Chapter Four
Ben, annoyed and impressed: "I am not sure it warrants a noteworthy accomplishment of a lady if she is able to belch louder and longer than her male best friend."
Griff: "Well, it should."
(B & G conversation on the topic of Female Accomplishments 12 years prior)
Laughter lingered under the branches of an apple tree where they sat on a blanket, enjoying the spread that Oliver had prepared. They were deep into the orchard, part of the property owned by the Stuart family who grew these particular apples for the cider Haventry was renowned for, albeit not prolifically considering cider was only moderately favoured in polite society. The trees spanned in neat rows for what seemed like endlessly.
It had rained the previous day and the ground had not yet dried adequately, but neither Amy nor Oliver seemed to mind. He had provided a substantial lunch for them of bread and fruits, a few sweet pastries, as well as chicken- an abundance of pies and roasted poultry as a nod to the grudge he still harboured for Henivieve- and a good quantity of wine that they were sharing between them.
"It was your fault, you know," Oliver told her, arching his brows high. Amy always found it peculiar that his eyebrows were a shade darker than the stubborn shock of auburn hair atop his head.
"Now you are being unfair," she said. "I had no hand in the poor girl's incident. That was all on you!"
"Griff, you showed me the scoresheet. I never asked."
She squirmed at the small amount of guilt for ever having shown Oliver what she had found in the archives of Mr Coppinger's bookstore. Amongst tomes of literature comprised of science, history, arithmetic and the arts, there had also been pamphlets and old reports of famous musical composers and their notable works and... less notable works.
The future Earl of Gravewood was prone to bouts of misconduct and unfortunately she had provided him with the perfect introduction to one.
For Amy had inadvertently stumbled across a publication of one of Mozart's canons that had added notes of the originally intended lyrics of the score. It had taken some time for her to decipher the German used in the texts, but once she had shown Oliver- who was clearly more adept at languages than she- the difference between the two became clear. The first was published as "Laßt froh uns sein" and translated as Let us be glad- a harmless melody she had heard sung before though not as frequently as other canons. However, it was the amended notes of the publication that claimed the original lyrics of the canon were in actual fact "Leck mich im Arsch".
Amy should never have shown the incorrigible man her findings because he had immediately taken them with him to London and subjected them on his would-be intended, Augusta Fleetwood. Even though, from what Oliver had confided in Amy during their brief and disastrous courtship, the young girl did not aspire to marry him, her father had been enforcing the match since Miss Augusta had been in her leading strings. And Oliver held no intention to marry her either though he had hoped by behaving deplorably in polite company would compel her to cry off and thus save her reputation rather than he refusing to marry her.
However, it was with the finding of the obscene (Amy found it hilarious but she only ever admitted it to Oliver) canon that Miss Augusta's tether to Lord Oliver Hollingsworth had been severed. Thankfully the evening that the young, pretty London miss had chosen to sing the 'original' canon at Oliver's mild insistence had only a few acquaintances in attendance who were all duly horrified while Miss Augusta's pretty voice held notes perfectly to a most inappropriate song.
Needless to say, she had cried off after that.
And mothers tended to keep their suitable daughters away from him, too.
Which suited Oliver perfectly.
"You did not have to let her sing it though," she said, though her lips were trembling slightly. "I hope Miss Augusta's reputation is not in tatters."
He waved his hand negligently before leaning back on his elbows. The elegantly brocaded dark blue waistcoat he was wearing fell open slightly and his shirt was becoming more wrinkled the longer they remained outside, though he hardly seemed to care. "Augusta is perfectly fine," he admitted. "Her reputation as a proper young lady precedes her. The incident only served to render mine unfixable." His smile was positively wolfish then. "Besides, I believe she made quite the match this season. Her hand is promised to a viscount's heir, or so I'm told."
"Well I must say I am relieved to hear that," Amy admitted. "I would never have believed Mozart capable of composing such a thing, either. Are all men prone to vulgarity in the company of their friends?" She fiddled idly with some grapes that were set before her, watching the play of light that shifted across them restlessly as the branches of the tree swayed with the breeze. It reminded her of the lateness of the time, and she wondered at how quickly an entire day had slipped past. Even though the tasks and chores she needed to complete before tomorrow lingered heavily on her mind, she endeavoured to ignore them for now.
It was good to see Oliver again and simply laugh and enjoy the moments of the day, something that were few and far between of late.
The wine may have been helping with her assessment of things.
"You worry too much, Griff," Oliver said. "And yes." He was gazing at her discernibly and unwaveringly, and though his lip quirked slightly in his iconic smile, she rather believed that his first sentiment was intended seriously. "It seems as if every time I visit you have grown more sombre. I am beginning to miss the girl who never thought twice about jumping in mud puddles after a storm."
"That girl never thought about how much a new frock cost after it was ruined by mud," she said wryly. It was considered crass to talk about money, or lack of it, but Oliver knew almost everything she did to ensure that she thrived comfortably and that her mother was taken care of. "You make me sound like an old bore, Ben."
"Well, if the shoe fits-" A grape ricocheted off his forehead and bounced into the grass. "All I am saying is that it wouldn't hurt for you to live a little, take a little enjoyment for yourself once in awhile-"
"Bold of you to assume I do not enjoy myself," she retorted, tossing another grape at him. He attempted to catch it with his mouth but missed, the tiny green orb disappearing over his shoulder.
"That is not what I mean." He paused, considering her intensely once more. His long legs stretched out before him, crossed negligently at the ankles. "You should reconsider accompanying me to London."
"I cannot." She shook her head quickly. London was not a possibility, she could hardly consider it. Even though she had a fair amount of savings put aside that she was keeping to eventually acquire the bookshop, the sum that she would lose by taking a week hiatus from her day-to-day existence in Haventry would set her back tremendously. "You know this."
"I believe you can, though." As the sun began to lower and the sky pinkened with the dwindling light of dusk, Oliver Hollingsworth's eyes glimmered with anticipation that Amy should have felt wary of. "Look, I'll make a wager with you for it."
She almost choked at that. "A wager? To get me to London?"
"Certainly. If I win, of course."
"And if I win? You know very well you hardly have anything that I could possibly want," she scoffed, prepared to dismiss the notion entirely.
"I shall join you every day for the Apple Festival," he said seamlessly. "And bequeath Hamletta with four kisses a day."
This made her hesitate slightly. Oliver's presence at the harvest would surely cause more of a turnout that anticipated as villagers would be eager to interact with their future earl and the image of him bestowing favour on their most prized pot-bellied pig could be quite the attraction. "Eight kisses," Amy said firmly.
"Granted."
"And the wager?"
He sat up then and procured a deck of cards from within the picnic basket. "Highest drawn card wins." At her sceptical expression, he added, "Best out of three?"
She rather felt that he was being fair considering he had chosen a game that evened the playing field as he was ostensibly smarter and faster than her, though she would never admit that outright to him. A game of chance would be the only way she would be able to best him- hopefully- rather than a game of wits or, God forbid, speed and physical agility.
"I'll even let you shuffle the deck," he said after her continued silence, handing her the cards.
Amy consented and began to shuffle them easily. "Why do I feel," she murmured after a moment as she completed the task, "that you are plotting something?"
"You tend to overthink these things," Oliver told her, but his smile did nothing to reassure her.
After shuffling the debris and food between them out the way, he settled the deck in the middle and gestured for her to start. "Draw a card, if you will."
"Why should I go first?" she protested suspiciously. "You go first."
He rolled his eyes and plucked the top card, laying it out beside the deck. Queen of hearts... damn. Amy glared at him while she chose the next card and revealed it to be the eight of spades.
"I do not like this game," she declared. "You have choused me!"
"You shuffled," he pointed out evenly. "Would you like to pick the next?"
"Yes," she grumbled, snatching the next card. "Ha! Jack of spades!"
His smile was unperturbed as he drew a three of diamonds and gestured for her to pick the next, even though she was preoccupied sticking her tongue out at him. When she did, her face fell.
"What is your card, Griff?"
"I don't want to say," she muttered, "I should draw again."
He laughed at that. "You are not a cheat. What is it?"
With a glare, she tossed down the five of diamonds between them and sulked. "Go on, draw your higher card then. I demand a rematch."
"Fair's fair," he said, revealing the ten of hearts he had just picked up. "Suppose you'll be accompanying me to London then."
"Another game," Amy demanded. She was being a brat but she had to at least try to best the damn man. "Winner takes all."
"Does that mean if I win you will accompany me to London and be kissing Hamletta every day?" Oliver teased.
"No!" Angrily, she glanced about the picnic for something that would surely give her a winning chance. "It's just a saying, I think. Ha!" She snatched up her wine glass and pointed at his. "First to finish the contents of their glass wins!"
"You are aware I could simply demand you accept the conditions of the previous game, Griff?"
"But you are very magnanimous and would never deny a lady anything," Amy remarked with a sly grin, handing him his own abandoned glass of wine. It was considerably fuller than hers and he noticed, quirking his brow high before yanking the bottle from the basket and topping both glasses until they were full.
Drat.
"Very well." Oliver tipped his glass against hers in silent salute before placing the wine to his lips.
Amy lost that challenge as well.
Tipsy, and held to the promise of venturing to the city, she began to toss grapes at him in earnest then. "You tricked me! I know it!"
"You chose the last challenge!"
"Yes, but-" she didn't know what to say at that so threw her last grape at him and folded her arms petulantly. Around them, the sounds of evening crickets came to life as the sun made its final dip and the sky blinked and glittered with stars. "I am wholly ill-equipped to deal with London society," Amy protested softly.
"You are making up excuses now."
"I am not. I hardly know how to behave like a proper lady anymore." At the disparaging sound he made, Amy looked at him askance. "It's true, Ben. I do not have a fitting gown to be seen in polite society other than these drab frocks I wear in Haventry."
"A problem that can be easily rectified. You know we do have a few decent modistes in the city."
The dryness of his tone made her roll her eyes. "Regardless, I'll embarrass you. I'm sure of it."
He laughed heartily at that. "I do that well enough on my own and there is nought you could do, I swear it."
Finally, her last mode of defence, she muttered, "And I cannot dance. How am I to attend a ball if I do not remember the steps to a quadrille or a waltz?"
"That is easily rectified." He rolled to his feet effortlessly and held out his hand to her. Amy stared at it as if he had offered her a piece of moulding bread. "Allow me to refresh your memory, Griff."
"What?"
"You are determined to find excuses," he said meaningfully, "allow me to dispute at least one of them."
"H-here?"
He glanced around and moved backwards slightly, his feet stirring the long grass about his ankles. The darkness around them flickered slightly and her eyes caught the tiny blinking lights of fireflies as they surrounded the trees and leaves of the orchard. "There's plenty of space," Oliver told her, reaching for her hand, and because the moment seemed almost too perfect, Amy didn't protest this time as he clasped her fingers and dragged her to her feet.
Guiding her away from the tree they had been under, he centred them between the two rows and slid his hand high on her waist, lifting the other higher.
"There is no music," Amy said, though she was smiling. She could hardly recall the last time she had danced, though she did remember that she had adored it.
"I think I can procure the steps to a waltz easily enough. All you need to do is follow my lead."
It took two or three jittery starts and stops where Amy tripped over his foot, her skirt, and collided with his chest, but once she relaxed and fell into his step, the memory of the waltz came easily to her. And it was mesmerizing, perhaps spurred on by the effects of the wine they had imbibed in abundance, simply twirling and moving with him gracefully under the stars, the fireflies heralding the blankets of shadows around them with their own splendour, and naught but their laughter and the crickets to guide their feet.
When he sensed her confidence and ease coming more naturally, he held her closer and spun her tighter, dipped her lower, laughing with her surprised gasps. Eventually their movements slowed entirely and Amy fell against him after his last twirl, grinning up into his face. She had not spent a day laughing and indulging for so long, she had forgotten the joy one could feel in the company of a someone they adored.
"I think," Oliver said, and his smile wasn't wry or jaunty but warm and admiring as he considered her, "you'll do just fine in London."
And right then, she believed him.