Page 8 of An Alliance with the Earl (Marrying for Love #5)
CHAPTER EIGHT
T he next morning, the gentlemen all went riding early. It explained why Olivia hadn’t seen Lord Cheshire this morning in the moonflower garden. Not that she had expected to see him there every morning. But she had hoped he would join her again. She’d made it a point to sketch there for over an hour. But when she came in for breakfast, she was given the news that all the gentlemen had gone for a ride and would be expected to return sometime after tea.
When Olivia was alone with Mrs. Morris in the drawing room, Mrs. Morris set down her embroidery hoop with an air of satisfaction and folded her hands. She regarded Olivia with the keen perception of a woman tasked with ensuring a favorable match. Olivia averted her gaze, but braced herself for the conversation she knew would inevitably come.
“I must say, Lady Olivia, I have observed your interactions with Lord Cheshire these past few days,” she began, her voice full of undisguised interest, “and I should very much like to hear your thoughts on him.”
Olivia, seated by the hearth with her sketchbook resting in her lap, carefully turned a page, pretending to study one of her drawings. She did not look up. “Oh?”
Mrs. Morris pursed her lips, her brow lifting in that particular way Olivia recognized—a signal that the woman was not to be put off by nonchalance.
“Yes, my dear. I am rather curious to know what you think of him.”
Olivia made a sound of polite amusement, buying herself a moment to gather her response. It was not that she disliked Lord Cheshire. He was charming, engaging, entirely too quick-witted for his own good, and had proven himself a most entertaining companion. But to suddenly confess to tender sentiments after only a handful of days? It was absurd.
Ridiculous.
Utterly laughable.
But—she reminded herself—Mrs. Morris had been handpicked by her brother, and that meant she must tread carefully.
So, Olivia lifted her gaze, arranged her expression into something suitably contemplative, and let out a soft sigh, as though she were a young lady on the precipice of something altogether wonderful and overwhelming. After all that was the purpose of the alliance, was it not?
“I must confess, Mrs. Morris,” she said slowly, allowing the tiniest trace of wistfulness to seep into her tone, “Lord Cheshire is most agreeable.”
Mrs. Morris’s sharp eyes gleamed, and she tilted her head, waiting.
Olivia hesitated, then pressed her fingers lightly to her temple as though collecting her thoughts. “He is, of course, well-mannered, intelligent, and witty beyond measure.”
Mrs. Morris gave a slow nod of approval, watching her like a cat poised before a bowl of cream.
“He has a rather pleasing disposition,” Olivia continued, as if warming to the idea, “and I daresay I find his company most enjoyable.”
Mrs. Morris beamed. “Indeed? And do you believe that you might be forming an attachment to him?”
Olivia pressed her lips together, tilting her head as though considering the matter with great seriousness.
“I should not say an attachment just yet,” she replied smoothly. To be believable, she would need to show her interest and attachment by degrees. “But I believe I could be halfway there.”
Mrs. Morris positively glowed at the words, her satisfaction evident. “Excellent, my dear. It is only natural, given how much time you have spent together. The beginnings of love are often found in the smallest of moments.”
Olivia smiled serenely and inclined her head in gracious acknowledgment, but inwardly she was rolling her eyes so hard she feared she might strain something.
The beginnings of love?
After only a few days?
Utter nonsense.
She had learned that lesson already, and she would not—could not—be so foolish as to let flights of fancy overrule her common sense.
Love was not a whirlwind, nor was it found in mere days of pleasant conversation. Love, if it existed at all, was something that took years to prove itself. And no matter how well she and Lord Cheshire got along, she would not allow herself to fall into the trap of romantic delusions.
So, she merely smiled sweetly at Mrs. Morris and offered no further protest.
As long as her chaperone believed her to be on the path toward matrimony, the favorable report to her brother was assured.
And that was all that mattered.
After an hour of sketching, Olivia was growing restless. She longed for the outdoors and for a change in the scenery. She’d already sketched everything of interest in view. Other ladies were now in the room, busying themselves with embroidery, music, and even reading.
Mrs. Morris was in conversation with two other chaperones. When there was a lull in the conversation, Olivia found her opening. She leaned closer to her chaperone.
“I should like to take a walk in the gardens, if that is agreeable to you,” Olivia said casually. “I will stay close.”
Mrs. Morris, settling into a chair, regarded her with a discerning eye before nodding. “I prefer the indoors for the moment, if that is acceptable.”
Olivia’s lips twitched. She did not wish to pull Mrs. Morris from her engaging conversations, and she could get along just fine in the gardens without a chaperone. “I would not dare to deny you the comfort of a warm hearth and excellent embroidery light.”
Mrs. Morris sniffed, though there was a trace of amusement in her expression. “See that you do not linger too long.”
Olivia agreed and took her leave, stepping into the warm midday air. She quickly found her way to the spot that was becoming her favorite.
The Moonflower Garden looked vastly different beneath the noonday sun, its silvery blossoms now tightly closed, their nocturnal splendor hidden away. Yet even without their luminous glow, the garden retained a certain mystical charm, the hedgerows providing a sense of seclusion, the gentle trickle of the fountain lending a peaceful melody to the moment.
She wandered along the stone paths, her fingertips grazing the sculpted ivy along the trellises. She had intended to sketch, but instead, she found herself simply taking it in, committing the details to memory for another time.
A sound—a step upon the gravel—drew her attention. She turned just as Lord Cheshire emerged from the shaded archway, his gaze sweeping over the garden before settling upon her.
“I did not expect to find you here,” she said, tilting her head in mild surprise.
He smiled, his demeanor pleasantly unhurried. “A groom took my horse, and while the other gentlemen have already returned inside, I thought a walk might do me good.”
Olivia gestured to the empty space around them. “You seem to have chosen an excellent place for it.”
He inclined his head. “That is thanks to you, Lady Olivia. Though I have seen this garden many times before, I confess your excitement for this spot has drawn me here again.”
She smiled. “I find I am enjoying it during different times of the day, but the evening and the very early morning is still my favorite time to see it.”
He glanced at the sketchbook tucked under her arm. “You are not drawing?”
She exhaled. “I had considered it, but I find myself merely observing.”
He held out his arm. “Would you like to merely observe together and take a turn about the moonflower garden?”
A tremor of excitement filled her as she looped her arm through his. “I should enjoy that, Lord Cheshire.” They walked and soon she asked, “Did you have a good ride this morning?”
“Indeed I did. It gave me a lot of time to think.”
“And what were you thinking about?”
His gaze was searching, thoughtful. “I was wondering about your story. There is a question that keeps coming to mind. Would you permit me to ask it?”
She arched a brow, intrigued. “Only if I may refuse to answer, my lord.”
“I should never force you to answer a question.”
“Very well. What is it you would like to know?”
He hesitated, as though choosing his words carefully, then asked, “Why is it, do you think, that you are so opposed to matrimony?”
Olivia stilled, surprised by his directness.
He continued before she could interject. “I understand your brother’s coercion and your desire to see the world. I understand why our arrangement makes this time bearable for you. But still, I cannot help but wonder—” he paused, studying her expression, “—why are you so adamantly against it?”
She forced a light laugh, though it was somewhat hollow. “I should think the reasons you listed are quite enough.”
He did not press her, but neither did he look convinced. “You would make an excellent wife, you know.”
Her arm gripped his with more firmness than before. Lord Cheshire was unknowingly hitting on a wound. But he couldn’t possibly know that. She swallowed. “You are generous to say such things. Not everyone thinks so.”
Something shifted in his gaze, his usual teasing glint giving way to something more serious. “I believe there is a story you are not sharing.”
Before she could respond, the sound of approaching voices reached them. Olivia turned, spotting a pair of house guests meandering in their direction.
She turned back to Lord Cheshire, her eyes thoughtful. “I will answer your question, but not here.”
Without hesitation, he extended his other arm. “Shall we go this way?”
She hesitated for only a moment before nodding, and together they stepped away from the Moonflower Garden, falling into a steady, unhurried pace along the path.
For a while, they spoke of nothing of consequence, of morning rides and Lady Lansdowne’s planned festivities, but then, as they neared the lake’s edge, Lord Cheshire brought the topic back into focus.
“I still believe my ally is keeping something from me,” he mused, casting her a sideways glance.
Olivia exhaled slowly, and gazed at the rippling water ahead of them. There was no escaping it now.
She turned to face him. She held his gaze for a long moment, and whatever she saw there—kindness, understanding, something quiet and steady—made her decision for her.
“I fancied myself in love once,” she said softly. “It did not end well.”
A flicker of something passed through his sharp gaze, but he said nothing. He simply waited, his bright blue eyes never leaving her face.
She inhaled deeply, then continued. “It was a whirlwind romance—quick, passionate … foolish. I was young and naive, and I believed—” she broke off, pressing her lips together. “I believed he loved me.”
Lord Cheshire remained silent, his attention wholly hers.
“My dowry, it seems, was the object of his true affection,” she admitted, forcing a wry smile. “Or at least, that is the kindest explanation I can give for what happened.”
Lord Cheshire’s brows furrowed slightly, his expression unreadable.
She exhaled. “He never showed up on the day of our wedding.” She held his gaze without looking away, waiting for him to laugh.
But Lord Cheshire did not laugh. He didn’t move, except for a small muscle in his jaw that tensed.
“It was humiliating,” she admitted, her voice dropping lower. “It was the sort of scandal whispered behind fans at balls, the kind that made one the subject of quiet pity.” She shook her head, a frown pulling at the corners of her mouth. “I never wish to go through that again.”
A long pause followed.
Lord Cheshire finally spoke, his voice gentle but firm. “It was an unfair lot that was dealt to you.”
Olivia exhaled a quiet laugh, though it was more a breath than a sound. “That is my sad tale, my lord. And that is why I do not believe attachments can be formed in so short a time. People’s true characters cannot be known or trusted so quickly.”
There was another pause. Then, slowly, Lord Cheshire reached out, his hand resting lightly upon her shoulder.
“I hope that it will not dictate the rest of your future. It is the second arrow, you see,”he added cryptically.
She turned to look at him, brows slightly drawn in question. “I beg your pardon?”
“The first arrow is the one that strikes—”His lips twitched, amusement dancing in his eyes.“Though in your case, perhaps a poor metaphor, given your recent showing in the archery tournament.”
A laugh of disbelief escaped her, and she shoved his shoulder lightly.“That was not a gentlemanly remark, Lord Cheshire.”
He chuckled, hands lifted in mock surrender.“I shall strive to redeem myself.”
She huffed but gestured for him to continue his explanation.
“The second arrow,”he said, his expression more serious,“is the one that wounds, not because it is loosed from the bow, but because it is held too long in the quiver.”
She frowned slightly.“I do not follow.”
He tilted his head, considering his words.“The first arrow is the one you expect—the initial sting of failure, of disappointment. You feel it, but you brace for it. It is the second arrow, the one you never release, that does the most harm. The one you carry long after the battle is over, fearing that if you let it fly, it will only miss its mark again.”
His gaze softened, his voice quieter now.“But you are not the same archer who first took aim, Lady Olivia. And if you never draw the bow again, how will you ever know if you would have hit your mark?”
A strange tightness settled in her chest, something deeper than mere reflection—something uncomfortable, yet… necessary.
“I had never considered that before,”she admitted, her voice softer now. She exhaled, her gaze returning to the lake.“I will have to think on that.”
Lord Cheshire studied her a moment, then offered a small smile.
“Do,”he said simply.
They walked back toward the house, a comfortable silence settling between them as she turned his words over in her mind.
They were almost back when she glanced up at him.“And what is your second arrow, my lord?”
“What do you mean?”
“Why is it that you avoid matrimony with such a passion that you are willing to play this charade?”
“I—it is not the same for me.”
“I imagine it wouldn’t be. But as you are my ally …” She let the sentence dangle in the air.
Before he had time to answer, Lady Lansdowne came into the garden path, just as they were entering into the upper gardens. She waved them over to herself. “You are just the two I was hoping to find. I wonder if both of you would join me as I make the final preparations for the musicale scheduled tomorrow evening?”
Though Lady Lansdowne smiled through her question, Olivia could feel that this was not a request to be dismissed.
Dread like ice settled in her chest. She did not want to play, but perhaps by joining Lady Lansdowne about the arrangements, she could see to it that she wouldn’t have to be part of it.