Leaving the library via a servants’ stair, Grace found herself in an unfamiliar passageway, so quiet it left a chill across her skin. She pushed through a nearby door, ornately carved with Havensbrooke’s theme—lions—thinking it would lead her to the south wing, but instead, she entered a magnificent sitting room she’d never seen before. Designed in pale blue and white, with an air of French accents, the room gave a strange sense of otherworldliness. She turned to look through the way she’d just come and discovered the “door” matched the wallpaper so well it blended into the wall almost seamlessly.
Servants really had the most interesting entrances.
A book lay open on a settee as if recently left there, but from the faint light fanning between the half-closed shutters, enough dust coated the furnishings to suggest no one had been in the room for a long time.
What was this place?
She stepped farther into the deserted room, her feet barely making a sound across the carpeted floors. The setting teased her senses awake, and her scalp began to tingle its customary warning of a mystery. Lanterns waited, unused. Candles stood on the tables.
A broad hallway led into shadows, with a league of portraits lining the walls. The gallery showcased a portrait in which Grace recognized two of the faces. Lady Moriah stood between two men, an older man with features similar to Frederick, and a younger man, pale eyes and dark hair, with features more like Lady Moriah. A younger version of Frederick stood nearby, almost separate from the other three, his lips quirked in a smile very unlike any she’d seen in him. Bitter.
She reached to touch the canvas and smooth away the foreign expression. What must have caused such a look? Loneliness? Rejection?
She paused her gaze in his painted one, attempting to unearth the secrets she’d only heard hints of, before she moved farther down the hallway. One room opened into another room, all waiting in the same eerie anticipated silence.
One elegant suite showcased a massive sitting room separating two bedrooms—one more masculine, the other feminine—with windows looking out over the walled garden that led up the hillside toward the vista.
East. She gasped. These must be the east-wing bedrooms. The place her mother-in-law had closed off when her elder son had died. Grace spun around to look behind her, as if someone watched. Somewhere within these walls, Edward Percy had breathed his last.
Another delightful chill shimmied up her spine.
She entered the sitting room with its rich reds and golds, the two oil portraits over the marble fireplace drawing her forward. One was of the brother Grace had seen in the previous family portrait, Edward, and the other was of an elegant, raven-haired beauty.
“Celia,” Grace whispered into the stillness.
A rush of emerald gown wrapped around her, complementing the depth of her laughing green eyes. Everything about her pooled with elegance and refinement, from the sweep of her dark hair to the tilt of her chin. No wonder she had wooed the fates of the Percy men.
The more masculine bedroom boasted thick, box-like furnishings, but the most striking feature was the state of the room. A chair tipped back, lying topsy-turvy on the floor, as if someone left it in a hurry. Curtains were flung back instead of closed like the rest of the rooms. The bed waited, unmade, and the massive desk by the window stood littered with papers, with some sheets scattered across the floor.
Had this been where Edward died? Why wasn’t the space tidied?
Grace stepped to the desk, her fingers ruffling the feathers of an old ink pen. A small box with gold trim and shaped like a pirate’s treasure chest overcame Grace’s self-control. With a careful twist of the clip holding the lid in place, Grace looked inside. Letters tied together with a ribbon. On the top, written in elegant hand was a simple phrase: “To my darling Elizabeth.”
Elizabeth. Grace plundered her thoughts for a face in the Percy family to match the name. Wasn’t Elizabeth the name of Frederick’s grandmother? Grace shifted another piece of paper loose enough to make out the name on the next letter. “My Oliver.”
Those were Frederick’s grandparents. The letters were theirs. She grinned and tucked the box back into its spot. Perhaps she could convince Frederick to allow her to read them. What a beautiful introduction to two of the people he loved most in the world.
As she placed the box back in its spot, her hip hit the desk. A few of the precarious papers on the edge fluttered to the carpeted floor, and the middle desk drawer shook open. Grace rushed to set the papers right— an odd assortment of bills, ledger sheets, and personal correspondence, it seemed—but then Frederick’s name among the words of one of the pages inside the drawer caught her attention.
I am now inclined to believe Frederick had no hand in the events that led to his exile.
Grace took up the paper, stepping toward the window to get a better view of the words.
I have ruined my life and his with my quick judgment, instead of remembering he has loved this land with more commitment than either me or Father. Parks, do you see how my hand is shaking even now? I can barely breathe. How can I make amends for the sins which weigh me down? Even now my heart quakes from the ghost who haunts me.
A shiver tiptoed up Grace’s spine, and she scanned the room, looking for proof.
I am caught with no escape. I cannot seek justice for my wife’s treachery without incriminating myself. I am ill, Parks. A sudden fatigue has befallen me—whether from the pains of my own remorse or a viler deviance, I am uncertain. I’ve ruined it all. God have mercy. I cannot trust her. I’ve stripped her of everything in hopes of finding some redemption for Havensbrooke.
Send for Frederick. May he…
The handwriting quaked to such an extent the words became illegi-ble, scratching off the page.
Grace scanned through the loose papers for more of the letter, but nothing matched. How long ago had it been written? Hadn’t Frederick mentioned something about his mother forbidding access to these rooms soon after Edward’s death?
Grace’s attention shot back to the letter in her hand. She’d read about letters scratching off before being completed, usually because the person was dying of some sort of poison or weakness. But hadn’t Frederick said his brother had died from a weak heart?
Grace’s gaze slipped up to catch a glimpse of Celia’s portrait over the mantel in the adjoining room. Her eyes took on a decidedly darker glint, her smile mocking.
Grace swallowed through her dry throat and tucked the page into one of the books in her hand. Something felt unfinished here. Her lips tipped into a responding smile. She may not be fully equipped for a fashion debut, but solving a mystery? She’d been training for this her whole life.
The game was afoot.
Chapter Nineteen
Was his wife going to disappear on him as a rule?
Frederick took another turn around the gardens, Zeus on his heels. This afternoon, they’d meet the tenants of Havensbrooke. His gaze slid toward a cottage tucked behind a screen of trees in the distance. Except that tenant. He’d save that introduction for a more private opportunity, once he’d divulged the worst of his sins to his wife.
But he wanted to hold on to Grace’s look of admiration for one more day.
The Great Hall gave no indication of the whereabouts of his wife, though it did boast a twenty-foot spruce several men had brought in after Frederick gave them instruction on where to find it. He hadn’t been home for Christmas in four years. He smiled as he passed, nodding to a few maids as they draped garland along the massive mantel. After being gone for six months, he was finally starting to feel at home in this house again.
As he passed his office, he caught sight of a flash of green and came to a roaring stop. Peering around the corner of the doorway, he watched as his wife walked faerie-light through the very masculine space.
Her day dress floated around her as she stepped from his desk to the globe in the corner and slid her free hand over the massive leather chair by the fireplace, her other hand clutching
two books to her chest. Her beauty stole his breath.
She turned to look out the window, and he swept up behind her, catching her gasp with his lips. Their physical connection bound him to her in a new, more powerful, way. Unlike any woman he’d known, Grace took to their time together with the same voracious curiosity as she did to most things—and he harbored no complaints. In fact, he’d hadn’t thanked God so much in years. Out loud. In several languages.
She giggled as his lips left her mouth to slip to her ear. “I missed you too.”
“Did you?” He raised a brow and then delved back into appreciating the slope of her neck with his mouth. “You seem much more content than I.”
“I’m being scandalously kissed by my roguish husband.” Her breath hitched as he continued his perusal. “Why wouldn’t I—”
“I know my way well enough, Brandon.” A familiar voice from the entry hall ruptured their privacy. “Let me through.”
Frederick hoped his ears played tricks on him. Surely his Aunt Lavenia hadn’t arrived unannounced and with such poor timing.
“Where is she?” her question resounded closer, confirming his thoughts.
“Blast,” Frederick muttered, tucking Grace against him behind the door.
“Who is it?” Grace peeked up at him from her place between him and the wall. His thoughts delved into excellent ways to take advantage of her position—
“Mrs. Redfern, if you would allow me to announce your presence—”
“Pishposh, Brandon. I must see this new bride of my nephew’s.” Her light voice rang through the corridors with purpose. “Upon my word, what a glorious tree!”
She’d made it to the Great Hall.
“Frederick?”
“It’s my mother’s sister,” he responded, voice low.
“Oh no.” Grace pouted. “I can’t bear another one.”
“Aunt Lavenia is nothing like my mother.” He trailed a hand down her neck. “She’s unique in her own right and married to a clergyman in Matlock.”
“A clergyman?”
“My mother was not rich when my father met her.”
One of Grace’s brows pitched high.
“However, she was very…enticing.”
“So much so that your father lost all reason and married the wrong sister?” Grace’s eyes widened. “I’ve read about such intoxication in books, you know.”
“I’m certain you have.” Frederick chuckled and placed a kiss against her cheek. “And you may very well be right. I can only imagine Aunt Lavenia a better choice in many ways, but not when it comes to patience.”
“Frederick!” Her call came closer.
Sending Grace an apologetic look, he rounded the door, bringing Grace along with him. He was beginning to regret not taking a honeymoon.
“There you are.” Aunt Lavenia clapped her hands, her pale eyes wide beneath her large-brimmed hat. “And your bride!”
Frederick drew in a deep breath for strength. “Aunt Lavenia Redfern, may I introduce my wife, Gracelynn Percy, Countess of Astley.”
Grace dipped her head. “Pleased to meet you, Aunt Lavenia.”
“Oh, look at you!” She studied Grace for a second, stepping closer. “Well, I never imagined a redhead as the salvation of Havensbrooke, but if God can use fishermen, shepherds, and whales to bring about his plan, why not a lovely ginger?”
Grace shot Frederick an open-mouthed smile, her blue eyes dancing with her resident curiosity.
“Aunt Lavenia, we weren’t expecting visitors.”
“Family, dear.” Lavenia waved away his words and took Grace’s face in her hands, peering over the rim of her glasses for close inspection. “I met your sister in town this morning, and she invited me for tea on Friday.” Lavenia released Grace’s cheeks and stepped back with a satisfied sigh. “But I had to come over straightaway after Eleanor’s glowing report from you.” She raised a brow to Frederick. “Nothing’s glowed in this house since Edward installed electric lights, so you’ll understand my immediate curiosity.”
Grace laughed. “I do prefer glowing to the alternative.”
Lavenia’s sharp gaze slid back to Grace, her smile growing with Cheshire style. “Ah, I see.” Lavenia turned to Brandon. “Have tea brought to the Green Room, won’t you, Brandon?” Her attention turned back to Grace. “I’ve a new niece to interview.”
Grace couldn’t help but like Lavenia Redfern. She broke conventions, smiled often, and didn’t have one negative thing to say about Grace’s hair color. The very fact she caused Frederick to battle with his grin made her even more endearing.
“I wasn’t too keen on this whole idea of marrying for money, you understand.” She waved a scone toward Grace before taking another bite. “I recognize the financial demands of a large estate, but I’m a firm believer in marrying for a partner, not position, and I’m not afraid to admit it.”
“Grace and I are hopeful to have both,” Frederick answered, glancing Grace’s way long enough to send her thoughts spiraling back to his plundering kisses.
Was marriage truly supposed to be this delightful? Clandestine kisses in the study? Stormy nights of passion? Enchanting discussions about anything from fiction to architecture? She hadn’t read a single book that painted a picture of marriage remotely close to this.
What a waste of unwritten words!
“You’ve always been the kindhearted one, Frederick. For all your disappointments in life, you never lost your goodness, did you?”
Disappointments? The unanswered questions in this house breathed in the air, waiting for release. Would Frederick ever trust Grace with the truth? She already knew enough to draw conclusions of her own that rivaled anything he could conjure up. After all, she was currently reading Dickens.
“But I see how it is. You two are well suited.” Lavenia glanced between them, nodding with finality. “Yes, and I predict you will have a child by Christmas next year.”
Grace laughed more at Frederick’s look of shock than Lavenia’s directness. “I’m only now discovering what it is to be a wife, dear Aunt Lavenia. I can’t imagine managing the duties of mother too.”
“You’ll have lots of help when the time comes. Unlike most women in current society, I adore babies.” She took a sip of tea. “And how do you find Havensbrooke?”
“It’s situated so beautifully. Almost fairy-tale-like.”
“Indeed it is.” Lavenia studied Grace over her teacup, hesitating. “A large, lonely place in need of some young spirit to rewrite its stories and sort out its mysteries.”
Mysteries? Grace blinked. “Speaking of mysteries.” She popped up from her seat. Where had she placed her books? “I discovered one today.”
She retrieved her books from the study and returned, tugging out the letter. “I found something when I got lost in the house this morning.” She sat next to Frederick on the settee. “I think it’s from your brother.”
“My brother?” He took the paper from her, his face paling as he scanned the note. “You…you were in the east wing?”
“I believe so. We certainly didn’t venture there on our tour, but perhaps the letter will bring you some small comfort. It seems your brother thought he’d wronged you.”
Frederick sat back, rubbing his chin as he read the letter. Aunt Lavenia held out her hand for a turn, and Frederick offered a hesitant allowance. His expression gave little away, certainly nothing to help Grace sort out anything related to a possible murder. With their new intimacy, should she be able to read his thoughts a bit better? She pursed her lips in con-centration as she stared at him and frowned when nothing materialized in her head. Oh well, perhaps it would take a little longer.
“There’s more than that, Grace.” Aunt Lavenia looked up from the paper. “This letter hints to a scandal about which I’ve pondered since Edward’s death. Something is definitely amiss, and I think we’ve finally found direction for answers.”
What did this mean?
Frederick reread the letter, his brother’
s handwriting a bittersweet stab to Frederick’s grief. He should have been the one to discover this months ago. Overwhelmed by his new responsibilities as earl, he’d stayed away from the east wing at his mother’s request and due to his own regret. He’d had an estate to rescue. It had seemed easier at the time to forge ahead into estate business. But what had he overlooked in the process?
“Was I right in bringing it to you?”
Grace’s touch to his arm brought him back to the present. “Yes.” He nodded. “I’ve needed to explore the east wing, and this proves the fact. It’s only, I didn’t know if I could—”
“We can do it together.”
His bride. She offered such confidence, kindness. He cleared the emotions closing off his voice.
“Perhaps Parks can provide some insight, Frederick.” Aunt Lavenia took another sip of her tea. “This may not be the first letter of its kind.”
Frederick cringed. If his brother’s best friend would even talk to him.
“You know where I stand about past sins and all that. I’m a clergyman’s wife. I’ve heard it all, and I know you’ve tried to make things right.” Lavenia’s hand rested on his shoulder. “But there’s something quite dark about your brother’s words and the implications about his wife. I never liked her.” She offered a knowing nod along with a wag of her finger. “And I’m quite keen on such things.”
Celia. Frederick had stayed clear of Celia Blackmore ever since his return to England. She was poison, the reason for the rift between Frederick and his brother, and no doubt her influence contributed to the downward fall of Havensbrooke.
But a murderer? His gaze traveled to his wife—the very contradic-tion. She studied him with those intelligent eyes of hers, her imagination most likely conjuring up all sorts of scenarios.
“I’ll leave the two of you to talk this over, but know this”—Aunt Lavenia pointed at him, those pale blue eyes flaming—“I’m a decent shot should things turn less than savory.” Her fingers wiggled in the air. “And of course, I’ll pray, especially to keep us free from the need for my shooting.”
The Mistletoe Countess Page 21
