The Mistletoe Countess

by Pepper Basham

  “Who swam?” Beady eyes landed on Grace. “You swam?”

  “And I’m grateful she did.” Frederick offered. “If she hadn’t been able to swim, we would have lost Patton.”

  “This is preposterous. What in the world can you mean?”

  “Patton was rendered unconscious by the impact, and I couldn’t save them both.”

  The woman stared at them for a full five seconds, lips parted, before she seemed to rally with another grimace, which seemed directed at Grace’s unruly hair. “And you didn’t think to make yourself suitable before pre-senting her to me?” Her voice sounded like wind scratching against the branches of trees, high-pitched and raspy. “Never mind. I am anxious to see the results of your unfortunate turn of events. Bring her forward.”

  Frederick turned to Grace and offered her a tender look, buoying her spirits enough to still her trembling. Grace should have prepared herself more for meeting cantankerous mothers-in-law and less in surviving autocar accidents, because her knees suddenly started shaking.

  “Mother, might I introduce you to Gracelynn Ferguson Percy. This is my Mother, Lady Moriah, Dowager Countess of Astley.”

  The woman cringed at the introduction, as if the reminder of the title relegated to her after her son’s marriage added fresh sting.

  “Come into the light, girl.”

  Frederick stayed by her side, which gave Grace a little sense of support as she stepped closer to the spindly looking matriarch. Oh dear, she had the overwhelming desire to search her mother-in-law’s room for a magic mirror that talked of the fairest of them all. Grace’s eyes widened. Was it possible her mother-in-law knew how to tamper with automobiles?

  The woman perched on her throne and took her time examining Grace from bottom to top. “What happened to your hair?”

  Grace raised her fingers to her head. “Well, my hair came loose in the river.”

  “Not your style, your color.”

  “My…my color?”

  “Please tell me the firelight is playing tricks on my vision. It cannot be that red, can it?”

  “There’s nothing wrong with her hair, Mother. It’s a beautiful color. Unique, like the bearer.”

  “Don’t speak sentimentally, Son. It proves you’re weak.”

  Grace’s spine stiffened at the affront to sweet Frederick. This woman definitely harbored a magic mirror somewhere, possibly a poisonous apple too.

  “You married her for the money and the heir, not for her personality and certainly not for her hair.”

  The words stung—both from the harshness and the blatant truth of the matter. A sudden pain sliced through her chest.

  “Mother, that is quite enough. If you cannot speak civilly, then we shall take our leave.” Frederick’s voice hardened. He turned to Grace. “It’s late, and Mother is overtired.”

  “It’s an unfortunate color.” Lady Astley waved away her son’s words and set her gaze back on Grace. “But I suppose you had no hand in it, and at least your pale complexion and excellent fashion covers over some of your more unsightly errors.”

  Grace couldn’t help it, whether from the band-like tension or the utter ridiculousness of the woman’s standards. She laughed.

  The woman’s eyes tightened like a bowstring ready to fire, and Grace immediately covered her mouth with her hand, but it didn’t help much. In all truth, Grace’s most unsightly errors were exactly those, the ones no one could see. And there were dozens of them. Her propensity for giggling when nervous being at the top.

  “Good heavens, Frederick, you’ve married a simpleton.”

  The laughter threatened another release, but Frederick stepped forward. “Grace is anything but a simpleton. She’s intelligent, innovative, and kind.” He tugged Grace back toward the door. “Good night, Mother.”

  His ready defense lifted Grace’s chin. Oh, she’d never known the sheer pleasure of having a man defend her with such eloquence. Yes, Frederick’s hero qualities were in excellent shape.

  “Don’t fool yourself, Frederick. Do you believe this…girl can bring pride to the Percy name? A name you have yet to redeem?”

  Grace watched her husband, tenderhearted as he was, bend a little from the accusations. Something dark and horrible fed the bitterness in this woman, something with enough power to wilt her dashing rogue.

  “With due respect, Lady Moriah…Dowager…um…Astley.” English titles were terribly confusing. And from the glint in Lady Astley’s eyes, Grace hadn’t guessed correctly quickly enough. “You do not know what I’m capable of. I don’t even know what I’m capable of, but I can assure you with the low expectations you have for me, I’ll exceed them.”

  She cackled, a horrible sound. “I don’t hold out a great deal of hope for you.”

  “Then it’s a good thing I haven’t hung my hope on your opinion either, isn’t it?” Grace refused to break eye contact.

  “You insolent child.”

  “That is enough.” Frederick took Grace by the arm and turned her to him. “I will not have you butchered in this fashion.” He walked her to the door and rang the bell. A maid appeared within moments.

  “See Lady Astley to her room.” He turned those dark eyes on her, his expression softened with an apology. “You should not have to bear such ridicule.”

  Grace forced a smile and grappled enough courage to mean it. “We’ll face this together, won’t we?”

  He raised tired eyes to hers, his smile weak. “Indeed we will.”

  A sudden heaviness fell over Grace as she followed the maid back through the corridor. The young woman, one of the two who’d smiled at Grace earlier in the evening, moved quietly forward, black dress and white apron fitted to perfection.

  “What’s your name?”

  The maid looked ahead, slowing her pace. “Mary, ma’am.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, Mary.”

  Mary stopped in front of another one of the beautifully arched doorways. “I reckon you’re tired after your travels, my lady.” She pushed open the door and stepped inside, waiting to the left as Grace entered.

  The expansive room spread wide, decorated in a French style with gold and white. Cool colors. Intricate and pristine. Elegant swans were carved into the door and oak crown molding with beautiful detail. “It’s lovely.”

  “His lordship ordered it to be prepared with elegance.” The girl folded her hands in front of her, smile soft. How much had the servants worked to prepare for Grace’s arrival? Were they happy with Frederick’s choice? Disappointed?

  From the welcome at her arrival, she’d guess the latter.

  “I see the tea’s been brought up for you, my lady. Would you like me to pour out?”

  “No thank you, Mary. I’ll see to it myself.”

  With a bow of her golden head, Mary excused herself, leaving Grace to the impending silence. The fire crackled in the white marble hearth, adding flickering light to the electric ones dotted throughout the room. Despite the opulence of the space, reality pressed a heavy hand over Grace’s spirit. She stepped close to the fire, leaning against the hearth, suddenly wearier than she’d felt in a long time. Her mother-in-law’s words pierced through the sweetness of the last six married days like a flash of lightning in the dark. Frederick had only married her for money—her personality had little to do with it. And the heir? Was that the only reason he shared such beautiful kisses with her?

  She pressed her eyes closed. It was the goal of every earl to ensure his family line, wasn’t it? That seemed to be the main focus in books, anyway. That and winning at cards. She frowned. Or was it horse racing?

  She sighed and slid into a nearby chair, her eyes stinging with unshed tears. How had she failed to prepare herself sufficiently for such a place, for such a feeling? Home waited thousands of miles away. The warmth of her father, Mr. and Mrs. Whitlock, and other friends couldn’t breach such a distance. Would Frederick turn away from her too? Especially if she didn’t meet whatever expectations society or his mother deemed necessary
.

  In all her life, Grace had never felt so…alone.

  She pushed tears away as Ellie entered to help her prepare for bed.

  Oh God, please…please help me create something beautiful from this choice.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Frederick marched from his mother’s room with a hardened edge knotting his stomach. There was no use arguing with her. To her he’d forever remain the black sheep of the family—the failure. Every decision, every choice she tore apart with her poisonous tongue, leaving him as bereft of her affection as always. At least when his grandmother lived, he’d known the tenderness of a woman’s kindness.

  Except now. With Grace. He’d never expected her presence to provide such a comfort, even as his mother spewed criticism and anger. Despite their unconventional beginning and her youthfulness, she fit him in a way he’d never imagined. They held easy conversations from anything related to improvements at Havensbrooke to fiction to faith. Even when they’d confronted one another during and after the car accident, they’d argued as friends—equals—her opinion as readied as his own. It all seemed too good to be true. Too sweet and right.

  Over and over throughout their journey, Grace had looked at him as if he truly was capable and good and worth admiring. He rubbed his fingers against a new ache in his chest. When was the last time someone had looked at him with such genuine and unguarded esteem? Had anyone ever?

  He gave the door latch a quiet turn and stepped from their shared sitting room into her bedroom. As he scanned the gold-and-white decor, he frowned. Gilded. Pristine. Regal. No, those didn’t suit the bride he’d brought home. Grace’s room should hold vibrancy and warmth.

  Firelight provided the only light in the room as he stepped soundlessly forward and then stopped. Curled up on the bed, blankets piled to her chin and firelight flickering a golden glow across her face, lay his wife, fast asleep. She looked beautiful, her hair fanned out across the pillow, hand tucked beneath her cheek.

  He slid a finger over her skin before trailing his hand to her hair, still damp from the river…where he could have lost her. The thought sent a visceral ache spiraling through his chest. Could the vows he made in front of God and the camaraderie they’d begun to share be enough to bind him to her in such a way so quickly?

  She smiled in her sleep but didn’t stir. Frederick hung his head with a resigned grin. She needed rest, especially after everything that had happened. His gaze dropped to the pillow beside hers. But he’d promised to sleep in the bed with her every night. He went to his room, dressed in his nightclothes, and returned. Careful not to wake her, he slipped into the bed.

  Her gaze flickered open, long enough to give him a sleepy smile and curl up against him, murmuring something unintelligible as she did. He rolled his eyes toward heaven and offered another silent prayer. This time in thanksgiving instead of for help.

  Perhaps God had sent Grace to fortify his prayer life, because it was working. He hadn’t prayed so much in the past two years as he’d prayed in the previous two weeks.

  With a sigh, he tucked her close and rested his head against her hair. His mother wouldn’t make the transition easy—she rarely made anything easy—but one thing his mother hadn’t counted on was the strength of Grace Ferg—Percy. His Lady Astley.

  Despite the harsh and intimidating words his mother wielded like a blade, Frederick placed his bets on the ginger in his arms.

  Morning light glittered through the slits in the curtain, orienting Grace to her surroundings. She blinked the gilded room into view, it’s opulence and refinement reviving her last thoughts before sleep mercifully took hold. This room was meant for her sister. Its distant and distinguished beauty, pale and monochrome, fit Lillias’s tastes.

  But not hers.

  She cringed at the negative turn of her thoughts and pushed herself up in bed. Lady Astley’s words still clung to her heart, leeching to her joy like a black glove. Grace had never considered herself a pawn in the grand social game, but her mother-in-law’s harshness revealed the fairy tale of the last few days in a stark light of reality.

  Frederick married her for money, and Grace had never been part of the plan.

  She clenched her eyes closed and dropped back down on the bed, refusing tears. She was an impulsive creature—too quick to make decisions without counting the cost, too ready to give everyone the benefit of the doubt. And here she was. She’d left home and family for this vast and cold world without a true friend among the walls.

  She rolled on her side, an unruly tear slipping from her control to warm her temple before disappearing into the folds of her hair. You know, Lord. She’d chosen this path for all the right reasons, yet even He felt far off as the echoes of Lady Astley’s criticism reverberated through Grace’s heart.

  Surely if God was everywhere, He could find His way to the second floor of the south wing of Havensbrooke Hall in the middle of Derbyshire, England. Could all of it, even her poor attempts, still somehow fashion into a grander part of God’s plan? She’d been taught so, but everything blurred into a rumbling ache in the light of morning.

  Grace blinked the bedside into view. The neighboring pillow and blanket lay crinkled from use. She smoothed her hand over the cloth, and the faint scent of amber accompanied her touch. Had Frederick joined her last night? She thought she’d dreamed him slipping beside her and tugging her against him, but here was evidence it was not a dream.

  Maybe she wasn’t so very alone after all. And maybe it wasn’t just about money.

  “Good morning, my lady.”

  Grace shoved her hair away to see Ellie drawing back the curtains, ushering morning light into the room. Being on the east side of the house would make excellent use of the sun’s heat. As it was, Grace drew the blankets up a little closer to stave off the slight chill in the air. England felt much colder than Virginia in more ways than one.

  At least the sun shone. That was a good start to any day.

  Ellie’s pale eyes looked tired, even her usually excellent posture waned.

  “Did you sleep at all, dear Ellie?”

  She shook her head. “It’s gonna take me a few days to get used to my surroundings, and since my bedroom is so far from yours, I got lost on the way this morning or I’d have been here earlier to wake you.”

  Sounded like wasted time to Grace, and all the more reason to move the family quarters to the east wing.

  The young woman’s gaze met Grace’s. “And I beg your pardon, my lady, but now that you’re a countess and we’re in England, you’re bound to call me by my surname.”

  All this title business was exhausting. Grace had already determined to call the elder Lady Astley “Lady Moriah” just to bypass the confusion. Besides, calling one’s mother-in-law “the dowager” sounded a bit too intimidating for familial camaraderie. “But we’re too well acquainted for me to call you Miss Moore.”

  Ellie’s shoulders drooped a little farther.

  “What about this, Ellie?” Grace stood and drew in a deep breath. “I will call you Ellie when we are in private but Miss Moore in other areas so neither of us will get into trouble.”

  She offered a weary smile and adjusted her white cap. “That will do, my lady.”

  “I think we both have a great number of adjustments to make, but we’re young and smart.” Grace pushed more confidence into her speech than she felt. In fact, she wanted to drop back down into the bed and hide for a few days like a weak heroine. “We’ll make do, won’t we?”

  “If you say so, my lady.” Ellie shook her head and opened the ward-robe, which held some of Grace’s things. “At any rate, breakfast is served in a half hour, so we need to make quick work of getting you ready.”

  Grace needed an en suite lavatory immediately.

  When he’d found her in the hallway not an hour ago, half-clad in her nightgown in desperate search of the necessary, he inwardly flailed himself for his lack of thoughtfulness. Why hadn’t he considered something so basic? Especially for a woman of
means who was used to such conveniences.

  Lillias would have thought him barbaric. Grace likely hadn’t considered how insensitive the situation was. If Brandon or Elliott had happened by with her in such a state of undress! Frederick’s neck grew warm at the very notion. Elliott, good man that he was, had only a year on Frederick and no wife of his own, and Frederick didn’t like the idea of any of the male servants seeing something only he should appreciate.

  Since he had to go into town to meet with the constable about the incident with the car, he’d take time to consult his local solicitor to inquire after qualified workmen to begin the necessary renovations immediately. He reread the message from the constable, which detailed how an inspector had been notified. Frederick frowned. Hopefully the inspector would do his part to keep the incident out of the public’s knowledge as much as possible.

  “You look very intent on something.”

  Grace entered the breakfast room clothed in a seafoam-green walking suit, her glorious hair, which had been down about her shoulders in the hallway not too long ago, now sat in some sort of style on her head that highlighted the swan-like curve of her neck. His gaze followed her to her seat, his grin in rebellion again.

  He stood. “Good morning, Lady Astley.”

  Her smile brightened the entire room. “Good morning, my lord.”

  Her gaze landed on something across the room, and as if the dog realized he’d been recognized, Zeus charged directly toward Grace, who had lowered herself to meet him head-on. “Oh my goodness, what a beautiful dog.”

  Frederick met Brandon’s wide-eyed expression.

  Either Grace’s exuberance had transferred to his dog, or Zeus knew a friend when he met one. The English setter had never grown into his thundering name and remained fairly docile except on rare occasions when provoked.

  “This is Zeus.”

  She buried her face in his fur as if they’d been long-lost friends. Frederick refused to send a look to Brandon, who was likely shocked beyond words at his wife’s response. “Is he ours?”