Grace held her smile in place until everyone had disappeared around the corner of the ruins. Then her knees gave way. She sank to the ground, the tension in her muscles uncoiling and leaving a shaky response. Poor Frederick had been man-napped and beaten. She’d scaled a wall, propelled from a ceiling, and been held at scissors-point, not to mention almost being strangled.
But everyone was safe now. Her emotions trembled beneath the declaration. Thank You, God.
“Grace.”
She turned to see Frederick march through the door. His breaths shook his broad shoulders, and his eyes—or at least the one that wasn’t swollen shut—fastened on her, holding her in place. Tears swarmed into her vision.
In one fluid movement, he pulled her up from the ground and wrapped her in the safety of his arms. That’s when the tears came, full and free against his strong shoulder. She tightened her grip around his waist, burying her face in his neck, refusing to let go. They stood together in an embrace until their lips finally found each other—a kiss of gratitude, of near-loss, of acknowledgment that they’d fought for each other and won.
“You shouldn’t have come.” He drew back, his knuckles skimming her cheek, words rasped. “You could have been killed.”
Her lip pouted, wounded at his reprimand. “But you needed me.”
A sound caught in his throat, and he lowered his forehead to hers. “Yes, my darling. I do need you. Always.”
Elliott gathered up their dishes from the small table in their sitting room, effectively taking Brandon’s place as the butler recuperated from the concussion he’d received when Celia’s men had taken Frederick.
Frederick welcomed the intimacy of their quarters over the dining hall, especially after the harrowing events of the day. His body ached all over, and though his eye was still sore, the swelling had reduced enough for him to see across the table to his wife.
She’d born a few wounds of her own. A scrape down one cheek. A shallow cut to her neck, and a bruise on her forehead. But in that moment as candlelight flickered across her features, deepening her flaming hair to auburn, she’d never looked more beautiful.
“How do you suppose Blake knew when to arrive?”
Frederick chuckled and sent Elliott a glance. “Blake has an uncanny way of knowing things.”
“It likely helps that he spends too much idle time either being arrested or befriending police, my lady.”
A laugh burst from Grace, the sound of it soothing over some of the residual pain in Frederick’s chest at the idea of losing her. “Why does that not surprise me at all?”
“Because you’ve gotten to know my lifelong friend well enough to expect no less.” Frederick answered. “And your exuberant imagination likely does the rest.”
“I’m glad he went to speak to your mother,” Grace added, nodding her thanks to Elliott as he took her plate.
“He’s always had a way of talking with her,” Frederick nodded. “But she must still be held accountable for her actions.”
“Your mother has borne the penalty of her choices for years.” Grace’s fingers covered his. “If there’s a way to extend mercy, perhaps the ending of her story will look very different than the preceding chapters.”
He breathed out his frustrations and collected Grace’s hand in his. “I will only do it for your sake. Not hers.”
“That’s an excellent place to start.” She pulled his fingers to her lips and kissed them, her smile more captivating and precious with each passing minute. “You were very brave today. A true hero.”
“A hero?” He chuckled. “What about you? I suspect not even Robert Louis Stevenson or Jules Verne could have posed such a rescue as we witnessed today.”
“You certainly know how to compliment a lady.” Her face beamed with pleasure. “But despite her superb villainous qualities, I should never wish to meet Celia again.”
“According to Detective Miracle, evidence has been mounting against her for some time. All they needed was proof to connect everything.” Frederick stood and brought Grace up with him. “Parks was quick to confess the entire plan, with Turner not far behind.”
“Will she…hang?”
He almost smiled at the compassion in her question. Even with the ruthless Celia Blackmore Percy, Grace desired mercy. Would he ever plumb the depths of her generous heart?
“I cannot say.” He squeezed her hand, drawing her to the window seat as Elliott continued clearing their dishes. “But she certainly met her match with you, darling.”
She looked up at him, moonlight drifting through the window and draping her in a halo of white. “Whatever do you mean?”
“Celia lived for her own desires, her own happiness. She had no script for you and your selflessness.”
“Actually, what she didn’t expect was how we worked together. She’d anticipated you to be alone, like her.” Grace settled next to him in the window. “But I’m here to ensure you’re never alone.”
He tugged her close to his side. “Nor I you.”
“And we make an excellent team. Who’s to say we might not become detectives all our own.”
Tension flew back into his spine. “Grace.”
“You were perfect for finding clues. The letters. The flowers. Putting the pieces together.” Her eyes sparkled in a terrifying sort of way.
“I have no desire to—”
“And we can learn from Detective Miracle.” She squeezed his fingers, her smile growing. “You have to admit it’s rather exhilarating.”
“Near-death experiences? Being held at knifepoint?”
“Scissors-point,” she corrected. “And since Mr. Patton is teaching me to drive, not all the pressure would be on you for a quick getaway. I wonder if you might help improve my archery though.”
“Patton is teaching you to drive?”
“I started archery once, but Father stopped lessons when I almost killed the dog.”
“Grace.” This time his attempt was half-hearted. She was happiest when concocting plans.
“He was a very old dog.” She nodded, looking duly remorseful. “I feel I would do better now.”
“I’ve heard that Mr. Reams, our gardener, is quite adept at throwing knives,” came Elliot’s addition.
Grace’s mouth dropped wide to match her eyes.
“You’re not helping, Elliott.”
“Ever so sorry, sir.” His old friend chuckled before opening the door to leave. The door closed behind his apology.
“Knives would be excellent protection, Frederick.” She leaned close, drawing him into her wonder. “But what would be even better? Pistols. Aunt Lavenia has already offered a lesson or two.”
Frederick shook his head, his smile unfurling at her tenacity, and he gently framed her face with his hands. All words closed off in his throat at the perplexing mixture of gratitude and fascination. He might have desired a bride more fitting for the life of an earl, but God knew what he needed most. A bride for his heart, his soul, his imagination. And Gracelynn Ferguson Percy proved beyond his imaginings.
“Darling, we’ll talk about it tomorrow.”
She slid her palm up his shirt to grab his collar. “I know what you’re doing.”
He tipped his face closer, drawn in by the light in her eyes, the scent surrounding her, everything Grace. His mouth found hers ready, soft. “And what is that?”
“You’re trying to distract me,” her words whispered against his mouth.
His lips trailed down her neck, inciting a gasp. “Actually I’m using my excellent skills of deduction to come to the conclusion that my wife is ready for bed.”
He felt her smile more than saw it. “See what an excellent start at investigating you have already made.”
He sighed and embraced her just as she was. Besides, she’d find a pistol waiting for her in two days when she opened her birthday present beneath the Christmas tree. “And how are my deductions?”
“I believe, my dear Watson, the game is afoot.” She stood and drew him
up with her toward his bedroom door. Her eyes glittered like the darling pixie she was. “In fact, I have a few private mysteries of the romantic variety just for you.”
Merry Christmas, indeed! Frederick rolled his gaze to heaven in silent thanksgiving. He was playing for the happily-ever-after with Grace, even if it included another mystery…or two.
Epilogue
“Sir. Madam.” Elliott breathed out the response as he sent a shy gaze around the Great Hall, where the other servants sat or stood, each opening their own gifts from Lord and Lady Astley.
Grace squeezed her hands together, attempting to keep her giggle of delight in check. She’d always loved watching people open presents. It was like a marvelous mystery of the sweetest kind, even if she knew exactly what the gift was. The mystery came with the response of the recipient, and she felt confident in her choices.
Once she’d known the servants for an entire year, just imagine how excellent her gift-giving could become!
First, Elliott uncovered Frederick’s chosen gift. From the folds of white paper, a golden pocket watch gleamed into the glow of soft lights around the room. “Sir?”
Frederick nodded, a look moving between the two men. Perhaps Elliott truly understood how much Frederick respected him with this gift. “Turn it over,” he whispered.
Grace nearly bounded from her seat next to Frederick. She’d encouraged Frederick to leave a personal note, especially after her dear husband had shared with her some of the history he had with Elliott. Having someone rescue you from a life of boxing only to have Elliott save Frederick’s life on occasion certainly deserved recognition, in her book anyway.
Elliott read the simple inscription and flashed a smile. “Thank you, sir.”
Grace squeezed Frederick’s hand, her teeth skimming over her lips in pure delight. My friend. Frederick’s choice for his message to Elliott.
Elliott cleared his throat and raised a brow as he tugged a larger parcel from the wrapping. Grace’s entire body stiffened as the paper fell away to reveal her choice for Elliott. Three books. A Study in Scarlet, The Moonstone, and The Manual of Becoming a Detective.
“Just imagine how much more prepared you’ll be next time.” Grace grinned and leaned forward to watch the man’s smile brim to sparkle in his eyes.
“I have no words to express my emotions right now, my lady.”
She clasped her hands together. “I’d hug you if it wasn’t improper, Elliott, and I feel I’ve already pushed your limits for impropriety enough this week.”
A coughing sound erupted from the handsome hero at her side, so she quickly reached for a glass of customary Christmas champagne and handed it to him. “Do you see how excited Lord Astley is at the very idea of you becoming more prepared for sleuthing, dear Elliott?”
Grace sent Frederick a subtle wink, chuckling a little to herself that her sweet husband was trying his best not to reveal how amused he was at her plans, but she didn’t mind. She’d already proven how very helpful studying fiction could be to real-life crimes. She only needed to test the theory a few more times to prove her hypothesis, and what better way than to bring along as many knowledgeable, trustworthy people as possible in the process?
As Brandon opened his gift, Grace had to get as close as politely possible to watch him, because the man’s expression remained as stoic as ever. How could anyone remain stoic while opening Christmas presents?
The first present to meet Brandon’s eyes was from Frederick. A beautifully crafted fountain pen with an emblem of Havensbrooke etched in the pen holder.
“I noticed you needed a new one for all the excellent work you do for us, Brandon,” Frederick offered, causing the man to nod stiffly and run a finger over the smooth, polished wood of the pen’s stem.
“Thank you, sir. It’s the best one I’ve ever owned.”
“It’s a small token for your service.”
The man refused to raise his gaze as he continued sifting through the gift paper. The firelight played across his etched features, deepening the lines on his face into a frown. Grace began fidgeting with the edge of her sleeve, her stomach lurching in sudden agitation. What if she’d chosen poorly? They hadn’t known each other a great while yet.
He raised the small bag to view first, reading the words on the front aloud. “Luden’s Cough Drops?”
“I don’t want you to become sick, dear Brandon, so I thought these may help with that nasty cough you seem to have so often.”
“Cough, madam?” His large brows rose in wonder.
“Yes, I’ve heard it fairly regularly, and these are supposed to help soothe any possible beginnings of an illness.”
Brandon’s gaze shifted to Frederick, and then the butler’s lips pinched and his shoulders seized, releasing a short-lived cough.
“See? There it is!” She gestured toward the bag. “And now you have relief.”
His lips pressed even tighter, but he nodded. “Thank you, madam,” but the way he said it sounded strained and tight.
Oh dear, she had chosen poorly. What would he do when he saw the second gift she’d picked?
Frederick’s hand suddenly swallowed up her fidgeting one, and he offered her a smile. “Don’t worry, darling,” he whispered. “You chose everything with such personal care, they’ll all appreciate them. I think you might be their favorite surprise this Christmas, and the gifts are just a bonus.”
“What do you mean?”
“You care, Grace. And they know it.” He squeezed her fingers, his gaze caressing her face with such tenderness it nearly brought her to tears. She wanted to grab his face and kiss him, but in the middle of a Christmas party in the Great Hall probably wasn’t the best time for acting on those impulses. “It’s been a long time since they’ve known such kindness from their mistress, and they may never have known kindness with such…generosity before.”
Grace breathed a sigh and turned just in time to see Brandon pull his lovely hardbound book from the wrappings. A Christmas Carol, in the beautiful red cover used when it was first published. His gaze came up to hers, brow pinched with questions.
“For the ghosts.” Grace shrugged. “So you’ll know what to expect next time.”
Then the most remarkable thing happened. Brandon laughed. Not just a simple chuckle, but a hearty, shoulder-shaking laugh that garnered everyone’s attention in the room and brought out their smiles—though Mrs. Powell looked more shocked than amused.
Grace’s bottom lip dropped in a wide-mouthed smile.
“Thank you, my lady.” Brandon chuckled through the words, taking out his handkerchief to wipe at his eyes. “I’m honored, and this particular book is very special to me because it was one my father used to read to me when I was a lad.”
It took everything in Grace not to pop up from her seat and give the sweet man a kiss on the cheek. Maybe she could later, when all the other staff weren’t looking. Surely Frederick wouldn’t find that too inappropriate for a countess, would he?
“I’m so glad it brings good memories with it, Brandon, considering the circumstances surrounding our spectral night of ghost hunting together.”
Another cough slipped from his smile, but this time it sounded much more like a laugh. Grace blinked. Had he been laughing all along? Perhaps he wasn’t in need of cough drops at all! For an amateur sleuth, she felt very silly, but the twinkle in Brandon’s dark eyes as he grinned at her somehow doused her momentary frustration.
Each servant opened their gifts, and each appeared to enjoy the simple offerings. Grace had gotten the cook a new hat to wear to church, since she’d heard the woman had a fondness for hats. She’d cooed and aahed over the green felt as if she’d never seen a hat before. And with the dashes of auburn in her hair, the round-faced woman looked rather fetching wearing the lovely shade of green. Grace had chosen classy new heels for each of the maids, and she’d particularly chosen the fur-lined ones for winter, as well as a book for each person. With a few strategic questions here and there, she’d learned o
f interests and reading levels—some rather surprising. Who would have known that Mary enjoyed Gothic romances? She seemed like such a quiet girl.
Mrs. Powell, as reserved as the woman usually was, sat in shock for a good ten seconds before responding when she opened the teapot Grace had chosen for her. Mary had mentioned how Mrs. Powell loved butterflies and had recently chipped her personal server, so when Grace had seen the Herend Rothschild china tea set in the window of a local shop—complete with a bright flourish of butterflies—she’d snatched it up. Grace had made sure to leave her gift for Lady Moriah on a table in the woman’s room so she could open it on her own. She’d felt compelled to give her mother-in-law her own beloved version of Pilgrim’s Progress, complete with Grace’s own rather whimsical notes in the margins.
After all the servants opened their gifts, the dancing began. Grace had read about the Servants’ Ball, a festive time for the servants to dress in their best and enjoy dancing, merriment, and delicious food, along with their employers, that usually happened in January. But given that both Frederick and Grace were rather happy with quiet, subdued holidays—and since they’d apparently fulfilled their social duty by attending the Kerifords’ Christmas party—Frederick had agreed to Grace’s suggestion that they hold the Servants’ Ball on Christmas Day.
After the presents and a solemn moment of Frederick reading the Christmas story from the Gospel of Luke, Grace encouraged the quiet housemaid Lucy to take to the piano, and the dancing commenced. Frederick gallantly sought out Mrs. Powell, who stood slack-jawed for the third time that evening, as he asked for a dance, and Grace encouraged the rather reticent Brandon to be her own partner. Elliott took the opportunity to ask Mary, and other partners made it to the floor of the Great Hall as Lucy impressed them all with her expert repertoire of country dance tunes.
Grace gave Lucy a reprieve from piano playing so the young girl could have her turn at dancing, which enabled Grace the opportunity to watch the others from her perch in the corner of the room. The massive tree glowed with golden electric lights, the firelight waved its toasty warmth across the gleaming wood floor, and the room hummed with the happy chatter of people who may have been different as far as society was concerned, but not so different at the heart. As Grace looked from face to face, she claimed them all as her new family. Even the grumpy footman John, who refused to dance with anyone at all.
The Mistletoe Countess Page 35
