The Mistletoe Countess

by Pepper Basham

  “You know how to fire pistols?”

  Frederick stifled a groan at Grace’s question. Introducing the two of them would probably prove catastrophic for his peace of mind.

  Aunt Lavenia’s grin broadened into a saucy boast. “It’s not a widely known fact, my dear, as you can understand. After all, I’m a clergyman’s wife, and knowledge of my use of pistols doesn’t bode well with most parishioners.”

  Grace sent him a wide-eyed grin over Lavenia’s shoulder as his aunt took Grace in another hug.

  Oh Lord, give me strength.

  Could the house manage two such personalities in the same room for very long?

  “Don’t you wish to see your sister while you’re here, Aunt Lavenia?” Frederick diverted the conversation in case Lavenia decided to offer Grace shooting lessons on the spot. “You might do her some good.”

  “I’m not certain how much good I’ll do.” Lavenia’s gaze moved to the stairway just beyond the Green Room door. “The woman drinks despair like brandy.”

  Grace’s laugh echoed through the room.

  “It’s true dear. She can hold a grudge better than St. Peter could catch a fish.” She shook her head and turned back to them, standing. “I’ll take her some tea, and we’ll see how things go.”

  “She’s kept herself to her rooms since I threatened to find her a dower house,” Frederick added.

  “Ah well, I can imagine she’s fit to be tied after that.” She released another sigh and offered a renewed smile. “Wish me luck.”

  Grace took Aunt Lavenia’s hands in hers. “It was such a pleasure to meet you, Aunt Lavenia.”

  “I believe we are to be very good friends, my dear Grace.” Lavenia turned to Frederick. “Excellent choice, Frederick, and I simply adore her hair. Adds color in this world of colorless characters.”

  Grace’s attention followed Aunt Lavenia, her smile growing until Lavenia disappeared down the hallway. “Oh, I like her. She inferred I was a character, and I do so hope I turn out to be a heroine in this story.”

  He slipped his arm around her waist and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “I can assure you, you are the heroine of mine.”

  She stared up at him with such unadulterated tenderness, he nearly kissed her much too thoroughly in the middle of the Green Room.

  “So when do we set off for London to sort out what this letter is all about?” She tapped the paper in his hands. “Didn’t you mention needing to travel there to meet with estate solicitors anyway?”

  Her question doused the warmth her gentle look inspired. “I don’t know if this is something we ought to pursue.”

  Grace’s bottom lip dropped. “Aunt Lavenia clearly suspects something, and your brother’s words were terribly—”

  “It’s not as simple as that.” He stood, distancing himself from the onslaught of her incoming argument. “This has the potential to bring unwelcome attention, and that’s the last thing the Astley name needs right now.”

  “But surely the truth is worth the risk.”

  He walked toward his office, trying to keep his breathing slow, but his pulse staggered into a gallop. After Lily, then Celia, and his brother’s unexpected demise, if news emerged that something underhanded had occurred, it would only lengthen the shadows over Havensbrooke, especially with Frederick’s name attached again. “It sounds as though my brother was ill when he wrote this letter. He could have been suffering from paranoia.”

  “Or paranoia had been induced by situations or”—she stepped to his side and paused with a gasp—“or certain liquids. I’ve read of a variety of soluble contents which can cause—”

  “Grace.” He didn’t even want to consider where she learned such information. “My family name is in a vulnerable place. I have to consider the implications of drawing attention to a speculation.”

  “A life-threatening speculation!” She squeezed his arm. “Someone may have tried to kill us in your car last week, not to mention the attempt on your life in Whitlock Village. The last thing I want is to lose a husband I just marr—”

  “We have no proof either of those were anything more than coinci—”

  “Frederick, there very well could be a murderer free, and what if he strikes again?”

  “I’m not willing to take this family through a wild goose chase over something that’s more imagination than reality.”

  She snatched the letter and waved it in front of his face. “This letter is real.”

  “And incomplete. One does not pursue a remote theory based on inconclusive findings.”

  “Clearly you’ve not been reading your Sherlock. Every mystery starts with a remote theory based on inconclusive findings.” She placed the letter back in his hand but wrapped her other hand around theirs. “Havensbrooke is a part of your story. You have to discover the truth.”

  “This is not a story, Grace.” His resolve teetered on the edge of control. “This is real life. There are consequences and…and possible dangers.”

  “There are always consequences and dangers when you live a life. And of course this is a story.” She waved toward one of the portraits on the wall nearby—his grandfather to be specific. “It’s years and centuries of stories. Of people playing the heroes and heroines and villains of their own lives. It’s your story.” She pressed a palm to her chest. “Mine. You decide what part you’ll play.”

  “It’s not as simple as that.” He collapsed into his desk chair. “It’s Havensbrooke’s legacy too. You have no idea how scandal redirects futures in my world.”

  “Wouldn’t the greater scandal be to allow a violent person to hurt someone else? I know enough to realize shadows follow people when you’re pointing toward the light, Frederick, so we must—”

  “What do you know of it, Grace?” He shook his head. “You’ve been here two weeks.”

  “I know we must pursue what is right.” She stepped back from him, her brows furrowed. “You can’t ensure the future of Havensbrooke if you’re dead, and I mean to protect you, even if you will not protect yourself.”

  “And I must protect my family’s reputation. My home.” His words sliced into her argument. “You can’t understand the burden I bear. The expectation to make things right. Centuries of expectations. How can you possibly understand it?” Her wounded expression dug his frustration deeper…at himself. “Your family is from new money. What would you know about the kind of sacrifice I must make to secure this future?”

  As his accusations reverberated off the silence, the hurt in Grace’s eyes hardened to steel. “You’re right. I don’t know what it’s like to carry the weight of all those people on my shoulders. I don’t know how to be a storyteller of others’ adventures because I’d rather live my own.” She pulled her ring from her finger and slammed it down on the desk. “And what would I know about sacrificing for family? Or risking everything to do what was right to save the people I love from scandal?” Her words pierced into his argument with enough accuracy to send pain shooting through his chest. “Practically nothing, Lord Astley.” She leaned in, her fiery gaze demanding his full attention. “Whether you claim it or not, you were born to be a hero, not a shadow. And heroes don’t hide from the truth.”

  With that, his joyful, innocent bride stormed from the room without one look back.

  And what was worse? Everything she said was true.

  Chapter Twenty

  Grace marched from Frederick’s study, fury wracking her body with such force her hands quivered. Her eyes stung. Ooh, she hated getting this angry. She could think of dozens of other ways to expend energy that resulted in much better outcomes.

  Stubborn man. What he needed was a good throttling. And at the moment, she’d gladly volunteer to dole out said throttling.

  “I’ll take my leave, Brandon.” Aunt Lavenia’s voice carried from the entry. “My sister is out of sorts, as usual.”

  “Your car is ready, ma’am.”

  “Thank you. And do remind Lady Astley that she is welcome at the rectory at
any time.”

  Grace’s steps faltered. Now there was an idea. “Please, wait,” she called as she raced forward, finding the pair paused at the front entry. “I’d love to take you up on your offer immediately, Aunt Lavenia. If I may?”

  The woman looked from Brandon to Grace, and then her gaze lingered on the hallway behind Grace for a second, before her brow rose like a question mark. “Would you?”

  “Most certainly.” Grace tugged at her gloves with a little too much force. “It appears my husband needs some time to realize his own place in the world, and I need some distance before I do something quite unladylike to his stubborn head.”

  Brandon made a choking sound to her right.

  Aunt Lavenia’s lips slipped into a slow slant. “Well, what do they say? Absence makes the heart grow fonder?” She gestured for Grace to follow. “The rectory is a wonderful hiding place, and what heroine doesn’t need to be pursued every now and again?”

  Some of Grace’s ire dimmed slightly in the light of Aunt Lavenia’s generous understanding. Ah yes, she had certainly found a kindred spirit.

  Lavenia tipped her head to the butler as he retrieved Grace’s coat. “Brandon, I expect you to give us a healthy head start, won’t you? My nephew doesn’t need to be informed of her ladyship’s absence for at least…” She glanced heavenward. “A half hour should be sufficient. Every woman needs a chance to ready herself for a heartfelt apology from her husband.”

  Brandon stiffened against the request, so Grace placed her hand on his arm. “Unless he explicitly asks, of course, Brandon, but he has the potential to brood for quite some time, I’m sure.”

  The butler’s shoulders relaxed, and Grace followed Lavenia to the car. They’d not been driving five minutes before Grace shared the entire incident.

  “I used to think brooding was a very romantic idea until put into practical use, and now my opinion has been vastly altered.” She folded her arms over her chest and pressed back into the seat. “It is not attractive at all.”

  “Marriage is a difficult business, my dear. It’s life amplified.” Lavenia patted her hand and somehow poured a sweet solace over the ache Grace had felt for another woman’s company. “When two passionate people live in close proximity on a regular basis, episodes of discontent and conflict are bound to surface.”

  “But that’s not supposed to happen in marriage for at least the first year.”

  Aunt Lavenia’s loud laugh shook Grace from her pout. “Did you read that in a book somewhere? Because I can assure you with certainty there are no time constraints on disagreements. Reverend Redfern and I had our first argument two hours after we married, and such an argument it was.” She sighed as if she enjoyed the thought.

  How peculiar. Grace found that conflict left a delightful thrill in fiction but abrasive distaste in real life. “I don’t know why he was so irritable with me. I was trying to help him come to a practical conclusion. He should have appreciated that. I was very lucid. Don’t men prefer logic?”

  Lavenia released such a laugh she pressed her palm against her stomach. Grace wasn’t certain what was so funny.

  “Oh my dear, you are exactly what our dear Lord Astley needs.” She swiped at her eyes. “What a perfect pairing!”

  “I don’t see how an argument can look at all perfect.”

  Her smile softened. “Conflict is a necessary component of relationships. Good and bad. We’re none of us perfect, and I daresay there’s a bit of pride and the natural follies of youth in both of you.” Lavenia’s grin widened again as if she wanted to laugh. “Conflict can help you grow if you allow it to make your relationship stronger.”

  “Stronger? By arguing?”

  “Why do you suppose God allows conflicts in life?”

  Grace blinked at the sudden question. “To punish us for our bad behavior? But I’ve not been bad.” She replayed the last few days through her mind and the rather disingenuous thoughts she had for her mother-in-law, involving locked doors and discarded keys. “Mostly not.”

  “No, you’re confusing consequences with conflict.” She squeezed Grace’s hand. “Conflict can become one of the great shapers of our lives. God uses conflict to reach the deepest levels of who we are as nothing else can. You have been placed into Frederick’s life to love and encourage him. To be his greatest asset. But you are also there to make him a better person than he was without you, and the same for him to you. That’s what people do when they love. They mold and shape one another into better forms of themselves. Sometimes the molding is comfortable—sometimes it’s not.” Her pale eyes widened. “Now I’m a part of your life, so I shall be a molder to you and you to me.”

  What a remarkable thought!

  Would Lillias have brought conflict into Frederick’s life so soon? Her elegant sister knew how to guard her tongue much better, but would Lillias have been the best person to shape Frederick? Frederick certainly seemed exasperated enough with Grace to be shaped into something or other. “He was supposed to marry my sister, you know. I felt certain they were meant to be soul mates. Do you think he wishes he’d married her now?”

  “He married you, therefore you are exactly the right wife for him.” Lavenia sniffed in disapproval. “There’s no need to ponder the what-ifs. They steal the truth of what is. You are soul mates by choice and will. How closely you wrap your souls around one another is of your own choosing.”

  Grace allowed the idea to sink within her. How liberating! She was Fredericks’ wife. They belonged to one another in every way. It was time for her to step into the idea without holding back, even if it meant pushing him forward with an argument or two.

  “It is not a light responsibility he bears, dear. Perhaps he does allow it to control him too much. Likely, he’s afraid of failing. But in many respects, he is the last hope for a dying legacy.”

  Grace searched the woman’s face. “I want to help him, but he doesn’t have to be so snippy toward me. I’m on his side.”

  “Your Frederick has not had a great deal of experience with people being on his side, so he may find it difficult to believe.” Aunt Lavenia’s expression softened, her eyes growing sad. “Being loved for the sake of love itself is a novelty to him since losing his grandparents. He’s been an outcast for a long time, but I feel your generosity of affection and…um…creative intelligence will be the making of him.”

  It was no wonder his wife had disappeared this time. He’d treated her abomi-nably. He took the steps of the Great Hall two at a time but found the library as empty as every other room he’d searched. Even if her words challenged him beyond his comfort, she didn’t deserve his attack. His thoughtlessness.

  Hero of his own life? He couldn’t even maintain hero status in his wife’s eyes for longer than a day without bumbling something. Halfway through his second pass of the Great Hall, he found his faithful butler. “Brandon, I’m in need of your assistance.”

  The man’s features tightened with a strange sort of wariness. “Sir?”

  “Would you happen to know Lady Astley’s whereabouts?”

  The man did the strangest thing. He took in a deep breath, drew his watch from his pocket, and almost…smiled. “Yes, sir. I do. She left with Mrs. Redfern.”

  “Pardon?”

  “Exactly thirty-four minutes ago.”

  Frederick stared at the butler for a full five seconds before resurrect-ing his voice. “My wife left with my aunt thirty-four minutes ago?”

  “Yes, sir.” Brandon cleared his throat. “They were leaving straight for the rectory, if I understood rightly, sir.”

  The thoughts finally reached comprehension and thrust Frederick into action. If Aunt Lavenia heard of his treatment of Grace, there was an excellent chance she’d respond in one of two ways. With her knowledge of his past and his attempts to make amends, she could have quieted Grace’s fears and defended him as any good aunt should do. On the other hand, as a wife and defender of her general sex, she could have helped Grace concoct some scheme for his emot
ional demise.

  Lord, if I’ve ever done anything good in my life, please let it be the former option.

  It took over a half hour before Patton pulled the roadster in front of the well-manicured, gray stone cottage his aunt and uncle had occupied for the past twenty years. No one here would keep to ceremony for the Earl of Astley. He would always be simply Frederick.

  And in this case, that may not play into his favor at all.

  Perry, one of his aunt’s two servants, led Frederick to the sitting room, where he was offered tea and cakes. So far so good. He waited five then ten minutes, and at the fifteen-minute mark almost went in search of his wife on his own, but Aunt Lavenia appeared in the doorway, blocking his exit.

  “Ah, Frederick, how good of you to come visit so soon.”

  He drew in a slow, steadying breath. “You know why I’m here.”

  She raised a brow to him, her gaze measuring the length of him as if she didn’t quite trust him. “Then you understand your best position right now is humility.”

  He lowered his head and stifled a groan. “I do.”

  “And humble men are prone to listen rather than speak.”

  His gaze raised to hers, brow tipped, waiting.

  “You’ve told her nothing of your past, Frederick? Part of this dis-agreement between the two of you could have been thwarted by some forthrightness on your part.”

  “But I—”

  Lavenia’s raised finger and steely look paused his response. “Whether you realize it or not, your Lady Astley is exactly what you need. Young? Yes. Fanciful?” Aunt Lavenia chuckled. “Indeed. But also clever, kind, strong, and above all hopeful.”

  “I know. I see it.” Frederick’s shoulder bent.

  “She’s also devoted to seeing you succeed, but to do that she needs you to trust her.”

  He ran a hand through his hair, shifting his feet. “I just wanted to hold on to her good opinion of me. She has this notion that I’m a hero, and for a moment, I wanted to live as that man, not the one with the past I have.”