There was something wistful in her voice, and she didn’t entirely know why.

She traced the edge of the page.“I like to think that someone else will find them, too. That they will stop and look, just as I did, and appreciate them for what they are.”

Lord Cheshire was quiet for a moment, his gaze flicking between the sketch and her face.“You don’t just observe things, Lady Olivia. You preserve them.”

Her breath caught slightly.

She had never thought of it that way before.

Slowly, she shut the sketchbook, resting it in her lap.“Perhaps.”

He held her gaze for a second longer before leaning back, resuming his slow, deliberate carving.“Well,”he said at last, his tone lighter,“I shall be certain to tell Lady Lansdowne that you are an enemy of florists everywhere.”

Olivia laughed, shaking her head.“And I shall tell her that you are a menace to woodcarving.”

“Then we are evenly matched.” He chuckled, brushing the excess shavings from his lap.

“How fortunate for us both,” she said, opening her sketchbook to a fresh page, and capturing the scene before her.

“You have a remarkable skill,” he said after a few moments of silence. “I am impressed.”

She smiled. “I thank you, my lord, but I doubt I could claim such high praise.”

“And yet,” he mused, “I find myself utterly captivated by the ease with which you capture a scene. That is no small talent.”

A warmth spread through Olivia at the sincerity of his words. “It is simply something I enjoy.”

“Then I envy you,” he said lightly. “For not all men are fortunate enough to have a talent they enjoy.”

She glanced at him curiously. “And what do you enjoy?”

He paused his whittling, considering. “Music.”

“Music? Do you care to elaborate? That is hardly specific,” she said, giving him the same look he’d given her.

He nodded. “My sisters are exceptionally talented at the pianoforte. My family home was never without music—some lively tune always played in the drawing room or echoing through the halls.”

She hesitated. She didn’t have to admit anything, but she felt she should at least let him know. Clearing her throat, she said, “I never quite took to music.”

Lord Cheshire’s brows lifted. “Not at all?”

She smiled, slightly abashed. “I have always been more drawn to books and sketching than to the pianoforte or singing. It was a disappointment to my governess.”

He chuckled. “Ah, yes. The dreaded governess disapproval. I know it well.”

She tilted her head. “Were you not a dutiful student?”

He gave a dramatic sigh. “I fear I was rather restless in my studies.”

“Restless?”

“Utterly incorrigible,” he admitted. “My tutor once declared I had the attention span of a sparrow. Your drawings take an attention span of something far greater. Perhaps a robin.”

Olivia let out a soft laugh, the sound light and genuine. He glanced up at her and smiled.

“I shall take that as a compliment,” she said, sketching a few final lines before holding up her drawing for him to see.

The page depicted the lake, the distant manor house, and even a small boat tethered near the island’s shore. He pointed to the small detail in the foreground—a fallen branch with a pocket knife beside it, half-whittled wood shavings scattered at its base.

He blinked. “You drew that just now?”

She nodded. “I found it amusing.”

Lord Cheshire grinned. “I shall have to be more mindful of what I leave in your view, lest I find all my idiosyncrasies captured in ink and charcoal.”

“It is an artist’s duty,” she said primly, “to observe and record.”

He smirked. “I should consider myself fortunate, then, that you have not yet captured my more ridiculous expressions.”

“Oh, but I have,” she teased, tapping a page she had yet to show him.

He laughed. “You are utterly delightful.”

As the morning stretched on, Olivia sketched several more drawings, while Lord Cheshire continued to whittle away at his piece of wood. Their conversation wove in and out of stories—tales from their childhoods, mischiefs, and dreams for the future.

It was, in all respects, a perfect morning.