The Mistletoe Countess

by Pepper Basham

  “He is.”

  “I’m so glad you have dogs.” She smiled down at Zeus, who gave her a solid lick on the nose in return. “They’re much easier to talk to than people.”

  A strange sound erupted from Brandon’s direction, but his expression gave no change.

  Grace finally stood, trailing her hand across Zeus’s fur one last time before moving to the table.

  Brandon assisted Grace with her chair. “Thank you, Brandon.” She took in the dishes of fruit before them. “You have strawberries?” Grace sent Brandon a smile so bright even the seasoned butler stared entranced for a moment. “You must have miracle workers here, Brandon, to find strawberries in December.”

  “They’re from the hothouse, milady.” Brandon nodded, face impassive. “Lord Astley mentioned that you were particularly fond of strawberries.”

  She flashed Frederick another smile. “He’s so very thoughtful, isn’t he, Brandon?”

  Brandon’s expression flickered with surprise for a second and returned to its controlled posture. Hopefully Grace recognized the res-ervation of the staff as wholly English, but Frederick knew they were on their guard, anxious that the new Countess of Astley might prove as tedious and unmanageable as the last. Or as difficult as his mother. Since Grandmama’s death, there had been very few kindhearted ladies of the house, and never one so very…ebullient.

  “I hope you rested well after the events of the evening.”

  “I did, I think.” Her gaze rose to his as she reached for a strawberry. “And I was happy to see you kept your promise.”

  His promise? At the twinkle in her eyes, understanding dawned. Sleeping beside her.

  “I am a man of my word, Lady Astley.”

  “I’m glad to hear it, my lord, for I am very fond of words.”

  She took in a deep breath and adjusted her serviette in her lap, glancing about the room as she did. Did she notice the peeling wallpaper? Or the wooden trim in need of repair? Or the uneven tilt of one of the sconces?

  “I think this is the best breakfast room I’ve ever seen.”

  He paused his glass to his lips and stared at her. The woman with a silver-lining view. He’d gotten much more than he deserved or anticipated in this botched contract-turned-hopeful-beginning. His chest expanded with a strange sense of gratitude that nearly brought him to tears. What in heaven’s name was wrong with him?

  “What an excellent use of morning light.” She gestured toward the glass doors at the end of the room. “And do those lead out onto a terrace?”

  “With a fine prospect of the river and hills beyond.”

  “There’s so much to discover, isn’t there?” She glanced about again, absently raising her glass to her lips before turning her attention back to him. “What do you like best about Havensbrooke?”

  He lowered his glass to the table and sat back, pondering the novel question. “Well, I…” He looked to Brandon, who only raised a dark brow in response. “I love the memories I have of my grandparents here, as well as other things.”

  She rested her chin on one hand and wiggled her brows at him. “Like?”

  He enjoyed her playful prodding so much that he refused to sully the moment by correcting her posture. “Like the gardens, especially when they are in good shape. And the Great Hall, as you well know. There’s a room beneath one of the back stairways where Grandfather and I stored wooden bric-a-brac we’d attempt to create on our own, though neither of us knew much of woodworking.”

  Her wrinkled-nosed grin encouraged more.

  “Grandfather had a tree house built for me once. I don’t even know if it’s still standing.” He hadn’t thought of it in years. “My grandmother and I used to take a walk up the hillside to the vista and talk of stories and history and God. It’s a special place to me. And I love the east wing with its turrets and morning light. I’m actually rather pleased at the notion of moving our sleeping quarters back to that portion of the house. The third-floor observation balcony points toward the west for the best views of sunset.”

  “I want to see all of it.” She sighed, turning back to her breakfast. “Every place.”

  “Why?”

  “First of all, I think the more time we spend in your sunny memories, the more strength we’ll possess to combat against the more shadowy present.” She took a sip of her tea. “And if they’re important to you, I imagine I’ll find them charming too. Each place will teach me more about you, and I want to know you best of all. It’s what special friends do, you know.”

  Special friends. He’d never imagined anyone wanting to know about such treasured and intimate things, but why did he keep expecting Grace to follow some prescript pattern? Nothing about her fit anything he’d ever imagined. “I would like to share them with you.”

  “Should we start today? Perhaps with the vista? Or the gardens?”

  His hope deflated. “I’m sorry, darling, but I’ve been called away.” He slid the telegram toward her.

  “But we only arrived.” She read over the paper, her face brightening. “Would the inspector need my testimony too? I can take very good note of details sometimes, especially during life-threatening moments.”

  Brandon’s head shot up.

  “I believe my account and Patton’s should suffice, and I need to attend to a bit of estate business while I am there, but Mrs. Powell and Elliott will be happy to assist you while I’m away.”

  His reassurance failed to resurrect her smile. The choice was unfortunate in timing, but he’d not wait another day without putting this plan into motion for her…and for his peace of mind. “But I do have a very special place to show you that may keep you duly occupied during my absence.”

  Her frown deepened. “Please tell me it doesn’t involve finding toilets or evading spiteful dowagers.”

  Brandon coughed.

  “Not at all.” He cleared his throat to cover his desire to laugh. “It’s more to your particular tastes, I believe. When you’re finished with breakfast, I’ll show you.”

  Her jeweled eyes widened. “I expect an excellent diversion then, my lord, if you plan to abandon me so soon.” She took a few bites of toast and finished every strawberry on her plate, then proceeded to encourage him to share the remainder of his strawberries too.

  As he escorted her away from the breakfast room, she asked dozens of questions regarding each room and fixture. She oohed over the beauty of the Great Hall in daylight and expounded upon how she’d like to decorate it for Christmas, while Frederick assured her he’d ask Brandon to locate enough garland to line the entire staircase. Her happy chatter echoed around the room as they climbed the stairs, a joyful addition to this large house.

  As they reached the top of the stairs, Grace rushed forward to one of the third-story windows that offered a dazzling scene of the countryside stretching to rolling hills and a fog-fingered horizon.

  “This is remarkable,” she whispered as she took in his land. His legacy.

  His thoughts corrected. Their legacy.

  “Is all of that part of Havensbrooke?”

  He nodded, drinking in the familiar view. “As far as our eyes can see, all the way up to the vista, there.”

  She followed his direction to the tallest hill nearest the house, which rose up to a flattened area filled with rocky outcroppings and evergreens. “The place you would walk with your grandmother?” “Yes and Grandfather too. It provides an excellent prospect of the house.” He shook his head as he stared down at her. “I’ve thought of them more since knowing you than I have in years. I believe you’re a very good reminder.”

  “Reminder?”

  “Of good things.”

  She searched his face with such raw compassion, his throat tightened. He cleared it and tugged her within his embrace, his words near her ear. “Are you ready for your surprise?”

  She immediately melted against him, resting her head back on his shoulder, shrouding his senses in rosemary and Grace. “Please say it involves kissing!”

&
nbsp; He complied, her fingers finding their way to the nape of his neck and encouraging him to linger. Blast the investigation! He’d rather give Grace a more intimate tour of Havensbrooke instead of keeping his appointment with the investigator. The past few nights aboard ship, he’d introduced her to more familiar and liberal kisses, to which she responded with a degree of enthusiasm to encourage his imagination in all sorts of distractible directions. But making her his? That seemed to wait just out of reach at every turn. He rested his forehead against hers, reveling in the wonder of this unexpected sweetness, this right desire and design. “Close your eyes.”

  She feigned a look of suspicion, then acquiesced—grin growing as he took her hands and tugged her forward. The double doors to the library creaked open, but she dutifully kept her eyes closed.

  “I smell leather,” she said with a giggle. “And…paper?”

  He beamed as he led her to the center of the room. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt such excitement. Light streamed in from the windows and cloaked the entire space with a hazy glow. Perfect.

  He brought her hands to his lips and stared at her face. “Open your eyes, Grace.”

  A slight gasp escaped her lips as she took in the rows and rows of bookshelves rising to meet the oak-paneled, arched ceiling. At the far end of the room, a similarly arched window took up most of the wall, allowing in enough brightness to overpower the electric lights. A red-cushioned bench waited in front of the window, allowing for a view toward the drive of the house and the hillsides beyond.

  “This…this is perfect.” She spun slowly, in rapt wonder, taking in the splendor of the room with her hand clasped to her chest. Sunlight glinted off her auburn locks. She giggled and ran to him, hugging him close. “I’m so glad you like books.”

  She was much too easy on his heart.

  “Does this mean you’ll forgive my absence today?”

  “If you’ll send Zeus for company.” She tossed a grin over her shoulder. “I suppose you have provided an almost suitable distraction.”

  “Almost?”

  She snatched a book from the shelf and opened it. “My poor fictional heroes have never had such delicious competition before.”

  He paused his retreat toward the door. “Competition?”

  She smiled sweetly. “My very own real-life hero.”

  Was that how she saw him? The tenderness, the faith? He wanted to be that man. He left the room and closed his eyes. Lord, help me remain a hero for her—even when she learns the truth.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Grace spent the entire morning in the library, even taking tea by the window to enjoy the scenes of varied green disappearing into pale skies. The landscape, both inside the house and without, urged her into a giddy prayer of thanksgiving for another item to counter the many challenges she faced. If she could just hide away in the library for the rest of her life, she’d be the perfect Lady Astley, invisible from the world—for an invisible Gracelynn Percy would prove much more refined than the present one.

  Zeus kept her company, finding a cozy spot at her side no matter where she moved in the room, almost as if he were trying to herd her about. It was rather endearing.

  Frederick had not returned by the time the dinner bell rang, so with great trepidation and a hearty tug at her necklace, she found her way to the grand dining room for her first dinner in Havensbrooke’s dining hall. Thick, ornate wooden molding framed the tall ceilings. Disrepair showed through the faded wallpaper that had turned a ghastly orange, but the eastern wall lined with floor-to-ceiling windows drew the eyes away from the walls and onto the gardens. An excellent use of windows.

  Grace took her place a few seats from Lady Moriah, offering Brandon a smile as he pushed in her chair. Quiet shrouded the meal, thick and heavy with lingering disdain from her mother-in-law. Grace enjoyed silence involving libraries and evening strolls, or even the whispered breaths of a handsome man asleep at her side, but this sort of quiet raked over her nerves like talons. She could practically feel the woman’s disapproval.

  Kindness—as her grandfather had always said—was one’s greatest weapon.

  “Have you enjoyed your day, Lady Astley?”

  The older woman took a sip from her glass before answering. “I’ve had no company, no useful conversation, and nothing worthwhile to read.”

  “That sounds like a horrible day.”

  “I prefer my solitude, and it’s rare to find something truly enjoyable to read with all the silly dime novels littering the world. Dramatic drivel.”

  Grace hid her gasp in her glass, but she thought perhaps Brandon heard it, if the look he sent her before focusing ahead again was any indication. “Perhaps you’ve not been given the right sort. They’re incredibly entertaining and filled with such adventure and—”

  “How old are you?”

  Grace sat up a little taller. “I’ll be nineteen on Christm—”

  “You act much younger.” Her beady eyes pinned her until Grace almost squirmed. “But that is young enough for time and proper instruction to temper your inappropriate enthusiasm.”

  “Have I been inappro—”

  “You smile too much.”

  Grace blinked at the severe interruption. “Smile too much?”

  “And too broadly. It’s unnerving and exposes you as silly.”

  A laugh tickled at the back of Grace’s throat. “Perhaps I’m happy.”

  The woman singed her with a sharp look. “Time will cure that as well.”

  The urge to laugh dwindled.

  “You are not left to your own devices now, Lady Astley.” She scraped the word lady from her throat. “You have stepped into the shoes of centuries, so you are no longer free to believe in your dime novels and fairy tales. It is time to grow up. You are responsible for securing an heir for this estate and ensuring my son completes his task of saving it. That is all, and it’s time you faced your new reality.”

  Her voice nailed the words forward.

  Grace refused to lower her gaze. “And where does making him happy fall into your plans?”

  “Happiness is as fleeting as paper. It will neither buy a stone for this house or food for this table. The sooner you forget those fanciful ideas and turn your attentions to the purpose for which Frederick married you, the better for Havensbrooke. And Frederick.”

  Grace’s breath puffed shallow. “How do you suppose someone came up with the idea for this beautiful home of Havensbrooke?”

  The woman blinked. “What do you mean?”

  “Or the oil landscapes so proudly displayed in this room. Do you suppose their creations stemmed from a lackluster indifference?”

  Grace dared not reach for her glass, because her hands trembled from her attempt to maintain her composure.

  “You talk nonsense, ridiculous girl.”

  “Imagination, fanciful ideas, joy in the beauty around us inspires creativity and productivity. Why can’t we have both the beautiful and the practical? The fantastical and the functional? Didn’t God create with both practicality and pleasure?”

  “You’ll be the embarrassment of us all with such drivel.” Lady Moriah’s jaw tightened, and she tossed her serviette to the table. “It is a sad reality that you care more for your daydreams than you do for others’ opinions of your husband and his legacy.”

  “That is not true. Of course, I care—”

  “And if you did care”—she stood and took the cane Brandon offered—“you would learn to keep your conversations safely between two topics—the weather and the state of our gardens. I fear that anything else you offer will cause Frederick more social harm at having such a silly wife than the remote possibility of doing him any good from your proposed creativity. You were an undesirable solution to a most unfortunate turn of events.”

  Heat slipped from Grace’s face at the mixture of truth and barb in the woman’s accusation.

  Lady Moriah’s cane beat against the glossy floors as she took her leave.

  “
Mother,” Frederick said from the doorway.

  “You’ve married a simpleton,” she murmured in passing. “We’ll be the laughingstocks of the county.”

  “That’s quite enough.”

  His reprimand bounced off Lady Moriah’s glare, and with scowl firmly fitted to every crinkle in her face, she left the room.

  Grace’s insides quivered almost uncontrollably, but she tempered her expression with a greeting smile. “The Bible says ‘a merry heart is good like a medicine.’” Her gaze shifted to her plate. “But perhaps I cast too much sunshine in places where it is unwanted.”

  He rounded the table and took a chair near her. “I don’t know if there is medicine strong enough to cheer her heart.”

  Grace refused the negative turn of her thoughts, holding back a sudden rush of tears for Frederick’s sake. He’d had so much hurt, she couldn’t bear to add her sadness to his brimming cup. “There’s another verse that seems apt to the moment.”

  His smile crooked in question.

  “‘All the days of the afflicted are evil: but he that is of a merry heart hath a continual feast.’”

  He studied her and quite surprisingly took her hand. “I apologize for my tardiness. The venture in town took much longer than anticipated, and I still did not complete my task.”

  She stifled a whimper. “You’ll be gone again tomorrow?”

  “Only for the morning, and I’ll make certain breakfast is served in your room to keep you out of Mother’s claws. She has a great deal of helpful guidance about how to prepare you as an aristocratic lady, but her methods are not the best, so I will employ the help of my sister, Eleanor. I saw her in town, and she’s anxious to meet you.”

  What if Grace failed with Eleanor too? She had found a book in the library titled Beadle’s Book of Etiquette for Ladies and Gentlemen, but it was from the mid-1800s, so she wasn’t sure how much stock to put in the advice. She’d flipped open A Book of Edwardian Etiquette and felt much better after reading, “The test of good manners is to be able to put up pleasantly with bad ones.”