The Mistletoe Countess

by Pepper Basham

  St. James of Astlynn’s spires rose above the patchwork roofs, into a sky battling between clouds and sun. Everything about the village settled upon Grace like a picture show from a fairy tale.

  The dark blush of dusk dimmed Grace’s ability to take in all the sights, but each new curve in the road revealed another little gem of English charm and curbed the residual ache from the long distance to the home she’d once known.

  “I love it all. It’s exactly as you described.” She turned to Frederick as he sat beside her in the autocar. “And Astlynn Commons is a part of your estate?”

  “Our estate.” He tipped his brow, holding her gaze for a moment before looking back out the window. “Yes, and we’ll attend service at St. James this Sunday. Everyone will want to see you.”

  Grace fidgeted with her gloves. She looked out the window in an attempt to distract herself from the idea of people watching her, only to meet a dozen onlookers waving as the car passed. Well, at least they were friendly watchers. “And I can come to the village whenever I wish? I do so want to explore.”

  “Of course, though I’d suggest you take Ellie with you if I can’t accompany you.” He gestured with his chin toward the window. “You have caused quite a stir, Lady Astley. I believe every person in Astlynn Commons has come out to get a glimpse of you.”

  She raised a timid hand to greet a few children waving a holly branch as they stood in their caps and coats. Frederick had said before that the people of Astlynn Commons were the estate’s responsibility. Their livelihoods depended on Havensbrooke. The idea took root in Grace’s heart, and she sobered, staring at the faces with a new understanding, a purpose—caring for them.

  “I hope you’re not too disappointed at having to postpone our honeymoon.”

  Grace turned from the window. “Of course not! You must be here for your mother at present.” She sent him another smile. “And this has been such a marvelous adventure already.”

  “You are much too easy on my heart, Lady Astley.”

  “Well, I’ll make up for it by being hard on your peace of mind, I’m sure.” She turned back to the window and waved at a little girl standing with her mother at the corner of a lane. How very strange to be the center of such attention. “Perhaps, after we’ve settled and brought Havensbrooke back to its previous splendor, you can take me on a grand tour of Europe.”

  “I give you my word. I’d enjoy filling your mind with actual places you’ve read about.”

  She grinned up at him and returned her attention to the staggered buildings, which were growing farther apart. They must be leaving Astlynn Commons, which meant their next stop would be Havensbrooke.

  The road twisted and turned as they climbed a hill. In the distance, a horizon of small mountains came to her view, looking somewhat similar to her Blue Ridge Mountains back home. Home. She sighed. She’d have to start thinking very differently about home now, wouldn’t she?

  As they crested the hill, a wide river surrounded by evergreen forests came into view. A tower rose in the distance. Was that Havensbrooke? Just as Grace had the thought, a strange slamming noise exploded from the front of the car.

  Grace turned to Frederick, assuming he’d know what was going on. He stared back as if thinking the same thing of her. Had she told him about the time she’d caused a cask of beer to explode? Or about the chestnut gun that backfired on her?

  The slamming happened again. From the direction of the driver. It sounded nothing like a backfiring chestnut gun.

  “Patton?” Frederick called to the front.

  “The brakes, sir.” He replied, his voice tense. “They’re not responding.”

  Grace’s mind slowly took in the meaning of the words as they began to descend the hill toward the bridge…and the river. Faster and faster.

  “What did you say?” Frederick pushed closer to the front.

  “The brakes.” Patton pressed the brake lever. “Something is wrong with them, sir. I can’t stop.”

  Grace glanced at the fast-approaching river as the car began to shake from its ever-increasing speed. She played out the scenario in her head like a scene from a book and reached for the laces of her shoes.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Frederick could do nothing to prevent the oncoming disaster. And despite Patton’s best attempts, the car continued accelerating toward North Haven River with no rescue in sight. Frederick turned to his young bride to find her with one boot off and almost finished unfastening the other.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Preparing for the probable,” came her steady reply, before the car took a hard slide to the right.

  Frederick grabbed Grace, cocooning her against him just as the car jumped the short stone railing of the bridge and pitched into the river.

  The high water levels from heavy autumn rains provided some cushion on impact, but the jolt still sent Frederick crashing against the side of the door, pain shooting through his shoulder. Mercifully, the car remained upright, though tilted precariously forward and sinking even as he found his bearings. A shock of cold hit him in the back, as icy water rushed in on all sides of the windowless vehicle. He turned his body to keep the brunt of it from hitting Grace, but she was already hip deep.

  “Oh!” She pushed back from his arms, wide eyes locked with his. “It was quite heroic, you know? Taking me in your arms that way.”

  Frederick opened his mouth but couldn’t seem to utter a response. Grace took the initiative and started unbuttoning her coat. “This would have been so much better in summer. Less likelihood for hypothermia, you know?”

  Frederick stared at his wife, then blinked a few times, only to find she’d completely removed her coat and was now working on the buttons of her day suit. Was she in shock? Going mad? And why was she removing her clothes? Frederick flipped his attention from trying to sort out his wife to focus on the front of the car. Patton slumped forward, head against the steering mechanism.

  “Patton,” he called.

  No response.

  “Take care of Mr. Patton.” Grace’s voice pitched higher as the water rose to her waist. “I’ll swim to shore.”

  “What?” Swim to shore? “I won’t leave you.”

  She shot him a look of utter confusion, brow crinkled into questions, her fingers moving to unfasten the buttons on the side of her skirt. “We have no time to argue. I am alert and capable. Mr. Patton is not.”

  His gaze followed her busy fingers as her skirt slid away revealing the white ruffles of her petticoat beneath the murky water. “What…what are you doing?”

  “I cannot very well swim with that massive piece of cloth attached to my body, can I?” She released the most exasperated breath. “Do you want me to sink like a stone?”

  “I want Lady Astley to keep her clothes on in public,” he seethed through gritted teeth.

  “Then I shall make a fully clothed corpse,” she responded with as much venom.

  Her words hit him with more force than the chill of the water. “I will not have you emerge from—”

  “This is not one of those moments to concern yourself with etiquette, Lord Astley.” The water submerged Grace almost to the chest level, covering any impropriety, but Frederick knew what wasn’t on her body.

  Patton tipped over in the front seat and with barely a sound, sank beneath the water.

  “Now is the time to be a hero and rescue poor Mr. Patton from drowning.” She pinned him with a look. “If you don’t, I’ll be forced to try, and then you’ll be left without a wife or a chauffeur.”

  Her threat, along with a sudden rush of water up to his chest, propelled him into motion. He crawled out of his window, holding to the side of the car, and tugged the lifeless Mr. Patton out the window, resting the chauffeur’s head against his shoulder. Through the space of the car, Frederick caught a glimpse of a hatless, bobbing ginger head slicing through the water on the other side. He groaned.

  She’d removed her shirtwaist too. He shot his gaze heavenward in silen
t prayer for help…or patience. Maybe both.

  With a shove from the side of the car, he turned Patton on his back and swam toward the embankment, the cold water stinging through his body. A crowd had gathered atop the bridge, some still running down the road from town, all ages.

  What an introduction of the new Countess of Astley. He pinched his eyes closed, envisioning Grace emerging from the water in nothing but a union suit, casting decorum to the wind and loosening every scathing tongue in Derbyshire. He’d spent months attempting to avoid any possible scandal—and had curbed it somewhat, even with the bride debacle—but now, on his first day back home, he’d opened the gates with a near-death experience and an untamed bride.

  As Frederick neared the shore, he searched the crowd for his wife, but she wasn’t there. His breath seized, and he turned back to the river. She wasn’t too far from him, but instead of emerging, she waited at chin level, moving in a peculiarly disjointed way beneath the chilly water, her lips almost blue.

  What in heaven’s name was she doing? As soon as his feet hit bottom, he pulled Patton onto the rocky shore and surged back toward the river, but just as he made it waist-deep, there she was, nearing the shore, completely covered in her soaking skirt and shirtwaist, as if she’d never taken them off.

  He held out a hand to assist her, and she shot him a saucy grin. “I swam with them in my arms, in case you’re wondering.” She whispered with a wink, “I am a wild thing, but not that wild. Though”—they reached the edge and she pulled back her skirt to reveal stockingless feet—“I couldn’t carry my boots too, but I doubt anyone will notice with all the excitement.”

  He stared at her. The woman was baffling. He had the strange urge to shake her by the shoulders before pulling her against him to ensure she was safe. As he tugged her forward, contemplating his next act, rousing applause sounded from the gathering crowd, followed by a few men running down the embankment to assist them.

  Patton moaned, raising his head from his reclined position on the grass. A purple welt shone on his forehead. He focused his gaze on Frederick and blinked, eyes widening. “Sir?”

  “Our shop’s just across the bridge, my lord.” Mr. Quincy rushed forward, the shopkeeper’s wife at his side with an armful of blankets. “Won’t you rest there until we can bring a car around?”

  “And Jimmy’s gone for the doctor,” Mrs. Quincy added, wrapping a blanket around Grace’s shoulders like the grandmotherly sort she was. “Your ladyship.”

  “Thank you so kindly, Mrs.…?”

  “Quincy, your ladyship.” The woman stared at Grace as if she wanted to pull her into her arms, which Frederick, knowing the kindly lady as he did, suspected was exactly what Mrs. Quincy was thinking too. “And it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, though I would wish not under such circumstances as these.”

  “You are very kind,” Grace added, leaning forward to kiss the woman on the cheek.

  After the near-death experience, Frederick chose to completely overlook Grace’s tender breach of decorum. From the look on Mrs. Quincy’s face, the moment would likely be remembered by the Quincy family line for decades to come.

  He took Grace by the arm and followed the Quincys while Mr. Lorde, the baker, assisted Patton. Grace shivered against him, her teeth chattering loud enough for him to hear. He tugged her closer to his side, wrapping the blanket more tightly about her.

  Frederick sent one of the lads, Thomas, ahead to fetch the carriage with their servants and trunks so that dry clothes could be brought back. The boy dashed off with a nod.

  As Frederick and Grace crested the hill and reached the road, the crowd size had doubled, the faces of the familiar folks all pale and worried. Frederick drew in a deep breath and forced a smile. “I think this is proof that Havensbrooke is overdue for a more modern vehicle. Wouldn’t you all agree?”

  A round of laughter and a few relieved sighs greeted his response and stole some of the tension from the air. Grace shot him a look, but to her credit, she didn’t voice whatever percolated in that head of hers. He’d have to remember to give extra praise to God for small favors. He could almost guess the turn of her thoughts, but he’d not allow his mind to go there. It made no sense. The car was old, plain and simple. Scandal-free.

  Yet Blake’s doubts crowded in, firming with more certainty. Another “accident”?

  “Do you know what happened to cause the car to go all willy-nilly, ya lordship?” This from Arthur Lawrence, the blacksmith’s youngest.

  “Artie,” his mother scolded, but Frederick tossed the lad a reassuring smile. These were good people. People his brother should have nurtured instead of ostracized. It had taken months for Frederick to garner greet-ings from the town folks when he walked the streets of Astlynn Commons after his brother’s death. So many things had been broken in his absence.

  “I don’t know, and that’s the truth,” Patton defended from his place at Mr. Lorde’s side. “I’d serviced the car this morning myself, and everything proved in top-notch order for his lordship’s arrival.”

  Grace studied his profile with such intensity, it almost burned, but he’d not indulge her. Not in front of half the town.

  As they passed by the crowd, Frederick couldn’t help notice how the townspeople stared at his wife. He wasn’t certain what they’d expected in the new Lady Astley, but a sopping wet, ginger-headed, smiling swimmer wasn’t likely on the list. He squeezed her close and followed the Quincys through a door at the side of their shop into a small sitting area.

  “If you’ll be so good as to wait here by the fire, I’ll fetch some tea.” Mrs. Quincy disappeared through another door.

  “And I’ll take Mr. Patton upstairs to have a lie down till the doc can see him,” Mr. Quincy added. “John should be over with his car in no time, sir.”

  “Thank you, Tom.” Frederick ushered Grace closer to the fire.

  Her skirts left a water trail across the stone floor.

  The room fell silent except for the crackling of the fire. Grace’s wet hair curled in disorganized ringlets around her face, and her purple lips trembled, but otherwise she seemed much too composed for a woman who’d just survived a car accident in the river. Perhaps she was in shock, but his shock was beginning to wear off, replaced by a deeper awareness that she could have died.

  And it would have been his fault. His stomach pinched with sudden nausea. He took the blanket and used it as a towel to rub against her arms, garnering her attention. “Are you certain you’re well?”

  “Other than ruining this lovely gown and shaking like a leaf, I am.” She pushed her hair from her face. “You have no idea how many times I’ve mentally planned to survive a mishap such as this.” Her smile brightened. “Of course I hadn’t factored you into my plan. You were a wonderful surprise.”

  Frederick shifted closer to her, keeping his voice low for fear of eaves-droppers wondering at his wife’s mental health. Shock, certainly. “Are you saying you’ve envisioned driving off a bridge into a river?”

  “Your lips are blue.” She took a corner of the blanket around his shoulders and dabbed at his mouth. “Clearly, you’ve never ridden with Father. It was necessary to sort out ways to survive a great many possibilities when he was at the wheel of an autocar.” With a sigh, she released the blanket and leaned closer to the fire “At least we can’t blame Anthony Dixon for this mishap, can we?”

  Had he heard correctly? “Anthony Dixon?”

  “He may have sliced your saddle strap, but he certainly didn’t follow us all the way to England to sabotage your car.” She tapped her chin and stared into the fire as if she hadn’t just shocked him senseless. “This must be someone much more sinister.”

  “Anthony Dixon sliced my saddle strap at Whitlock?”

  She turned back to him, drops of water slipping from her hair and making a trail down her face. “Why are you acting so surprised? Didn’t I tell you?”

  “I think I would have remembered something as significant as almost dying at
the hands of my former fiancée’s lover.” Even saying it aloud sounded so convoluted he had to replay the sentence in his mind to confirm he’d gotten it right. “How could you not have told me?”

  She turned to face him, her brow pinched as if he was at fault. “I had planned to when I confessed everything about Lillias, but I was so distracted by the fact that you refused to accept my very polite marriage proposal, I must have forgotten.”

  “You must have forgotten?” His volume rose louder than he’d intended.

  “It’s an honest mistake, especially when a woman’s been jilted.”

  He ran a hand through his wet hair and narrowed his eyes as his wife. “Did you know all along and keep it from me?”

  “I only learned it just before Lillias and Anthony ran off together. And it was a fit of jealousy, Frederick. He never intended to kill you, only maim you a little to prolong his time with my sister whom he had been in love with for years.”

  “Maim me a little?” Did she hear herself?

  “He was immediately remorseful and tried to dispatch the saddle but didn’t have time without being caught.”

  “You…you hid this from me.” He pointed his finger toward her, stepping closer. “How could you—”

  “You have no right to point an accusing finger at me, Frederick Percy.” The fact she’d used his full name brought his argument to a complete stop. “You have someone trying to kill you, and it’s not Mr. Dixon, a fact you conveniently excluded from previous conversations with your bride.”

  He opened his mouth to contradict her accusations but couldn’t. She was right. He hadn’t been forthright with the possible threats because he hadn’t been sure of them himself.

  “Which means they’ll try to kill me too. And if the scenario follows with the usual story line, I’ll be the first one to die, because murderers rarely get things right the first time.” Her eyebrows shot high, her lips still trembling. “Have you read Under the Italian Sun? It took the killer three attempts before he finally killed the right person.”