Chapter Five
Griff: "I do not see the need to marry. I am quite capable of taking care of both my mother and myself. A man would just be another mouth to feed, frankly."
Ben, after a mouthful of freshly baked bread: "A valid point."
(B & G conversation on the topic of marriage 7 years prior)
Two days later Oliver found himself in the dusty, cramped interior of Mr Coppinger's bookstore and somehow tricked into gluing pernickety pieces of parchment onto tiny jars and bottles.
Just how the devil Amy had convinced him to partake in this mundane activity he scarcely knew. The woman had a way about her- one moment he had simply been conversing merrily with her about the prospect of having Henivieve for dinner and then the next he was seated on a stool behind the counter and a tub of sticky liquid and a pile of papers had materialised before him.
"Should I be concerned that these say Haventry's Finest Love Potion on them?" he mumbled, squinting at one of the small vials he had held up and pressed almost to his nose.
"Oh, for-" Before he knew what she was about, she had slipped her hand inside his coat and fumbled with the pockets that lingered therein. He stiffened at the intrusion and almost dropped the little glass bottle.
"I've been violated and manhandled," he protested and she procured his spectacles and dumped them on his nose.
"There is nobody about," Amy said. "Just wear the damn things so you can at least see what you are doing. If you break one more bottle I'll be charging you for it."
He looked at the vial again that he had freshly labelled, his fingers almost sticking to it since he had managed to cover them prolifically with the substance. "Haventry's Finest Love Tonic," he read aloud, this time correctly. "I must say, I do prefer potion over tonic. This sounds like you are trying to cure an illness."
"Perhaps I am." Amy stretched languidly from where she had been buckled over the countertop, studiously writing out label after label for the 'tonics' she had been brewing for the festival in less than two weeks. It was naught else but flavoured, spiced and mulled cider and wine, though the notion was sure to compel all sorts to buy a sweetheart a bottle. Her arms raised above her head and she sighed, a delightfully husky sound of release, and the movement drew his gaze unconsciously to the rise of her breasts. Amy may be his best friend but he was well aware of how simply attractive she was. Besides, he could appreciate her for the pretty woman she had become and know that neither of them held out any intention to act on any sensation of attraction that may emerge, especially after the last laughable encounter when they had.
"Love is hardly a sickness," Oliver mumbled, dragging his eyes away as she lowered her arms once more and leaned her forearms back on the counter.
"Prove me wrong," Amy countered, tucking a stubborn dark curl behind her ear as she continued her task. His eyes were now drawn to the endearing view of her profile and the golden scattering of freckles that spanned over her high cheeks. Her curls were neat but bountiful and clearly fought insistently against the blue ribbon that held them at bay at the nape of her neck. In the position she held currently, her back sloped in a gentle curve as she leaned over her task, the generous roundness of her hips and backside-
Damn it.
He ran his hand through his hair, effectively smearing the glue stuck to his fingers now in his hair.
"Not that I have any experience on the topic," Amy continued, blithely and thankfully unaware of the disaster he was as he began to shake out his locks, "but it seems to me that once someone falls in love, they are hardly able to think of anything else. They become afflicted, in a sense."
He grunted, yanking ineffectually at a globule now almost dried through his locks. Oh, sure, on the vials it would take minutes of blowing and huffing on his part to get the gunk to set but the moment it touches his hair...
"And then," she mumbled, her fingers carefully writing out yet another label for one of her blasted glass jars, "God forbid you are struck with heartbreak, and I've been told that is truly worse than any illness or malady to ever befall a person."
Oliver inadvertently slapped his hand down on the countertop as he yanked quite possibly a large chunk of his hair out, thus ensuring those little labels she had been painstakingly creating now clung to his fingers. The motion caught her eyes and she frowned at him quizzically before a smile twitched her lips.
"If you laugh," Oliver warned her direly, "I will throw you in the well."
Even if she wasn't laughing, her brown eyes were as she stoically fought it off and they crinkled at the corners. Amy straightened and came over to him, peeling the three small parchment labels from his fingers first and then running her fingers through his hair with a gentleness that he had not embodied. "You needn't help me, you know," she told him and there was a teasing lilt to her voice. "I have already promised to go to London with you tomorrow. You have been quite persistent these last few days to... linger."
He supposed he had been hounding her a bit but since he had left London he had found himself rather unoccupied. Normally, he spent his time with his peers or handling matters of the estate with his father and currently the legalities pertaining to a criminal trial involving one of his close friends had required more of his attentions, though he certainly was not a barrister, he held a degree in civil law simply because he had a mind for it. For the first time in a while, Oliver found himself... not busy.
And as much as he adored Amy's company, the woman simply was always busy. Yesterday, he had spent his time harvesting herbs with her in order to maintain a conversation. The day before that he had tended to her garden, fought off an enraged Henivieve, fed Chomper some apples, and accompanied Amy to various villagers' homes where she took tea and biscuits to some of the more elderly, widowed, sickly and lonely residents.
Simply, he was astounded at her ability to maintain her relationships with the people she resided with and care as profoundly as she did. It was evident that everybody held her in high esteem and her role within the parish was recognised as one of leadership, especially since the vicar was almost too old to continue preaching.
"I wanted to do all those things with you," he said emphatically while her fingers carded his hair. It felt strangely good, whatever she was doing, and he rather felt like a cat getting its head scratched. Instead of purring and resting his head on her shoulder, which he was half inclined to attempt, he met her warm brown gaze and gave her an appreciative smile. She was so close to him the skirts of her very plain frock brushed against his thigh where he sat on the only stool behind the counter and scents of jasmine and something freshly baked with cinnamon from this morning wafted over him. "When was the last time we saw each other? June?"
She frowned prettily, tiny lines of discontent fixing between her brows while she scanned his hair she was ungluing and her lips puckered thoughtfully to one side. "March, I believe." Her eyes dropped to his once more as her hands dropped to her hips. "I think I've most of it out, though a warm bathe wouldn't go amiss." She tapped his spectacles, pushing them further up his nose. "When was the last time you got these adjusted, hmm?"
"Can't remember."
"Oliver." Her voice held an edge of warning. He knew she only meant the best but it was a sore point for him, the spectacles, the constant reminder that his eyesight was flawed and did not seem intent on improving considering the more he aged the more strain he felt. It hardly helped that Oliver was prone to academia... his strengths lay in reading and analysing, especially documents of a legal nature. He had always been top of his class and foremost of his peers at university- rationality, reasoning, studying came naturally to him. Cruel, wasn't it, that his eyes would betray him of his only strength.
"I'll see to it when we are in London," he promised, happy to brush off the topic. Amy would hound him otherwise. She was worse than his mother in that regard and the two of them together... ah, he almost groaned at the prospect. His mother loved Amy and was relishing the prospect of having her join them in London for their final week in the city.
"You know you look just as handsome with them as you do without," she said, raising her brows and stepping away from him.
If he found it odd that he suddenly missed her nearness, so he firmly ignored it and teased instead, "You admit I am handsome then?"
"Goodness sake, can we go one minute without pandering to your inflated sense of self?"
"No, I must be appeased."
She rolled her eyes and leaned over her work again. The storefront window was on the other side of her and outside there was a stream of grey rain making steady progress through the village of Haventry. It was sure to ruin the roads for their travel tomorrow he realised and made a note to arrange further convenience to ensure comfort, especially for Heather who would be joining them. "I'm sure you have mistress aplenty to do just that. Why badger me?"
"I have one and Helena is rather like you in that regard- refuses to acknowledge what's right before her."
"Sounds like a woman with much sense between her ears." She turned to give him a wry smile. "Perhaps you ought to marry this one?"
"I am too young to marry," he retorted. They both knew it was not the truth- Oliver held no intention to marry until he met a woman that made him want it. And since his parents were in good health and he the only heir to the Gravewood earldom, there was little rush as of yet in his eight and twenty years of life.
Amy continued to scrawl on a piece of parchment though she bit thoughtfully on her forefinger of her left hand that wore the only piece of jewellery he had ever seen on her- the small moonstone ring her father had left her- and there was a mirthful smile crooking the corner of her lips. "Perhaps you ought to be the first to sample the Haventry Love Tonic," Amy told him slyly.
"Rest assured, I will be the first to sample your wares," he murmured and she glanced at him sharply, well aware of his playful turn of phrase. Just as the door to the bookstore opened, snagging her shrewd glance away from him, Oliver tauntingly added, "again."
He knew she had heard him because there was a tell-tale blush darkening her neck and cheeks as she turned to the customer who had entered... for the seventh time that day. Miss Clarabelle Meyrick was one of the six available misses in Haventry and of the more persistent variety considering the miserable weather gracing the village that day and the sheer fact alone that this was now the fourth time she had called on the bookshop with no purchase having been made previously.
She was a pretty thing with blonde curls and dark brown eyes, a few years younger than Amy. From what his friend had told him about Clarabelle after the second time the young girl had made her appearance in Mr Coppinger's bookstore that day was that she had two seasons in London, but circumstances were very similar to Amy's- her parents were unable to afford another. Hence his decidedly available presence in the village was causing quite a stir.
He would have thought the weather would have put them off for the most part. However, Clarabelle shook off her sturdy parasol, droplets raining down and over them to the extent that Amy dove to cover her precious love potion labels, and Miss Meyrick beamed beatifically at Oliver. As he was a readily available and decidedly single earl, the village of Haventry had hardly been privy to his more scandalous misadventures in the city therefore he was rather sought out among the few country misses in the village.
"Clarabelle," Amy said begrudgingly from where she sprawled over the counter like a mother hen cradling her chicks under her wings, "what a surprise to see you. Again."
"I have news," the girl trilled, shook her parasol once more for good measure, and practically bobbed over to Amy with a nervous excitement only young and eager girls seemed to pull off so well. There was a reluctance to tear her gaze from Oliver and he realised why belatedly when he forgot to remove his spectacles... ah well, it was too late now, evidently, though the girl barely seemed to notice him a moment longer as she directed her next words to Amy. "A new vicar has arrived in Haventry!"
At that Amy frowned and straightened. "But we already have a vicar. Mr-"
"-Bickens shall retire within the next month!" Clarabelle sounded far too excited at the news considering aged Mr Bickens had been part of the community for as long as Oliver could remember in any event. "Mr Huntley is set to replace him and shall be joining our parish this week! I have on good authority from Miss Anna Smithies that he is very much the handsome country gentleman." At this she leaned over the counter closer to Amy and said on an animated whisper, "And very much available."
Amy's expression was an outward scoff as she gathered her supplies and neatly stored them under the counter, away from dripping and excitable country misses. Next she began to collect the vials and jars and bottles he had been painstakingly gluing (and ruining), leaning over his thighs and brushing against his body to do so. "He is to be our vicar, Clarabelle," Amy admonished lightly. "Allow the man at least a week's peace before chasing him off. Can you imagine the poor man's reaction to the attentions of Haventry's eligible ladies when he has joined our parish to provide us sermon and guidance?"
"Try not to be such a prude," Clarabelle reprimanded lightly.
Oliver nudged her slightly while she was still half leaned over him and she turned to give him a narrow-eyed glare. "Do try not to be a prude, dear," he agreed teasingly. It earned him an elbow in the thigh closest to her and he lurched forward in a kneejerk reaction, almost clamping her body between his. The sensation of her soft curves briefly falling atop his thighs was not unpleasant.
The glass vials tickled merrily as she straightened, glared at him for good measure though that tell-tale blush was blooming against her cheeks once more and he couldn't help the way her freckles seemed to darken with it- and turned back to Miss Clarabelle again. "We should all do our very best to comport ourselves with decorum and welcome Mr Huntley appropriately," she said and he almost smiled at her primness. "The Harvest Festival will be a suitable time to ensure our new vicar is well received among the parish."
"What a splendid idea! I believe Mr Bickens intends to introduce him to the parish this Sunday, but since you shall be in London you will no doubt miss the welcoming tea. Perhaps I should like to host the event, if you do not protest my-"
Amy smiled warmly at that while she was depositing the vials and jars into a sturdy container for safekeeping. "Clarabelle, I'd be more than happy-"
"Because I know you are always organising the teas and conduct the activities for our parish-"
Amy straightened, glanced at Oliver as if to say grant me patience and then grinned kindly at Clarabelle. If angel wings appeared behind her right then, Oliver would not have been surprised. "I have no qualms at all. I believe I have encouraged your participation in organising our events in the past. By all means, continue with this one for Mr Huntley. I am sure he will not be remiss to a welcoming tea after the sermon on Sunday."
Oliver rather thought that Mr Huntley may need more than a tea after one of Mr Bickens lengthy diatribes yet it was clear Clarabelle was more than ecstatic to have the honour of welcoming their new and eligible bachelor into Haventry.
Poor man.
"Of course, you will have to share responsibilities with Mrs Mary Townsend," Amy told her pointedly. "Mary is, after all, my co-chairperson for the parish community." She gave Oliver an insinuating look and he endeavoured to look perplexingly innocent against it.
"That is no bother at all," Clarabelle gushed. "I should love to further my acquaintance with Mrs Townsend."
"I am sure all will be in order until I return from London."
Clarabelle turned to Oliver at that, her huge brown eyes blinking at him coquettishly. She was a comely little thing but for whatever reason his sensibilities simply couldn't oblige her. Just as he could not oblige Miss Augusta Fleetwood, who his father had approved simply because the girl's father had been his best friend and would have made a profitable alliance, or any other woman who had crossed his path. They were all lovely in their own right and suitable for someone else, with their wit and charm and beauty, and truly he had met very accomplished, intelligent and forefront women. None had sparked that need within him though other than lust and mutual appreciation. He didn't crave their company, did not seek it out as actively as he should, and as he had watched his best friends succumb to it, friends who were very much like him and had a proclivity towards libertine ways and forward thinking, he knew that he needn't rush into decisions that he'd regret.
Augusta Fleetwood would have been a regret and he would never wish it upon the girl who had been rather sweet and fetching, though very young.
Amy was advising Clarabelle what cakes and pastries to serve at the tea and who to enquire about making them since she would be otherwise occupied, which brought him from his musings to consider her. She was taking an active interest in what the younger girl was telling her, nodding enthusiastically, providing guidance without sounding condescending, and it was something he appreciated about Amy- her inability to consider another below her acknowledgement.
After awhile the rain began to come down heavier and Clarabelle glanced outside worriedly. "Oh dear, I had best be on my way before this weather makes the roads impassable," she said, then curtsied to the both of them, launching her parasol out before her like a shield.
Amy considered her briefly as she disappeared into the turmoil, the sound of the storm like a perpetual pounding against the roofing and the ground about them. "I fear this weather may not let up," she mused, "and we are a mile away from the cottage and your carriage. And I was supposed to close the shop over an hour ago."
She was gnawing on her forefinger again, the moonstone glinting against the diminishing light. It would be unlikely they could make their way back to her cottage until the weather let up considering the state of the roads caused by the downpour, even if they were able to borrow a mount from a willing villager. Their best bet was to simply wait it out.
Oliver's grin almost hurt his cheeks it was so wide. "I'll buy us dinner at the Lucky Apple," he offered. "Hopefully by then the weather would have calmed and we can return to the cottage."
Amy hesitated because he knew she was recalling the last time they had frequented the one and only tavern in the village of Haventry. She had woken up cuddling a root of an apple tree and he had burnt the sole of his boots on a fire- how, he knew not.
However, the autumn English weather was conspiring against them and eventually Amy nodded in agreement.
The last memory he had of the evening was thinking how marvellous she looked with her hair unbound, the dark brown coils bobbing merrily about her face while her smile seemed to fill him with unspoken warmth and good cheer as she stared up at him, laughing.
There had been so much laughing.