The Mistletoe Countess

by Pepper Basham

  “Mrs. Powell has been instructed to meet with you each morning as you take over household responsibilities. Blake will be with us for dinner tomorrow evening, so she will certainly want to know how to prepare for our guest.”

  Grace pushed aside her worry and turned her attention to her new responsibilities. She pelted Frederick with questions about guest rooms, servants’ names, previous meals, and Mrs. Powell’s personality, to which Frederick had very little to add to Grace’s initial assessment. It was shocking how men didn’t know the answers to simple questions like when a person’s birthday was or their favorite flower. Those questions seemed fairly elementary.

  And Frederick had no news to add to the information about the crashed automobile. The inspector took notes, but the mechanic had not come to any conclusions yet. Clearly the men in town could use some help with this investigation, but Grace felt fairly certain the etiquette book would not support her dashing to town to unearth her own answers.

  The dowager’s assessment stung afresh. Maybe Frederick Percy really had married the wrong bride after all, and maybe that was why he hadn’t taken Grace with him to town. Perhaps she really would be alone in this new world.

  “You’ve left her alone for two days with your mother?”

  Already Blake’s directness had hit on points Frederick hadn’t considered. “For an impeccable reason, as I told you.”

  “But she’s a stranger here. Perhaps you should’ve taken her with you.”

  “To study bathtubs and toilets?”

  “To be with you, Freddie. From my brief acquaintance with your dear wife, I’d say she could become interested in about anything without any motivation whatsoever.”

  Frederick stared at Blake and pinched his lips into a frown, diverting his attention to the car window and the passing countryside. Perhaps he should have left Blake at the train station to find his own way to Havensbrooke.

  “Imagine it from her point of view. You’re the only person she really knows in the whole of England, and her head is filled with fanciful notions of you sweeping her off to some castle forever. Then she arrives instead to find a dark, gloomy estate in disrepair, an evil dowager mother, and a houseful of doleful servants, with no friend in the world as her companion. I expected more from your tender heart.”

  “My tender heart, as you call it, was working feverishly on keeping my wife from the discomfort of walking about the hallways in her unmentionables.”

  “Yes, right. Those particular pleasures are reserved for her charming yet absent husband.”

  Frederick looked away. “Hmm.”

  Blake stared at Frederick for a full five seconds. “I say, Freddie. What is it? Has she refused your advances?”

  Heat climbed up Frederick’s neck at his friend’s almost cultic gift of observation. “Blake.”

  “Is she unable to complete the task?”

  “It’s nothing like that.” Frederick forced the words through clenched teeth. “She receives my somewhat chaste affections with…appreciation.”

  “Chaste?” Blake folded his arms across his chest. “She’s your wife!”

  “A young, naive wife who has only known me for a little over two weeks, and married to me only one.”

  “And who you underestimate a great deal, I believe.”

  Frederick growled. “What on earth do you mean?”

  “You know as well as I that naivete doesn’t mean disinterest.” His friend studied him in a most annoying way. “And with her proclivity for romance, I’d imagine she has a healthy dose of curiosity. You’ve held your emotions in check for so long, perhaps it’s time to give yourself as freely as she gives to you—as she likely needs you to do. Are you afraid she’ll break your heart like Celia? Is that why you’re waiting?”

  “No.” His cousin’s words stung with a truth he hadn’t considered. Was he? Did that undercurrent of fear pause him from offering her his heart freely? He cleared his throat and offered a half glare. “I’m attempting to be a gentleman.”

  Blake’s brows shot high. “Freddie, a gentleman is all well and good in society, but the last thing a woman needs in the bedroom is a husband who doesn’t know what he wants.”

  “I know what I want.” His words sharpened.

  “Then perhaps she wants the same thing.”

  Frederick released a long sigh as they turned up the drive for home. “You need to get married, Blake.”

  “No.” He frowned and shook his head. “It’s much less troublesome and more entertaining to criticize those who are already in the thick of it.” He patted the seat of the car. “And I can enjoy the way you’ve put your wife’s money to good use. A roadster is the car to have nowadays, I hear.”

  “Since we lost the other car in the river and already have an outdated Touring, I thought we might as well purchase something more fashionable and reliable.”

  “Lost the other car in the river?” Blake’s palm rose with one blond brow. “What on earth did Lady Astley do with your car?”

  “It wasn’t Grace.” Frederick stifled a groan, wishing he hadn’t been so free with his words. It was already bad enough than an entire town watched the car accident unfold. The last thing he needed was another reason for Blake to worry. But there was no going back now. He proceeded to divulge the entire scene.

  “Well, it was a good thing your lovely bride spent her childhood with servants and an eccentric grandfather, or you’d have been a chauffeur short.” Blake released a whistle, his lighthearted demeanor cloaking a mind filled with caution, if Freddie knew his friend aright. “And what of the car? Did you discover the reason for the malfunction?”

  Frederick kept his gaze forward as the spires of Havensbrooke came into view. “Patton and I met with the new mechanic this morning before fetching you from the station. His thoughts after examining the car were inconclusive. He noted possible evidence of tampering, but due to damage from the accident and the age of the car, it was difficult to ascertain a cause with certainty.” He locked gazes with his cousin. “So it’s all likely nothing but an accident.”

  “Of course it is.”

  “Blake.”

  “I wonder what your curious little wife will think of these inconclusive findings.”

  “I’d rather not worry her, especially with her generous imagination.” The roadster slowed to a stop in front of Havensbrooke’s entry. “Besides, the authorities will continue the investigation, and once they come to a definitive conclusion, I will share it with her.”

  Blake groaned and shook his head. “Freddie, it is preferable to keep information from other people’s wives, but keeping secrets from one’s own wife is being bound for destruction. She inevitably finds out.”

  Frederick stepped from the car, soaking in Blake’s warning. Of course the man was right. With Grace’s rabid curiosity, she’d likely find out before he had a chance to tell her anyway.

  As they entered the house, Grace greeted them on the way to the dining room, wearing a deep burgundy evening dress with some sort of black lace overlay and looking every bit the part of the lady of the house.

  It was rather nice to come home to such a sight, though his bride’s smile did not reach her eyes and her walk remained as stiff as a tree. Frederick’s heart squeezed in response. What had happened?

  “It’s a pleasure to see you again, Mr. Blake.”

  Grace offered her hand, her posture the very picture of elegance. Ah, she’d been practicing. His grin paused. Yet something about her rehearsed movements turned his stomach. Where was the glimmer in those eyes? His gaze shot to Blake. Was the old chap right? Had he been holding out his most intimate affections to guard his heart? Had he neglected something she needed most to give her something he thought she needed more?

  He was her only friend in England. And his mother wielded words like knives. How had he failed his wife so obviously?

  “Lady Astley.” Blake bowed over her gloved hand with exaggerated flair, encouraging the addition of a brief sparkle in her eyes
to the smile on her face.

  “I see you found my husband.”

  “Indeed.” Blake flashed Frederick a glance from his periphery. “The poor fellow looked lost without you.”

  A rush of rose blushed her cheeks in a most fetching way but faded just as quickly. Frederick’s stomach panged in discomfort.

  “Dinner is waiting for us,” Grace offered, chin high, gesturing toward the hall.

  Blake extended his arm, sending a wink Frederick’s way. “Freddie, you won’t mind if I escort your lovely bride into dinner, will you?”

  Frederick offered a begrudging nod and followed behind the pair into the dining room, where Mother already had taken her place.

  At once, Grace’s demeanor shifted. Her smile faded, and her conversation diminished to basic answers. She even made some noncommittal reply to Blake’s question regarding her recent literary exploits. His mother kept the dialogue turned away from Grace as much as possible, sending subtle stings in the process.

  Heat surged into Frederick’s face. He’d been such a fool!

  He’d underestimated his mother’s influence. Whatever she’d said or done to steal Grace’s smile, he’d allowed by his absence at such a crucial time in their relationship. He was supposed to protect his wife, even from his mother, but within a paltry two days of their arrival in Derbyshire, he’d nearly gotten Grace killed in an automobile accident and allowed his wife to endure alone the verbal attacks of his embittered mother. God, help me make amends!

  And prove he could be the husband his wife needed.

  Grace had chosen a simple, dark blue gown for her first visit to the parish of Astlynn Commons. She really couldn’t top the river incident as far as memorable introductions, no matter what fashion mishap she made, so at least she faced lowered expectations. Besides, Lillias had always said Grace looked heavenly in dark blue, so why not match the place and the compliment? Surely, she couldn’t fail with heavenly at church. The gown boasted an empire waist with delicate embroidery over the elbow-length sleeves. A close-fitting, cream-colored hat embellished with matching blue ribbons topped the ensemble.

  Lady Moriah had impaled Grace with more criticism during lunch the previous day, and some of the advice in the Ladies of Refinement pam-phlet left Grace convinced she’d never reach the heights of “refinement” expected for a true lady. Certainly if she failed at being a lady, she’d never win Frederick’s heart.

  She stared at her reflection. Her lips tipped downward in a sad little pout, her eyes almost…fragile. Lillias had been right. Grace hadn’t known the harshness and loneliness of the world outside her books and fairy tales. What loneliness Cinderella must have known in a world so bereft of the ones who loved her.

  Heated tears warmed her eyes. Was this what the rest of her life would be? Isolation? Expending energy to suppress herself and pretend to be someone else? Even if her dashing husband slept beside her at night, he disappeared during the day, leaving her to the gaping emptiness of Havensbrooke and the verbal poison of his mother.

  Oh, what must Frederick’s childhood have been like to live with such a woman!

  Grace had spent a good half hour talking quite fervently with the Almighty that morning.

  Lillias always considered Grace’s animated and friendly prayers sacri-legious, but if the King of heaven adamantly referred to her as not only His child but also His friend, why keep to pious formality? And she desperately needed a friend.

  God hadn’t created her for plastic smiles and shallow relationships. She closed her eyes tight. This could not be her future.

  She shook her head and dared her reflection to wilt. Heroines were not weak creatures. They captured their own futures. Forced fate’s hand.

  What of Jo March, Shakespeare’s Beatrice, Jane Eyre?

  Grace stood taller, her soul drawing from her reserves. She refused to allow Moriah Percy’s antagonistic disposition to steal any more hours or tears.

  “You look lovely, my lady.” Ellie stood behind her as she stared into the full-length mirror. “There’s nothing to disapprove of in either your manner or appearance.”

  Grace’s gaze shot to her shock of red hair, made all the more so by the hue of the gown. Oh well, there was no hiding it. And if God gave her this astounding color, He must have known she could wear it well—or at the very least, respectably.

  With or without Frederick’s attention, Grace had to find a way to live well where God had placed her. For her own heart, if nothing else.

  Let the dowager countess do her worst.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Sunlight filtered through leafy oaks among the quiet graves on either side of the cobblestone path to St. James. Frederick cast an apologetic look back to Grace as he escorted his mother ahead up the path to the church. The walkway only accommodated pairs. In Frederick’s defense, Grace had suggested he help his mother since she wobbled precariously against her cane when she stood for long. But the shift only pinned the truth deeper that Grace lived outside their world, their story.

  The chasm of an ocean between England and home tripled in size, but Grace shook off the melancholy. If David in the Psalms had to remind himself of the truth when his heart trembled with fear, Grace could do no less. “Why art thou cast down, O my soul? and why art thou disquieted in me? hope thou in God: for I shall yet praise him for the help of his countenance.”

  Her thoughts clung to the truth. Hope in God. Perhaps God was using these lonely moments to remind her that He was enough and that He’d made her just as she was, for His glory. Even if she’d never know which shoes to wear with a summer suit!

  She drank in the sight of the beautiful old church. Its vine-covered rock walls and stained glass nestled between mature trees welcomed her with a sweet reminder—God was here, no matter where she moved among the world.

  He was everywhere. Certainly He could help her find where she belonged.

  “I hope you’ll allow me to play escort, my lady.” Blake came up behind her and tipped his head in her direction, offering his arm to walk.

  “I didn’t know you were attending church with us this morning, Mr. Blake.”

  “I’m a regular church attender, Lady Astley.” He tugged at his collar and shot her a wink. “But I usually arrive late and leave early. Too many marriageable ladies desperate to entrap a single man.”

  Grace’s smile bloomed for the first time that morning. “I can think of worse places to find a future bride than in church.”

  Blake shook his head, feigning a grimace. “Not to contradict your ladyship, but I’ve yet to find a perfect combination of devout, engaging, and somewhat easy on the eyes, present company excluded, of course.”

  “I see where the direction of my prayers for you must go in the future.”

  “Please allow me at least another year before you begin such entreat-ies, if you don’t mind. I’m inclined to appreciate my current status for a bit longer.”

  It felt good to laugh.

  “I hear you are in charge of decorating Havensbrooke for Christmas.” Blake’s brows rose in question.

  “I am. Brandon and Mary searched for as many ornaments as they could find within the recesses of the house yesterday. And Elliott is helping me gather garland.” It had all been a very good distraction until lunch with Lady Moriah. “I just have to find a tree.”

  “Might I offer a suggestion?”

  “Please.”

  “When I would spend time at Havensbrooke as a child, Grandfather would take us to the vista to locate a proper tree for the house. We never failed to discover an excellent choice.”

  “The place where Frederick used to go with his grandparents?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Thank you for the advice, Mr. Blake.” Grace squeezed his arm. “And the company.”

  Morning birdsong and the din of voices from the church ahead quieted their walk. The morning chill in the air held the scent of snow.

  “I know it’s been a rough go since you arrived. And Lady Moriah,
the dowager,” he corrected while covering her hand on his arm, “she brings more storm than sun into everyone’s lives. But Freddie will do right by you. He may not have his best foot forward in the beginning, but he’ll find the steps soon enough.”

  Grace turned her attention back to her husband as he helped his mother through the church’s entry. Grace didn’t question his goodness, only his absence. And perhaps his priorities—especially since she didn’t seem to be part of them. “I want things to go well between us, Blake. Truly.”

  His gaze softened into uncharacteristic sincerity. “I know you do, and so does Freddie, once he takes a hard look at things. To be honest, he’s rather dumbstruck by you.”

  “By me? What on earth do you mean?”

  “Your generosity of heart is an anomaly to a man who has always had to prove himself to the people who should have loved him best, only to have them reject him.” Blake gestured forward with his chin. “Freddie and Havensbrooke, they’re a lot alike, if you think about it. Both left to the weeds of the world and in need of patience and a tender hand to help them bloom again.” He wiggled his brows. “They may even need some unexpected creativity too.”

  Her gaze followed his to the pair disappearing into the church. Tending hearts? What a beautiful idea.

  She offered Blake a grin. “My good Mr. Blake, if I didn’t know better, I’d take your statement as almost sentimental.”

  “Nonsense. A quote from the paper or some such, but regardless, Lady Astley, I have every faith in you. Weeds will have no power against your sunshine.” He tipped his hat and paused at the church door. “Now I shall leave you to meet the honorable Reverend Marshall.”

  He spun away, nodding to a man wearing a white cassock and black preaching scarf as he passed.

  “Lady Astley, welcome to St. James.” The reverend bowed his bald head in deference. “We are delighted to have you in Astlynn Commons.”

  “Thank you, Reverend Marshall. What a beautiful day for worship.”

  “Yes, it is.” The man’s gray eyes creased at the corners as he smiled. “I would suspect you appreciate it more than most.”