“She truly is one of the dearest creatures in all the world, but her mind overflows with innumerable ideas and impossible stories. She’s been well protected from the trials of convention, as is evident in her passionate playing for all the world to see. Such…freedom.” As quickly as the brightness appeared, her countenance clouded. “Yet there is something to envy in her lack of concern for others’ opinions or expectations, don’t you think?”
“Pardon?”
She stared toward the piano as if lost in thought. “But she’s young yet.”
“Miss Ferguson?”
“Speaking of my untamed sister.” She blinked back to him, as if rallying from a dream, and smiled too brightly. “I’m certain she would enjoy a dance with you. She’s spoken of little else than becoming better acquainted. Excuse me.”
Without warning, she left his arms and approached the piano. The sudden alteration of her mood from adoring sister to—what was it? mel-ancholy?—unsettled him. As desperate as he was to save Havensbrooke, a worst decision would be to marry a woman who became embittered by her choice or, worse, sought intimate companionship outside their marriage. A knife of memory stabbed against his determination. No, he must avoid another scandal at all cost. Hadn’t he done enough to his family? Yet he had no choice. He’d signed the contract.
Blast his heart! Following the unpredictability of his affections had led to every past calamity of his life. He steadied his expression and chilled his own feelings. He’d mastered his emotions in the past. He’d master them again.
This was a business transaction. Her money. His title. His future happiness couldn’t matter.
Within a few seconds, Lillias ushered a reluctant Grace toward him and returned to the piano, beginning a waltz by Chopin.
As he took Grace into his arms, her ready smile melted the tension from his shoulders. “You play with great…feeling, Miss Grace.”
Her countenance dropped with an exaggerated sigh. “I was hoping I played so wildly they’d ask me to leave the room, but alas, everyone enjoyed dancing too much to find offense.”
A laugh nearly shot from him, but he muted it into a cough. “So is it that you don’t enjoy playing or dancing?”
“I’m fond of both, but I’d prefer to do them in a smaller company.” Her grin tipped. “Perhaps even by myself.”
“You enjoy your own company, is it?”
“As an enthusiastic reader, Lord Astley, I’m never really alone.” Her voice lilted with easy kinship. “There are myriad book creations to share my mental space. I’ve danced with princes, and fought a few too. I’ve even swung through the jungles with Tarzan. Breathtaking!” Before he could react to her divergence into fictional raptures, she leaned closer and lowered her voice to a whisper, those sapphire eyes as alive as her sister’s were distant. “Did you know that Mr. Rochester already has a wife and tried to marry Jane anyway?”
He took a mental inventory of the invitation list in search of the scandalous Mr. Rochester without upturning the name, but he’d heard it before. Where? He studied the young woman and the answer emerged, along with a desire to grin. “You’d rather be reading.”
“Wouldn’t you? Or at least having tea and cake with a party of no more than four?” She worried her bottom lip and nodded toward her sister. “I don’t know how Lillias can love these parties so much, and hours on end too.” She sighed, a small smile returning. “But she does look exquisite at the piano, and you should hear her sing. Heaven’s angels and all that.”
He glanced toward his future bride where she sat poised as perfect as any debutante, more beautiful than most. She played the waltz well, commanding attention from the tilt of her chin to the charismatic glint in her eyes. Another rise of caution squeezed his chest, but he stiffened against the uncertainty. Duty over heart. “Indeed.”
“Isn’t she immaculate? Always so poised and in control,” Grace whispered, the woodsy scent of rosemary accompanying her nearness. The fragrance suited her, rather sprite-like. “And she’s brilliant too. Well, if that’s important to you. I realize not all men care about a woman’s brain, but you seem the good sort.”
His smile teased up on one side against his bidding. “Do you say everything that pops into your head, Miss Grace?”
“Oh goodness, not everything.” Her eyes rounded to saucers, but she didn’t lose one step in the dance. “If I said everything, I’d leave many more horrified expressions in my wake. But at times my feelings are so large, they must burst out into words. Don’t you ever have that happen?”
“I cannot think of any particular time.” Except when Celia ruined his family, and not even his strict upbringing controlled him in the wake of his wounds. Another instance of bowing to heart instead of head. “But I do hope I am the good sort, for I believe a wife with a brain is much better than the alternative.”
It took her only a second to recognize his jest, and that infectious laugh of hers bubbled forward without reserve. “Unless you’re writing some Gothic horror novel, and then they provide all sorts of glorious mischief.”
After the stilted reserve of Lillias Ferguson, Miss Grace’s authenticity slipped through his guardedness like wind through spring trees. Of course he needn’t feel as cautious with her. She wasn’t the one to save his estate and restore the honor of the Percy name. Miss Grace, however, would certainly add colorful dialogue when she visited Havensbrooke. His mother would be absolutely appalled.
“I see your brain is in good shape too.” Her chin dipped in assent as if he’d passed some test. “We’re going to get along quite nicely, I believe.”
“I’m pleased to meet with your approval.”
“I have very high standards, Lord Astley.” Her brows darted northward with a playful intensity. “I read fiction.”
He resisted the compulsion to laugh, shocked by its sudden arrival again. “What is it you find so appealing about fiction?”
“Where do I begin? Exploring new places, escaping into history.” She sighed as if her thoughts plundered some previous novel. “I’ve been on treasure hunts, solved mysteries, been captured by pirates, but my favorite stories are romances.”
“Of course you’d choose something as predictable as romance.”
“You say that like it’s second rate.” She wrinkled her nose, a tiny spray of freckles across the bridge momentarily distracting him. “But romance has to be worth something if people throughout all time have spent years, money, risk, and a whole host of daydreams in finding it.”
He studied her, his lips tempted into another grin. Hmm…young but quick-witted and thoughtful. He’d have to reevaluate his initial thoughts on her simplicity. “I stand corrected in my opinion.”
“Though I have to say I’ve never experienced real romance.” A rush of pink brought out the glow in her eyes. “Lillias raves about it—all the swooning and pining. She says men rarely think of much else when the conquest of a woman is involved.”
“Does she?” Not a very flattering thought to his general sex. His gaze shot to the pianist. And how would Lillias know? Had she been pining over someone? Did she still?
“But I’d rather keep my head while losing my heart, wouldn’t you?” She continued, oblivious to the utter inappropriateness of her divulge-ment. “A thoughtful romance makes much more sense for a lifetime friendship, even if kisses change things.”
He choked out the words. “Kisses change things?”
“That’s what Lillias says, anyway.” She studied his lips with such intensity, they warmed beneath her perusal. “But I’ve never sorted out how placing one’s mouth on someone else’s could render a person wit-less.” Mercifully, her gaze flitted back to his, no worse for the wear in the irregular turn of their conversation. “I suppose I’ll understand one day.”
He cleared his throat. “Indeed.”
“Oh dear, I’ve gone down the dark road of impropriety again, haven’t I?” Her bottom lip jutted out into a pout. Paired with the kissing talk, he couldn’t seem to pull
his attention away fast enough. “I can keep my conversation dull and proper, if I put my mind to it. Truly. And you never need worry about Lillias speaking so scandalously. She’s the very model of decorum.”
Yet what Grace had said about Lillias’s statements lent doubt to how untouched Lillias Ferguson’s heart was, a fact Frederick had to uncover. Failing that, he must find a way to securely transfer her affections to him.
Frederick lowered his head to his hands at the desk in his bedroom and exhaled a shaking breath. This was never meant to be his lot. He was the second son—not the bearer of the family’s extensive legacy—but here he sat, shouldering a position that his heart and head felt utterly ill-equipped to bear. He squeezed his eyes closed against a lingering ache.
Please, help this choice be the right one for Havensbrooke…and for me. He’d prayed for months. Pleaded. Offered his entire self for the remaking of his inheritance. Only God could work things to the good at this point. But couldn’t he at the least pray for his own heart too, even if he couldn’t be guided by it?
“I believe I shall enjoy my bit of American charm, Freddie. Indeed, this place is remarkable.”
Frederick slid a look to the doorway where Stephen Blake leaned against the frame, pale hair tousled in typical disarray and lackadaisical grin set in place, though the expression never fooled Frederick. Blake had the unnerving ability to keep a steady head while playing the part of a leisurely gentleman. If only Frederick held such expert skill.
But there was little to be done for Blake, and no better friend in all the world. Frederick’s home had always been one of gravity and expectation, but Blake’s existence provided an almost necessary levity.
Always had.
“Remarkable indeed,” came Frederick’s slow reply. Yet the word seemed a flimsy descriptor for the opulent country estate. The drive in from the train depot featured pristine landscaping and manicured lawns, all framed by a sea of purplish-blue mountains. Then the house? An Italian revivalist villa of white marble and updated features: en suite lavatories, electricity, even a lift!
He focused back on his cousin, his gaze dropping to Blake’s bandaged hand. “How are you?”
Blake shrugged a shoulder, his grin taking a turn. “A mere flesh wound.”
Frederick shook his head and held to the levity of Blake’s response. If it hadn’t been for Blake, the car in the village would have hit Frederick head on, and Blake had already been nursing a hand wound from the disaster at the docks. A hollowed-out feeling reverberated in his stomach. No! Let the accidents keep Blake on edge. Frederick had enough to busy his mind.
“Thank you for being here, Blake.”
“It’s good to keep an extra set of eyes about.” Blake held to his smile, but his gaze sobered with an unspoken camaraderie. “I’m happy to provide them.”
Frederick attempted to ignore the steely weight Blake’s words set on his chest, but they took up residence anyway. “You should endeavor to enjoy yourself while you’re here, instead of worrying over a few accidents.”
“Accidents?” He raised a brow and waved away Frederick’s excuse. “You’re here to become a married man, and I’m here to see that the new Earl of Astley lives a great many years yet. You don’t have to agree with my concerns or methods, but I’ll not be dissuaded.” Blake’s smile vanished. “I didn’t like how your brother’s death was handled, and I’m not about to take a lazy approach to his successor taking up a mantle under which the previous two earls died unexpectedly. Something doesn’t sit right about all your accidents.” He spat the word. “And until I feel satisfied, I won’t settle.”
Frederick twitched at the mention of his brother’s and father’s deaths, but he refused to be teased into another argument about it. “I fear spending time with your detective-cousin has sent you looking for invisible fiends, Blake.”
His cousin shoved his hands in his pockets and turned to the nearby window, promptly ignoring Frederick.
Frederick joined his cousin at the window. An afternoon fog cloaked the distant mountains in a ghostly shroud. “I shouldn’t have been so hasty to sign the contract.”
Blake released a slow sigh before turning. “Cold feet or…worse?”
Frederick thrust a hand through his hair, replaying various scenes from his time with Lillias Ferguson over the past two days. “After all that happened with Celia, perhaps I’m too cautious, too concerned about the slightest change of interest or turn of attention.” He groaned and dropped down into the nearest chair. “I…I cannot bring such disgrace on my family again, Blake.”
“Freddie, you fell in love with a social-climbing predator. You can’t take the blame for Celia’s depravity.”
“But my response didn’t help.”
“If you’re speaking of your mother, stop there. You know as well as I that her happiness and goodwill are as predictable as my sister’s fashion sense.”
“I shouldn’t have challenged her in front of a crowded room.”
Blake winced, and Frederick sunk back into the chair, sighing, his memory fresh from the sting of shame and betrayal. “Miss Ferguson is nothing like Celia, Freddie. Mark my words. She hasn’t the malicious air.”
“Perhaps not malicious, but some of the comments Miss Grace shared about her sister inadvertently suggest…unpredictable.”
“And you don’t think the youngest Ferguson is prone to exaggeration?”
“Indeed.” Frederick almost grinned. “Which is why I didn’t take much heed, but after my interactions with Lillias today, I’m beginning to wonder how untouched my future bride’s heart is.”
“What do you mean?”
“Today, as we engaged in a more personal and private conversation, she seemed to become friendlier. Before I left her, I took her hand and placed a rather intimate kiss to her wrist, and there was no response. No intake of breath. No shock at the touch. Not even a recoil, but quite indifferent.” Frederick ran a hand down his face. “As if…”
“She had experienced such liberties before.”
“I’m not naive enough to expect love, Blake.” Frederick shook his head. “She wants the social catapult, and I need the financial salvation. At best, I hope for camaraderie, and at worst, benevolent indifference. But anything more?” He rubbed at his chest as the ache ground deeper. “It is a commodity I cannot afford, even if I wish it.”
This decision was about redeeming his past and securing the future of Havensbrooke, not of his heart. Frederick raised his gaze, the weight on his shoulders doubling. “I know it seems small, maybe even a slight paranoia, but it’s my future, and I cannot take my family through another scandal.”
Blake shook his head, his lip curling into a frown. “This is one of those rare moments when I’m exceptionally grateful you’re the son of an earl and I’m not.”
Frederick shot him a weak glare. “You’re the son of a baron.”
“The third son of a baron, so I feel quite safe in my position of irre-sponsibility.” Blake sobered and took a seat near Frederick. “You can’t back out now. You’d lose a third of Havensbrooke based on the contract.”
“It’s a sad world indeed if my two options are either financial ruin or possible scandal.”
“Isn’t that the very definition of an aristocratic life?”
“Are you supposed to be helping me?”
Blake snapped his fingers, his smile spreading with too much mischief for Frederick’s peace of mind. “I have an idea, Freddie.”
“We change situations?”
“Not on your life. And certainly not on mine.” Blake slid into an opposing chair and leaned forward, an unsettling glint in his pale eyes. Frederick had a sudden memory of the time the two of them had bet on riding one of the new horses in the stables at Havensbrooke. Frederick had lost—and ended up with a broken arm. “But since you’ve already agreed to marry the girl, the only recourse is to kiss her.”
Frederick’s head shot up. “What?” All this kissing talk was unnerving. First Grace and
now Blake?
“Come on, Freddie, you’re not as thick as all that. A woman who is used to being kissed kisses much differently than one who isn’t. If it allays your fears, then what is the trouble? I’d expect you’ll be doing quite a bit of kissing within a week at any rate.”
“You can’t be serious.”
His palm came up to temper Frederick’s reaction. “She’s practically your bride already, so show her your commitment with a good kiss. For one, it could encourage a transfer of her wayward affections, so to speak, and for the other, it may provide a gauge for how entrenched your fiancée’s heart and emotions are. Then you can plan any drastic measures accordingly.”
“You say the most ridiculous things.”
Blake shrugged. “I can’t say I ever shy away from a good kiss now and then.”
“I’m beginning to understand all the more which one of us took after Grandfather’s sensibilities.”
“Which means I must have taken after Grandmother’s charm.” Blake grinned. “So I should age like an excellent wine.”
Blake’s levity eased some of Frederick’s angst about the entire affair. He couldn’t change his decision, but Lillias Ferguson was not Celia Blackmore. He would do all in his power, with God’s help, to make his future much better than the mistakes of his past, and that process started with wooing his fiancée’s heart.
Chapter Three
Frederick marched toward the Music Room for another night of festivities, determined to make his engagement and marriage to Lillias Ferguson work. True, they were not as well suited as he’d hoped, nor was he certain of her heart being untouched, but as he’d learned firsthand, many times the past attached weights to the future if he let it.
He would not. The die had been cast.
The thick green curtain separating the massive room from the rest of the house was pulled to a close, keeping in heat and blocking his view of the guests. If he remembered rightly, card playing and games were the menu of the evening.
The Mistletoe Countess Page 3