She smiled guiltily and looked up above her head. “I jumped down from the tree. A limb caught my arm on my way down.”
“I see,” said Oliver, untying his cravat from around his neck. “Well, my dear, you must be more careful in the future.” He began tying his linen around her arm to contain the blood until he could get her back to the duchess.
“Why?” she asked, her big bright blue eyes shining up at him.
Oliver couldn’t help but laugh. “What do you mean, why? We must all be careful on adventures so we don’t get hurt.”
She gave a small pout. “You sound like Miss Emma.”
“Miss Emma sounds smart.”
“She’s boring.”
Again, he found himself smiling at the girl. “Boring perhaps, but also safe.”
Lady Elizabeth made a thinking noise as he finished off the bandage by tying a little bow. He felt proud of himself for how well he’d cared for the girl. He wished Mama could see him in that moment, and the thought filled Oliver with an ache.
“I don’t want to be safe. I want to be wild like a fox.”
“Hmm. Even if being a wild fox gets you more bloody scrapes such as this one?”
She smiled and stood, dusting off her skirts with her small hands. “Scrapes always heal. Even the bad ones.”
Oliver watched silently, and a little in awe, as the girl rushed off in the direction of the house. The large setting sun in front of her made her small form look as only a silhouette.
He sat there for a time, as the girl’s words sunk somewhere deep within him.
His scrapes would heal.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Oliver entered the foyer of Pembroke and made his way to the study where he planned to bury himself with estate work and planning for the sale of the house. And then he would go back to London and…he didn’t know exactly. Nothing felt like the life he wanted anymore. All he knew was that he certainly did not wish to return to the way he had been, flirting and courting every woman he met, aimlessly running through life to avoid anything real or lasting. But, he couldn’t stay at Pembroke, either.
He sat down at his desk and began moving papers around.
But then the sound of leather squeaking had his eyes rising to the chair in the corner of the room. He dropped his papers.
Elizabeth.
“I hope you don’t mind that I waited in here for you.” She spoke, and he wondered if she was real. Was he imagining her there in her beautiful pink dress, bouquet lying in her lap? She stood and moved slowly—hesitantly—across the room to stand in front of his desk. The air slowly filled with the scent of orange and then he knew…he couldn’t have imagined that.
He stood, sending his chair scraping back against the floor. “Tell me now,” he said, his voice urgent and pleading. “Are you married?”
Her eyes filled with tears and she bit her lips together. And then, she shook her head. “I couldn’t do it,” she said in little more than a whisper.
Relief flooded Oliver’s body and a full wonderful breath released from his chest. “Elizabeth,” he said, starting to move around the desk to her but she held up a hand.
“Let me talk first, please.”
He froze and stared at her. Her golden hair was pinned in loose beautiful curls at the back of her head and small sprigs of white flowers were secured throughout. He watched as she took in a deep breath. “I adore you, Oliver. I always have. My heart has belonged to you from the first day you stepped into Dalton Park and smiled at me. I’ve been so stupid to hold it inside for so long, but I was terrified to tell you and have you reject me. I didn’t think I could bear it. But now—now I know that what I truly cannot bear is to go another day without telling you how I feel. So here I am to tell you that I love you. Only you.”
She paused and a laugh escaped with her tears. “I cannot bear the idea of living a life that doesn’t include you in every single day of it.” She took a step toward him, and he took one toward her. “I know that sometimes I don’t think before I act, but you should know that I’ve been thinking of you every day for the past ten years. Sell this horrid home. Marry me, Oliver.” She took another step to him. “Selling this house will not make you weak. It would be very brave to choose to let go of the pain your father caused you.” She took another step, until she was standing in front of him, and she reached out to lace her fingers through his. “Build a new life with me. Us. Together.” She raised one of his hands and kissed his knuckles. “Let me love you.”
He stared into her eyes and then laughed—his joy and relief pouring out. “I came to the chapel, Lizzie. I came to stop you.”
“You did?” Her eyes began to pool.
He nodded. “A man told me the bride and groom had left together and I considered very briefly going and throwing myself off a bridge.”