Just to Have You (Blackwood & Friends #3)

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Griff: "You are lying, Oliver Hollingsworth, and I shall tell your mother on you! There is no monster in your lake and it does not only eat girls!"

Ben: "Oh, really? Explain then, when was the last time you saw Miss Belinda Holt?"

(B & G conversation on the employment and dismissal of Miss Holt, a Gravewood scullery maid, 19 years prior)

"When was the last time that vessel was considered seaworthy?" Amy wondered aloud with a very evident note of dryness to her tone.

From where he was bent over the decrepit, wooden rowboat that was half-banked on the grassy slope on the opposite side of the Gravewood lake, Oliver twisted his head to give her a lopsided grin. "Firstly, this is not the ocean," he said cheerfully. "Secondly, this vessel is in pristine condition, renowned throughout England for its... floatiness."

Amy considered the rotting contraption sceptically. It appeared to be moulding and splintered in places, and what was once white paint peeled from its sides like flaky greying parchment. The last time they had bothered to row about the small and unassuming pond that was the Gravewood lake had been years ago, so brisk in length that it hardly warranted their time or appealed to any worthwhile shenanigans in their youth. Now, however, and for whatever reason, Oliver felt compelled to drag her across it in some lavish gesture of courtship.

It was endearingly sweet and he had gone to great lengths to prepare a romantic setup that was sure to take place within the boat if the large picnic hamper sitting on the grass beside him was any indication. There should have been more people in attendance, though it appeared Oliver's friends were in poor spirits after a night of indulgence with poorly made Haventry cider and had opted to remain contained within the manor until dinner later that evening. Perhaps it was his own immunity to the ill effects of the cider that made Oliver sturdier in the aftermaths of consumption, but he appeared in high spirits as he set about swiping the interior of the rowboat and clearing it as best he could from rotting leaves and other unknown debris that had accumulating over years of neglect.

"We could always enjoy the picnic from the shore," Amy suggested hopefully, secretly admiring the strength and length of his thighs as he squatted to one side of the boat. He had shucked his coat and dumped it over her shoulders when a stiff, cold breeze had picked up and caused her to outwardly shiver, and presently she huddled deeper into the warmth it provided, encased in his pleasant cologne. "It is dry and considerably less mouldy."

"You doubt my ability to keep us afloat. I am wounded." Oliver stood, his legs unfolding sensuously as he dusted off his hands on his thighs. Then he planted them on his hips and turned to her, his face beaming with boyish eagerness and delight. Her heart melted. "Your water chariot awaits, madam."

Lord, she was going to meet a watery end purely because she could not resist a face like that. Tentatively, she leaned forward and peered over at the inside of the raft, and his coat's inner pockets crinkled with whatever he had wedged in them. There was a soft, fleecy throw that he had folded neatly and placed atop each of the two benches that intersected the boat, but a shallow layer of effluent-looking water coated the bottom, mulch and brown leaves littering the surface. It was passable, but only just, and she was grateful that on her feet were sturdy, aged boots rather than some of the newer and finer slippers she had purchased from her sojourn in London. Amy straightened, his pockets crinkled loudly once more, and she wondered absently what he had stuffed them with to make them so encumbered and pinned him with a resolute smile.

When she took a step towards him, Oliver extended his hand and assisted her tenderly inside the rickety boat. It lurched awkwardly to one side with her added weight and Amy squeaked in fright, his other arm snaking about her waist to stabilise her, and then she lowered herself with a surge of trepidation to one of the benches that faced the others. She wondered if it was only a matter of time before the entire thing curved in on itself and sank them both to the bottom of the pond, though she refrained from voicing her thoughts aloud. He seemed pleased and energetic by his efforts, almost bristling with anticipatory energy Amy could hardly fail to notice.