The Mistletoe Countess

by Pepper Basham

  He paused and drew in a breath before entering, but a glimmer of dark purple peeking from beneath the corner of the curtain caught his attention. A shoe? He slowed his steps and examined further, his smile crooked up in revelation.

  Gracelynn Ferguson stood mostly hidden within the folds of the curtain, book raised to almost touch her nose, attention intent on the story. Her ginger hair topped her head in a rain of curls, much the same style as her sister’s, but every expression of her downturned face bloomed with authenticity.

  “Aren’t you supposed to be with the party?”

  Her head raised, eyes wide, and she drew the book to her chest. “Well, I…” She looked to the curtained door and back to him, her pink lips twisted into an impish grin. “Aren’t you? A guest of honor, even?”

  There she went again, almost unraveling his smile in a most unnerving way. “I have an impeccable excuse. My valet twisted his ankle, and I went to see how his recovery was coming along.”

  “How very chivalrous of you.” The conversation paused for a moment, and her gaze slid back to the curtain then to him. “Yet a feat you could have entertained earlier in the day, I imagine.” Her eyes shimmered with an unvoiced laugh. “You don’t like house parties, either, do you?”

  She was a clever one. Her innocence and vibrancy dripped with a contagion, luring Frederick’s former carefree nature to resurface. “I find smaller gatherings more meaningful, as a rule.”

  “You seemed the sort.” She nodded. “I’m glad to hear it, for opposites attract, I understand, and my sister adores socializing.” She sighed. “Yet I do envy your advantage over mine.”

  “And what advantage is that?”

  “Everyone expects you to sweep my sister into your arms and have whatever conversations you like. I, on the other hand, must make do with some of the dreariest rhetoric with whoever pins me into a corner. What is so interesting about the weather, a certain breed of cattle, or a person’s social status, I have no idea! One is so obvious it seems redundant; the second is…” She rolled her eyes to the ceiling. “I cannot find a comment, and the third is relatively meaningless to the real stuff of a person.”

  “Spoken like a true philosopher.”

  She snapped her book closed and stepped forward, sapphire orbs alight. “You tease me, but I have an inkling you know I’m right.”

  “And I’m enjoying the dialogue.”

  She rewarded him with a full smile. “Well, we can continue this conversation as long as you like. Besides it being one of the best I’ve had this week, I can also blame you for my tardiness, and everyone will forgive me because you are an earl.”

  “Surely it hasn’t been so bad, Miss Grace.” He studied her, working hard to keep his lips steady. “We’ve only had two nights of dancing. Last night was games and conversations.”

  “And I was stuck at the card table with Father’s business associate Mr. Douglas Porter, who talked for half an hour about the differences between the climate of Virginia as opposed to your home in Derbyshire. A half hour?” One of her ginger brows rose. “In case you weren’t aware, my dear Lord Astley, let me sum it up for you. Your environment is decidedly wetter than mine.”

  He lost the fight against his smile. “Indeed.”

  Her expression bloomed, as if she’d solved some great mystery. “You do have a devastating smile.”

  He gestured toward the book in her hand and ignored the warmth rising up his neck. “That sounds suspiciously like something an author would write about a hero.”

  “And why not?” She laughed. “Don’t you know? You are the hero of your own story.”

  “Me?” The response spoken so carelessly took surprising root. A swell of purpose straightened him to his full height. “A hero?”

  But he’d always been the black sheep—second best, the one passed over. What would it be like to view himself as a hero? Of his own life? He shook the thought away, too sensible to be drawn into one of Miss Grace’s fictions.

  “God has given you a life, and you’re the only one who can decide how to write it.” Her eyes grew wide. “Daring adventure?” Her gaze slipped to the curtain with a wiggle of her brows. “Grand romance? Your choices all factor into the novel of your life. So do you plan to be a hero, Lord Astley?” Her eyes narrowed, playfully baiting him. “I have no doubt you are capable.”

  Her question followed by her ready confidence pierced deep, gripping at his core to such an extent he almost lost control of his emotions as readily as his smile. Could he become much more than a victim of his cir-cumstances? The challenge settled, secured. He could certainly try. Starting now. He drew in a deep breath and offered his arm. “At the moment, my plan is to escort you into the dreaded house party.”

  She exaggerated her sigh and took his offering. “I suppose we must.” She leaned close, lowering her voice to a whisper. “But thank you for the repartee. I shall be much better prepared to face the tedious meteorological conversations in my future, knowing I had at least one tête-à-tête of interest.”

  They slipped through the curtain, and Frederick’s gaze searched the room until it landed on his bride. She sat at a table near the piano, a look of unbridled pleasure on her face as she stared over at her partner, a man Frederick hadn’t been introduced to as yet.

  Frederick’s newfound peace plummeted. Miss Ferguson clearly pos-sessed a great deal of feeling, but how could Frederick win such looks from her? Gain her trust and heart? At least her allegiance. Blake’s kissing idea emerged unbidden, but Frederick shoved it to the back of his mind.

  Lillias’s gaze met his across the room, and her smile stilled. She stood, expression trained to cool welcome as she approached. “We wondered where you’d disappeared, but I see my sister monopolized you, Lord Astley.”

  “Oh yes, Sister dear.” Miss Grace released his arm and offered a mock-sober expression. “I was practicing the art of conversing, just as you suggested.”

  “That sounds…entertaining?” Her expression softened and the concern faded. “But now that you are back, I should like some of my own conversation with my future husband, though I doubt my discourse will sparkle as brilliantly as yours.”

  Grace offered a wrinkle-nosed grin at the compliment. “I have no doubt yours will be less shocking, and thus more to Lord Astley’s tastes.”

  “Not at all.” He held on to the joy in her eyes, hoping his sincerity nudged away her doubts. Oh for the days when he’d lived in the carefree world of the second-born! Though suffice it to say, he’d never worn carefree as brilliantly as the younger Ferguson.

  “Miss Grace, I was wondering where you’d got off to,” Mr. Porter called from across the room, his pudgy face filled with ruddy animation.

  “Ah, Mr. Porter, you are just the person I was hoping to see.” Grace shot a helpless look over her shoulder before her countenance stiffened with resilience. “Have you any idea of the weather patterns in Italy? I hear it’s rather dry.”

  Frederick swallowed his laugh and turned his attention back to the beauty on his arm. The cobalt gown trimming each part of her figure brought out the brilliant color of her eyes. A dazzling beauty. The savior of Havensbrooke.

  “She is hopeless, yet one cannot help but love her.”

  “Indeed, Miss Ferguson.” His heart softened to the compassion gentling Lillias’s features. “Your sister will certainly make an impact on Havensbrooke’s gray world, as will you.”

  Frederick had never been the charmer. Too direct for some. Too reticent for others. Women usually supposed he was standoffish because of some darker turn of thoughts, but in all honesty, he remained inept at the wooing game. Blake wore the gift like the clothes on his back, placing his words and his smiles in perfect synchrony to capture women with his charms, but the constraints of “proper” dialogue hung like a noose over most conversations Frederick experienced with women.

  Except Grace Ferguson. But her youth afforded an uncommon ease and authenticity.

  Celia had ruined him to simple trust
, even in himself. Her deceit had torn his world apart and ripped him of the closeness he’d once known with his brother. Frederick looked down at Lillias. But she was not Celia, and he desperately needed to give Lillias the benefit of the doubt. After all, he was the greater beneficiary of this bargain. Her massive dowry.

  The conversation with Lillias took its usual superficial course. She was the sort of woman who kept her ideas close and her emotions beautifully manicured for the purposes at hand. A well-trained and strategic skill designed by the upper class, which left men in frustrated confusion at the true personality of the woman of interest. Frederick preferred some help in the grand scheme of marriage, if he could find it.

  “Did you enjoy your afternoon with your friends?” His gaze darted back to the man at the table she’d left. “I can only imagine the difficulties of leaving your home.”

  “Oh yes, and you have been gracious in allowing me time to spend with them.” She swayed closer to him, teasing with a little of the coy atti-tude she’d given earlier in the day. “But in the evenings, I’m all yours.”

  Her palm smoothed up his chest to rest against his shoulder, the touch inciting heat from his neck to his temples. Yes, she knew the way the world worked, didn’t she, but why the sudden display?

  “I mean to lessen the sting of this transition as much as I am able. And I do wish for your happiness.” He drew in a deep breath, his directness not exactly in tune with romantic sonnets. He worked her name onto his lips. “Lillias.”

  “I believe you do.” Her eyes took on a vulnerable look before she glanced away. “Having Grace join me for a few months will ease the sting, I’m sure. Thank you for your forbearance with her. She lives life too authentically for anyone’s good.”

  His gaze locked with hers. “Authenticity can be seen as a virtue in many instances.”

  Lillias’s attention flickered away, her cheeks darkening. They took a turn about the room as people enjoyed various sorts of card or board games. A few women flittered about with wedding talk on their tongues. “My world is very different than yours, yes, and you will face disappointments in it, but I’d like for this to be a true match, Lillias.” He tried her name again. Not as difficult the second time. “A true commitment, if possible. Hopeful for both of us.”

  Her gaze came up to his, a shadow passing over her expression. “I want that as well.”

  He released the breath he didn’t realize he’d held. “With Mother’s connections, I imagine you will be able to make new friendships rather quickly.” He swallowed to wet his dry throat. “New…attachments, I hope.”

  She gave the slightest hitch of breath, diverting her attention to the corner of the room where a few of her friends stood in conversation, along with the man Lillias had shared the table with earlier. Something flickered between them. Frederick’s stomach clenched.

  He took her arm and turned her to face him. “You don’t have to do this, Lillias.” He lowered his voice, drawing her closer. “Not unless you’re certain. For both our sakes, I’d rather you decide now than uncover any pretense later.”

  “There is no pretense, I assure you.” Her eyes widened, uncertainty wavering over her expression. “I…I am determined.”

  “There’s no need to act rashly.” He searched her face. “We can extend the engagement period if you have doubts—”

  “No!” Her abrupt response silenced him. She fixed her focus on him with such determination, almost desperation, he couldn’t look away. “I would be lying if I told you I didn’t harbor grief and regrets at leaving those I’ve known and…” Her words stalled. “Those I…love. But despite the trial ahead, I am a woman of my word and dedicated to improving my family’s interests as well as yours. I don’t need more time.”

  She searched his eyes, her expression solemn, and—God help him—he wanted to believe her. “Once we are wed, you will have my complete allegiance and my unreserved affections.” Her expression softened, imploring with those engaging round eyes of hers. “I don’t want to prolong anything. But do allow me these last few days to enjoy the life I’ve always known before I must embrace a new one.”

  She felt the weight of the game, as he did. The sacrifice. The freedoms they both aborted once the wedding rings wrapped around their fingers. Yet upon further inspection of her beautiful face, her apparent dedication, perhaps there was hope for more than a contract.

  “I would be honored with your allegiance and affections, Miss Ferguson, and I sincerely hope to lessen your regrets. Take as much freedom in these last days as you need.”

  “You are very kind, Lord Astley.” A faint sheen of tears glistened in her eyes. “Very kind.”

  “Oh my goodness, Lillias, look where you’re standing!”

  Frederick turned from his spot with Lillias to find Grace approaching on her father’s arm, her grin stretched as wide as possible, it seemed.

  “You’re under a Christmas kissing ball.” Grace’s announcement lilted. “How romantic.”

  Frederick raised his gaze to the doorframe above to find a small orb of greenery wrapped in twine and ribbon hanging above his head.

  “They have mistletoe inside them, Lillias.” Grace’s whole expression brightened like the electric lights on the tree nearby. “You know what that means!”

  Frederick looked over at Lillias, whose entire face had paled.

  “What a charming idea, Grace.” Lillias breathed out the comment, her gaze flickering around the room. “But I prefer to keep my affection for Lord Astley to a more private venue.”

  Grace rolled her eyes and then paused, her gaze fixed on something nearby. “Good night, Mr. Dixon, you’re wearing quite a severe expression for a card party. Did you lose to Mr. Cole again?”

  Frederick followed Grace’s exclamation to see the man from earlier standing nearby, his tall, lean frame poised not too far from the doorway where they stood. His suit shone of a lesser fineness than Frederick’s or Blake’s. Dixon? Was he a family friend?

  The man flicked his gaze from Frederick to Grace, his expression stiffening.

  “Grace, dear, you know how Mr. Dixon despises having attention brought to him,” Lillias offered, her voice low.

  Grace tilted her head, her gaze shifting between Mr. Dixon, Lillias, and Frederick, those intelligent eyes making some sort of examination, if Frederick knew anything. What did she see? The unhappy conclusions Frederick drew resurrected his doubt with a fury.

  “I’m so sorry, Tony.” Grace touched the man’s arm, and his body relaxed. “You know I never mean to make people uncomfortable. I just have an uncanny ability to do so, and”—her voice dropped to a whisper—“Mr. Cole isn’t the most straight-and-narrow sort, so I’d check beneath the table if I were you.”

  Frederick couldn’t help grinning at her generosity mixed with such—well, he wasn’t quite sure what to call it. Genuineness?

  Grace looked back to the kissing ball. “But why hang such a lovely invention in public at all, if it’s only meant to inspire private affection? That seems rather ruthless, if you ask me.”

  “Grace, dear, they’re tradition.” This from Mr. Ferguson.

  Grace tightened her hold on her father and grinned up at him. “Well then, Father dear, we shall not let the tradition be wasted.” And she bounced up on tiptoe and pressed a kiss to her father’s cheek. “Besides, I always feel a bit merrier after sharing affection with someone I love, don’t you?”

  “Indeed, my dear girl.”

  Frederick watched them walk away, a smile lingering in his mind at the unfettered display of fondness. Miss Grace left nothing in doubt, did she? Frederick couldn’t even fathom having a woman love with such boundless, and somewhat terrifying, sincerity. Her future husband would need a steady head and a solid sense of humor, but—the idea pricked at his conscience—he’d no doubt find joy woven through the unexpected.

  “I’m afraid I’ve caused you to doubt my earnestness. Perhaps Grace is right.” Lillias’s raspy voice drew his attention back to he
r face. She moved closer to him, entwined their arms. “A little show of affection might be just what each of us needs to ease the uncertainty of the next few days.”

  “Lillias?”

  She shifted her body, pressing close, her rosewater scent filling his lungs like an aphrodisiac. “Perhaps…I can assure you of our compati-bility. Of my ready willingness.” Her gaze dropped to his lips again, her words smooth, enticing. “It would not be improper for an engaged couple to show certain affections to one another.” She searched his face as if trying to convince herself as much as him. “Test the waters, so to speak?”

  “I don’t know that—”

  “Meet me in half an hour in the Mahogany Room,” she whispered, placing her hand over his. “It is vacant and will provide a perfect hide-away.” And with that, she slipped away to join her group of friends on the other side of the room. His gaze followed her movements, her figure made to admire.

  Frederick glanced back to the kissing ball above, his mind warring with his will. Whatever her connections, he had to at least attempt to transfer her feelings to him, for the good of Havensbrooke’s future as well as his own.

  Perhaps a kiss would make a difference.

  Chapter Four

  Frederick walked across the loggia, breathing in the scent of pine and winter on the chilled air. Voices and laughter emerged from inside as he took his time crossing the less-traveled path from the party to the Mahogany Room. He wasn’t certain when Lillias had disappeared from the Music Room, but he’d waited an appropriate amount of time before slipping away himself.

  He’d never imagined something as simple as a kiss could feel like a precipice for his future, but perhaps Blake was right. If a kiss, or the proper type of kiss and freely given, could encourage affection, he’d ensure he’d do his best, if skill and sincerity had the power to do so.

  The door to the Mahogany Room stood partially open—an invita-tion—so Frederick slipped in without a sound. His pulse hammered up a notch. A dying fire provided the only light in the expansive room, its soft glow casting deep shadows across furniture and carpet up to the wall of windows. His breath caught. Outlined by a large arched window and haloed in moonlight stood the silhouette of his bride-to-be.