“I was not meant to be a middle-class businessman’s wife, Grace.”
“Then you shouldn’t have joined Mr. Dixon in his bed.”
The declaration came out so quickly, it shocked Grace as much as Lillias. She wasn’t quite sure what happened between a man and a woman in bed, but it clearly produced a child, along with all sorts of other mischief. Grace reined in her distracted thoughts and released a sigh. “Frederick Astley probably doesn’t wish to marry a woman who is carrying another man’s child either.”
“You know nothing of these matters.”
“I know enough to tell what is right and wrong.” Grace stood, bringing the paper with her. “You should never have brought Lord Astley into this…this sleeping arrangement.” She waved the paper toward her. “Mr. Dixon didn’t force himself on you, did he?”
Lillias rose from the bed, eyes narrowed. “Of course not!”
“Then you’ve already made your choice, Lillias.” The truth knifed deeper. “You must let Lord Astley and his title go.”
“You’re such a child. You can’t understand.” She rolled her gaze away from Grace and walked toward the window, running her trembling fingers over her forehead. “There is no other way.”
“There has to be another way.”
Lillias sat down on the bed, diverting her gaze away, her fingers slipping over a document with signatures. “If Father breaks the contract, he forfeits a substantial amount of money, funds that are currently made up of stocks and such. Father could lose everything.” Her gaze shot back to Grace’s. “Then…then it will impact Father’s name all over the business world, which, in finance, would be detrimental.”
Grace didn’t fully understand, but she certainly believed in honor and keeping promises. Lillias had forfeited both. “So Father must keep his promise.”
“Without a doubt.”
Grace took the papers from Lillias’s hands and skimmed over them. The sum of money nearly took Grace’s breath. She’d never been involved in much of the financial discussions of home, but she enjoyed helping her father come up with innovative ideas. He always asked her opinion about things such as automobile style or where to build a new factory or how to beautify their garden. Creativity inspired her. Money? Not so much.
But there had to be another option.
Grace stilled. Option? She read over the agreement again and halted on a sentence. “Lillias?” She reread the words: A daughter of Henry T. Ferguson will marry Lord Frederick D. Astley. “It doesn’t mention your name.”
“What does it matter?” Lillias groaned into her palm. “Everyone knows the intention.”
One of the Illustrious Ferguson Daughters…
Grace stared at her sister, an idea swirling from the fog. Worry lines creased Lillias’s porcelain brow, her pale eyes watery. Grace’s gaze dropped to Lillias’s middle. A baby. Her niece or nephew.
Grace wouldn’t condone Lillias’s behavior. Her “perfect” sister had the potential to ruin several people’s lives in one fell swoop. Their father’s reputation? Lord Astley’s financial needs? Anthony Dixon’s heart? Her own happiness?
One decision could fix everything. One choice.
Grace pushed herself to a stand. The words squeezed through her throat. “I’ll do it.”
“What?” Her sister growled, rubbing her forehead and sparing a weary glance in Grace’s general direction. “Grace, the truth will only cause bigger problems in this situa—”
“I’ll marry Lord Astley.”
Lillias froze and then slowly dropped both hands from her face, eyes narrowing. “What did you say?”
“It’s either that, or I tell everyone the truth.” She shook her head, tears blurring her vision. Her pulse pounded in her ears. “I can’t condone this lie, Lillias, not even for you. Perhaps especially not for you. I love you more than that. If you disappear, someone will have to take your place, and since the agreement doesn’t stipulate a name—”
“You…you would take my place?”
Grace’s knees began to tremble, but she continued as the plan became clearer, the conviction deepening. “Neither your Mr. Dixon nor Lord Astley deserve a future built on deception. Our father’s name will remain trustworthy. Lord Astley will receive his money, and I”—where, oh where, was that silver lining?—“I will get a real-life adventure.”
Though marriage wasn’t how she’d envisioned her adventures. Captured by pirates? Maybe. Dazzling the world with her renowned wit as she toured Italy? Perhaps. But giving up her freedom to rescue her sister’s heart? Never. Grace pinched her eyes shut, closing off the dreams she’d had for the future. She’d just forfeited her expectations and taken on a role she’d never planned to play, so now…now she had to see it through.
God, help me.
“But…but you’re…you…” Lillias stared, eyes widening.
Lord, change these circumstances before I make a mistake. I cannot turn back now.
Grace stood a little taller, pulling from a confidence she didn’t feel. “And I’ll have to be enough.”
Grace tried to keep her breath steady as everyone sat in the grand dining hall for dinner, all surrounded by the Christmas beauties of Whitlock, but her mind refused to settle. Mr. Whitlock had spoken with her earlier in the day to share their lack of evidence in the saddle-slicing incident, and it took every ounce of Grace’s self-control to keep the truth lodged deep—though she did attempt to soften the accusations a little.
She’d fought against melancholy with all her might, even pulled out some of Oscar Wilde’s more humorous plays for medicinal purposes, but her heart ached with the sinking reality of what she’d given up and… what she’d chosen.
Grace’s gaze traveled the length of the table and settled on the man seated next to Mrs. Whitlock. Frederick Percy, Lord of Astley. Perhaps thinking of good things would help.
For instance, what did she know of this future husband of hers?
As far as husbands went, he had an excellent list of attributes to recommend himself. Handsome, in a dark, mysterious sort of way. A thrill of warmth splashed over her skin at the very idea. Of course, looks weren’t everything, but they certainly made staring much easier.
She cleared her throat and diverted her rather unruly inner assessment.
He enjoyed reading fiction—a definite benefit where she was concerned.
He appreciated a woman’s mind, or so he’d said, which only proved to highlight his own.
His sense of humor seemed a bit lacking, but in all honesty, she’d caught him at the worst possible times. A mistaken kiss. Falling off a horse. Murder attempt.
He enjoyed the outdoors. Her grin bit into her face at the memory of them riding Nightshade together. And he’d been kind to everyone he’d met at Whitlock.
Her smile softened. Kindness was a most attractive feature, especially for a husband, she imagined. And somehow the idea made him a little handsomer.
Her gaze dropped to his lips as he took a drink from his glass. He kissed like a rogue. Her fingers flew to her own lips. Well, Grace assumed he did, but since she’d no experience kissing rogues—or anyone else for that matter—Lord Astley kissed exactly the way she imagined a rogue should kiss, which then inspired all sorts of curiosities about how very roguish he might be in other ways.
Perhaps reading The Mysteries of Udolpho before bed proved detri-mental to her ladylike sensibilities.
“Grace, dear, are you feeling well?”
Grace snapped her attention to Mrs. Whitlock, the woman’s acute perception not helping Grace’s plight at all. “Excuse me? Yes.”
“You look flushed, dear.”
“Ah…um,” Grace’s gaze slid back to Lord Astley, who studied her. She should add fascinating eyes to his list of attributes. Her face blushed hot. “Actually, I am feeling a bit warm. Perhaps it was all the walking I did today in your lovely gardens. Too much sun.” She cleared away the tickle in her throat, but it returned.
“The gardener said you gave him s
ome excellent suggestions on arrangements.” Lady Whitlock smiled her appreciation. “You’ve always had a clever head.” Mrs. Whitlock turned to Lord Astley. “I should think she’d enjoy your grounds at Havensbrooke when she travels next week, Lord Astley. She’s forever coming up with ideas for them.”
Lord Astley’s attention fastened on her so intently she felt sure he’d read every thought in her head, including the roguish ones.
“You enjoy gardens, do you?”
“Clearly, too much enjoyment of them today.” Grace’s face grew warmer, her breath shorter.
“Rest is what you need, dear girl.” Her father chimed in with his usual charisma. “You mustn’t become ill before the wedding.”
The wildest urge to laugh scratched at the back of her throat. She shot to her feet and placed her napkin on the table. “Very true, Father.” She met Lillias’s wide eyes, and her throat constricted with another tickle. “Excuse me.”
The sooner Tony and Lillias disappeared, the sooner she could get this secret out in the open. She loved her sister, but she couldn’t avoid a group of thirtysome people in a house for much longer without confess-ing everything she knew.
Lillias was gone.
She’d left a letter and her trousseau, but somewhere in the early morning, she and Mr. Dixon must have disappeared into their future together. Grace closed the letter and stared out the bedroom window at the vast view of morning mountains on the horizon. Reality sobered her to the core, and her eyes fogged with a sheen of tears.
How did everything get so muddled? Her? A countess? Or even a wife?
What did she know of marriage? The slips of memories of her parents gave little to go on. Grace barely remembered her mother. Her portraits showed an extravagant beauty with the same unruly red hair as Grace.
Her father’s recollections waxed with sweet sentimentality, and of course Grace enjoyed romanticizing it all, but her parents had created a romance together, not fallen into one. They’d married because of prestige and money, not moonlit walks and romantic prose.
Which gave Grace a great deal of hope.
Her mother came from the nouveau riche and her father excelled in the business world—a combination of affluence, the right connections, and two amiable personalities that turned into a true partnership. But having lost her mother so early, Grace couldn’t recall what the actual everyday life of their marriage looked like. Had they teased one another? Held hands? Secluded themselves in the garden to kiss?
Had they discussed books or passionately argued? Doubtful, since her father rarely seemed to hold a strong conviction for long before acquiescing to the other party. And fiction wasn’t any help at all in deciphering the quandary of married life, since most heroines appeared to be orphaned.
Her gaze flipped heavenward. I certainly hope You know what You’re doing—especially for the future of an entire English estate and generations to come.
She pinched her eyes closed. Generations to come?
The clock struck ten. Lord Astley and her father had planned break-fasting together to discuss some of the final arrangements of the contract. It was the perfect time to face the inevitable.
With a quick prayer to add to the many she’d said through the night and a dash away of a single tear on her cheek, Grace took the grand staircase down to the Morning Room.
Once she stepped through the doorway, her future, her dreams would change forever.
She paused with a hand on the slender, curved door handle. Had Gaskell’s Margaret felt this weight of decision when her future swirled into uncertain territory after her parents died and she was left to face the world alone? Without even the good thoughts of John Thornton to sustain her?
Grace’s forward momentum faltered. She would leave everything she’d known to marry a man who didn’t love her. Was she brave enough now as the moment hovered a threshold away? She firmed her shoulders and shook off her fear. She had to be brave enough. Her father needed her to be brave enough.
Besides, there were so many things to look forward to instead of regret. Regret seemed a terrible waste of mental energy with no real outcome besides a headache. Traveling abroad to a large, crumbling manor house in England. A sickly, reclusive mother keeping watch on her progeny. A mysterious, handsome young lord recently inheriting the responsibilities of his elder brother.
It all sounded very much like one of the novels Grace loved so well. She grinned despite the terrible storm in her stomach as she heard her father and Frederick’s voices beyond the door.
With a deep breath, she pushed the door open and offered her broad-est smile, pleased to see the room empty except for Lord Astley and her father. She’d considered several ways to broach the subject of her sister’s elopement, pregnancy, and subsequent running away with her beloved, who had sabotaged Lord Astley’s saddle, but what actually came out of her mouth was nothing like what she’d planned.
“You know, I heard The most curious news as I walked through the library the other day.”
Her father placed his cup in the saucer with a clink. “Grace, what a way to enter a room, girl.”
She forced down the fear tempting her to flee back up the stairs and instead fixed her full attention on Lord Astley, accepting her fate, as any good heroine should do. “It’s quite life-changing news. Surprising, even.” She cleared her throat and continued. “You do like surprises, don’t you, Lord Astley?”
Lord Astley’s subtle smile slipped slowly from his handsome face.
“Grace, child, what are you talking about?”
She swallowed through her dry throat and tilted her chin up. Might as well just say it outright. “I’m going to be an aunt.” Her voice quavered. All right, that wasn’t as direct as she’d planned. “Isn’t that a fabulous surprise?”
Lord Astley stood, slowly, awareness dawning in his expression. Grace reached for the back of the nearest chair for support.
“I think your celebration is a bit premature, Grace.” Father laughed. “Your sister isn’t even married yet.”
A painfully obvious truth. “I’m afraid it’s going to be much sooner than any of us anticipated…and not with our dear Lord Astley.”
Her father began to catch on, rising from his chair, but Grace couldn’t take her eyes from the man most impacted by this news. “I’m so sorry, my lord. Her actions were not against you, though I’m certain it feels personal. She…she was frightened and—”
“Grace, you can’t be serious.” Father’s voice penetrated her focus on Lord Astley’s darkening expression, and she turned to him, his wide eyes frantically searching hers. “Bring Lillias to me at once so we can clear up this misunderstanding.”
“She’s gone, Father.” Grace’s heart ached from the pain creasing her father’s face. The betrayal he felt. Oh, this was much more difficult than she’d imagined, and that was saying something. Her eyes burned, but she refused to give in to the tears. Someone needed to keep their head in the middle of this maddening moment. “She left a note.”
“Dixon.” Lord Astley didn’t ask. He knew.
Grace should add perceptive to her quality husband list.
“Dixon? Anthony Dixon?” Her father took Grace by the shoulders. “The man’s a banker.”
“She loves him, Father. It seems she’s loved him for a long time.” Grace looked over her father’s shoulder to Lord Astley. “And I couldn’t bear the thought of her marrying you while carrying his child, so I confronted her—”
“She planned to carry on with the marriage?” His voice boomed across the room.
Oh dear. Grace shouldn’t have disclosed so much. Now she’d dam-aged her sister’s character even more. “Of course, she changed her mind once she saw reason. She’d never really want to hurt you.”
“Only deceive me.”
The entire conversation had turned out so much better in her head.
“How could she do this to us?” Father released Grace’s shoulders and stumbled back, bent and shaken. “We’re…we’re ru
ined.”
Lord Astley replaced him, a mountain of seething fury towering over her. “How long have you kept her secret?”
“Kept her secret?” Grace’s bottom lip dropped. “I only discovered it two evenings ago, quite by accident.”
“That’s why you retired early,” he murmured, eyes narrowed at her as if she was the sneaky one. “At dinner.”
“I only kept the information to myself until she decided what she would do. If she’d planned to carry on with the engagement, I would have told Father immediately, but I’d hoped she’d do the right thing on her own.”
“So she’s left you to bear the brunt of her escape. How very magnanimous of her.” His voice ground low and deep, as close to a growl as she’d ever heard from human lips. But no wonder. She had hit him with quite the blow.
He turned and prowled the length of the rug toward her father. “You know what this means, Mr. Ferguson. Your daughter forfeited the agreement. Per our contract, you have a sum to procure.”
Her father withered into a chair, looking frail and ten years older.
“No one has forfeited the agreement.”
Lord Astley spun around to face her. “I will not marry a woman who is carrying another man’s child.”
Grace failed to recoil. In fact, his grumpiness just fueled her determination. “You still have a Ferguson bride.”
“How do you propose—” His jaw unhinged, and he studied her from brow to toe, eyes widening. “You?”
“Me.” She tilted her chin even higher, mostly because he stood so close. “The contract listed a daughter of Henry T. Ferguson to marry the honorable Lord Astley.”
“No, you were not a part—”
“If you were willing to marry a stranger for money yesterday, how is today any different? The same stipulations apply.” This part of the conversation in her head emerged beautifully. “The same exchange. You can choose to forfeit at your own cost, but Father’s end of the bargain remains intact.”
The Mistletoe Countess Page 8
