“That’s an excellent notion, Elliott.” Frederick rapped a palm to the table. “Do you recall why Edward released him?”
Elliott scratched at the back of his neck and swallowed. “I believe Lady Celia wasn’t too keen on his financial advice.”
“He probably put a knot in her plans.” And how worse had it gotten when Frederick left the country? “I happened to see Mr. Piper before leaving for India, and we spoke of my grandfather. Do you think he still lives at the same London address?”
Elliott raised his cup. “It can’t hurt to start there, can it?”
“Then that is our next stop, directly after we locate a detective I’ve heard about.”
Elliott’s expression sobered. “Sir, may I ask you something?”
“Of course, Elliott.”
The valet’s brow pinched as his finger skimmed the rim of his cup. “I don’t understand what reason Parks or anyone else would have to harm you.”
“I have an unconfirmed theory on that score.” Frederick took a sip of tea before answering. “Money.”
“But Havensbrooke has been struggling for years, hasn’t it?”
“Exactly, almost as if on purpose. Which leads to the question of what happens if the estate is left without lord or heir and must then be sold.”
“What happens to the money, you mean?”
“Right.” Frederick’s jaw tensed as his musing took on voice. “After securing my sister’s allowance and a few stipends to certain staff, according to Edward’s most recent will, if the estate is sold, the remaining funds are divided among the three widows.”
“Three?”
“Yes.” Frederick shot Elliott a knowing look. “Mother, Lady Astley, and—”
Elliott’s gaze locked with Frederick’s. “Lady Celia.”
“Exactly.”
“I think you ought to have a new will written straightaway, sir.” Elliott drew in a deep breath. “Not that I expect your death, but I wouldn’t want Celia Blackmore taking anything more from Havensbrooke than she already has.”
The day ended much better than it had begun. Frederick located Jack Miracle, the young and astute private detective he had read about in the papers. Miracle took detailed notes on Frederick’s knowledge and conjectures, as well as interviewed Elliott. Something about knowing a detective was keeping watch put a little more confidence in Frederick’s steps.
Andrew Piper was in the process of leaving his office for the day when Frederick and Elliott caught him. He welcomed Frederick like the lost prodigal, and after hearing an accounting of all the facts thus far, Piper readily took back his position as solicitor for Havensbrooke. He even made plans to meet with Detective Miracle before traveling to Havensbrooke within the week to divulge any inconsistencies he uncovered in the information Frederick left with him.
As Elliott and Frederick settled back at the town house for the night, the weight Frederick had carried since leaving Havensbrooke felt a little lighter. Blake. Piper. Elliott. Miracle. He had four allies in the messy affair now—his grin spread as he removed his coat—and Grace, of course. Who knew what she’d been up to during his absence? Knowing she’d met Eleanor and had Aunt Lavenia as an acquaintance made the idea of leaving her alone with Mother a bit easier, especially since Mother had refused to leave her rooms since Frederick had told her he was searching for a dower house for her.
The same longing he’d experienced throughout the day branched through his chest. He missed Grace.
As Frederick turned toward the desk to read through some of the documents he’d collected from the former solicitor, another envelope, like the one from the night before, caught his eye. Frederick picked up the card and pointed it toward the valet. “Did she plan this with you?”
Elliott’s brows rose in faux surprise. “I assure you, sir, I only followed Lady Astley’s instructions.”
“Which, I suspect, were quite detailed.” Frederick imagined his wife with her bright eyes regaling the valet with her secret designs.
“And given with great excitement, sir.”
Frederick’s smile unfurled. “No doubt.”
“If I might say so, she does bring a certain light with her. It doesn’t go unnoticed in the house or”—Elliott turned to place Frederick’s jacket in the wardrobe—“in you, sir.”
Frederick slid down into the desk chair. “Why, Elliott, you sound almost poetic.”
“I shall try to refrain from future exposition, my lord.”
Frederick chuckled at the man’s droll reply, but the observation clung around his heart with welcome truth. “You’re right, though. She does bring light with her.”
“If you were hoping to add the right people to your good intentions, a higher hand chose better for you than you chose for yourself.”
Frederick lowered his face with a nod, slowly peeling open the note. “It’s a pity it’s taken me such hardship to prefer His choices to mine.”
“As my mother would say, sir, that is the beginning of wisdom.”
Frederick cast him a knowing grin, embracing the awareness of God’s fingerprints all over the debacle with Lillias. No, he wouldn’t have chosen as well for himself. He’d have chosen out of duty and necessity, but God chose for his heart.
Once Elliott left the room, Frederick opened his note.
Oh, hero of mine, I’m determined to keep myself fresh in your thoughts.
He could practically see her sitting at her desk, pen in hand, mischievous smile tipping her tantalizing lips into a grin.
And if you were to miss me in the slightest, I thought these notes would help me feel closer to you. I’m a sentimental girl, but I hope you don’t mind it too awfully. I can assure you, it will only prove to be for your benefit, especially once you return and I can sequester you away all to myself.
The slow rising heat associated with her innuendo scorched the inside of his throat with a rush of longing. It had taken him much too long to go to sleep last night as she visited his thoughts. The endearing minx. She would most certainly accompany him on any trip from this point forward.
Of course I wish for your journey to be successful, but I do hope you miss me a little bit. I’m certain I shall miss you. If you’re to become my dearest friend—and we’ve gotten off to a very friendly start—then I shall have to find things to do to distract myself from searching the drive for your return.
I do prefer your brand of friendliness. I must say it’s my favorite kind, and I hope you will continue to be friendly with me as often as you like. Very friendly. Often.
Good heavens, he was going to attack the poor girl as soon as he crossed the threshold of Havensbrooke!
Do have a marvelous time among the solicitors and architects you meet. Dear me, that doesn’t sound exciting at all, but I’m sure you’ll find a way to make it memorable.
I look forward to seeing you tomorrow, my dear Lord Astley. My lips await your steadfast attentions.
Your Grace
Chapter Twenty-Four
The ghost didn’t appear again the next evening, though Grace searched until almost one o’clock. Aunt Lavenia joined Grace for morning tea, providing a wonderful opportunity for Grace to divulge the discovery of her ghost with someone who wouldn’t become too concerned about her mental faculties.
Before leaving, Lavenia made a short visit to Lady Moriah, returning much sadder than when she’d walked up the stairs.
“Her heart is so cold, dear Grace. If anyone could thaw her, perhaps you could,” Aunt Lavenia whispered, walking to the door. “How desperately she needs the warmth of love.”
As Grace waved goodbye to Lavenia, guilt nudged at the corners of her heart. She’d made every effort to avoid her mother-in-law over the past two days, but was Lavenia right? Did God place Grace at Havensbrooke for more than just Frederick, but his mother too?
Grace’s morning Bible reading also nudged her spirit about doing good and praying for those “that hate you…and despitefully use you.” And spiteful certainly fit th
e dowager. Grace really ought to stop referring to Lady Moriah as the dowager in her mind when she felt particularly cross with the woman. It didn’t encourage kindness at all.
She sighed and peered heavenward as she took the steps to the south wing.
Grace’s knock was met by her mother-in-law grousing, “Come in.” Now that Grace knew a little more about her mother-in-law, she noticed the tattered brocade wallpaper and the photographs of a younger Moriah with her husband, a room as lonely and weathered as the woman occupying it.
“What do you want?”
Well, perhaps Lady Moriah was more cantankerous than lonely.
Grace tempered her scowl with a smile and stepped farther into the room. “I heard you weren’t feeling well this morning, so I wondered if you might like some company.”
“From you?” The woman’s face contorted. “I can barely stand the thought of you, let alone listen to your American accent.”
Grace’s hand clenched at her side, and she looked away, replaying one of the verses about love through her mind. Her gaze landed on the excellent grand piano with sheet music propped and ready. “Do you play?”
“Not in years.” She tipped up her chin. “I used to be quite excellent, however.”
Well, either Lady Moriah did play recently or cared so much for the instrument that she kept it polished and open. A weakness Grace wasn’t too proud to exploit for kindness’ sake. Surely God wouldn’t mind.
“I’ve played since I was seven. I imagine I could play any piece you used to play.”
A sound like a growl came from the woman. “I performed for hundreds by the time I was your age.”
Ah, but she didn’t say no. Grace stepped toward the piano. “Then I imagine you could give me excellent guidance on becoming a better pianist, assuming you remember.”
“Of course I remember.” The woman slammed her palm down on her blanket-covered lap. “I may be sick, but my mind is still intact.” She waved her hand toward the piano. “Brahms’s Rhapsody in D Minor is on the piano—a less technical piece, so perhaps you can play it, if you start slowly.”
Grace turned her head so that Lady Moriah couldn’t see her eye roll. “I shall do my best.”
She’d played this piece before, but not under such scrutiny. Grace gave it her all, pouring her own little magic into the music with an added trill here and an extra note there.
“Your technique could use a firm hand, but you do not play poorly, though I doubt you are prepared for some of Liszt’s work.”
Grace decided then and there she was going to ignore every rude thing the dowager countess said, and if it meant she wouldn’t remember one word of the conversation, so be it. “I’ll be happy to grow under your tutelage.”
The woman’s beady eyes examined Grace’s face, almost as if they wished to push her down a few inches in height. “You do not understand your place at all, do you?”
“As wife to your son?”
“As the stone in a home that has withstood centuries. You know nothing of the privilege of being part of a vast legacy.” Her lips curled. “You and your new money.”
Grace refused to back down. One way or another, this rivalry had to stop, and if her mother-in-law wasn’t going to act her age, then Grace would be forced to. “Then why don’t you educate me?”
The woman’s eyes grew wide. “Educate you?”
“Whether you like me and my hair or not, the truth remains that I’m the only one who can bear an heir. If I’m to be a part of the Astley history, then teach me about it instead of judging me. Otherwise you will have no hand in the upbringing of my children, and I will be at my leisure to raise them to be as American as I choose.”
“I will not be forced by you.”
Grace refused to give up. “Do you know that I ride astride?”
“What?”
“Wearing trousers.”
The woman clapped her palm to her chest.
Grace’s grin peaked. Aha, she’d found her mark. “And I believe girls should receive an education at a university, if they want.”
“How dare you speak to me of my future granddaughters and edu—”
“And the very next moment I can get our chauffeur free, I’m going to have him teach me how to drive our car.”
The woman’s mouth dropped as wide as her eyes. “Preposterous.”
“So if you don’t want an entire herd of little Americans running about your centuries-old museum”—Grace waved toward the walls—“then I suggest you take the time to introduce me to your legacy and pray I fall in love with it, because until now, you have not given me any reason to care about your world.”
The woman backed away until she slid down in her chair again, eyes remaining wide. Oh well, perhaps Grace had gone too far with the driving statement, even though it was true. From the look on Lady Moriah’s pale face, Grace wondered if the woman was still breathing. Could someone die of dislike for a daughter-in-law? Would that be considered murder or suicide?
A knock broke the volatile silence in the room, followed by Brandon’s welcome, nonsmiling face. “We just received word that Lord Astley has arrived at the station and should be home within the hour.”
“Thank you for letting us know, Brandon.” Grace barely kept her feet on the floor as she ran to the door. “I shall keep watch from the library window.”
“Tell my son to see me as soon as he arrives.”
Lady Moriah could have her son, as soon as Grace finished greeting him in private.
Frederick caught the first morning train to Derbyshire, each mile proving only to increase his agitation. The car barely rolled to a stop at Havensbrooke’s entrance before he opened the door himself and stepped out. A rush of blue suddenly filled the doorway, and his bride came into view among the gathering servants. His breath caught as he took her in—the delightfully missed and wonderfully his, Lady Astley.
“Glad to have you back, my lord.”
“Thank you, Brandon.” Frederick forced his attention to the butler. “It’s good to be back.”
The butler’s attention rested on Frederick’s bruised eye. “I hope your trip was successful.”
“A minor accident.” He waved toward the bruise. “Besides, I have good news. Mr. Andrew Piper will be returning as solicitor and steward of Havensbrooke.”
Brandon’s bushy brows rose, and a light flickered into his expression. “Very good, sir.”
Frederick nodded to the other servants as he passed, each step drawing him closer to the pinnacle of his thoughts the past two days—and nights. There she stood, almost bouncing on tiptoe to contain her joy, with her hands dutifully clasped in front of her. Her obvious admiration plowed over him in glorious and grateful waves. All her beautiful ginger hair sat piled on her head, waiting for him to remove those pins, and the blue shade of her gown deepened the hue of her eyes.
Had she grown more beautiful over the past two days?
“You look well, Lady Astley.”
Her smile stretched wide. “I’m much better now, my lord, though I am sorry for your beautiful eye.”
“It’s nothing, really.” He examined every part of her face, even the tiniest freckles on the bridge of her nose. Keeping his distance proved so painful his teeth ached. “I’m glad to be home.”
“Might I accompany you to our sitting room? Where we can…” Her gaze spoke in a language his pulse interpreted perfectly. “Talk?”
“Excellent.”
“There is a lot to say.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “It may take a while.”
“All afternoon, I’d expect.” He met her volume, ready to devour those lovely lips of hers.
“Do you wish to have tea brought up, my lord?” Mrs. Powell asked as they passed through the threshold.
“No, thank you.” Frederick turned to her but did not release his hold on his wife. “In fact, I should like to rest until dinner.”
He pressed his palm over Grace’s hand so snug against the crook of his arm and kept an unhur
ried pace up the stairs of the Great Hall. The room looked resplendent with holiday decor. The tree, which had been barren before he’d left, now stood adorned in old ornaments, strings of white beads, and dashes of holly. Garland trimmed the stair rail, framing the room in evergreen and ribbons.
“I don’t know as I’ve ever seen the hall so festive.”
Grace’s nose wrinkled with her grin. “Do you like it?” She leaned close as they continued their climb. “I would have you note the very strategic placement of mistletoe. I expect you to keep with tradition, my lord, publicly or privately, at your pleasure.”
“At my pleasure?” He raised a brow, and as soon as they turned the corner on their private hallway away from curious eyes, he swept her into his arms for a lingering kiss. “Will that do?”
“It’s a wonderful start,” she breathed, tugging at his jacket. “But don’t worry, I’ve placed mistletoe around my bed too, just in case you needed more reminders.”
“I need no reminders, darling.” He brought her fingers to his smile and kissed them, slowly trailing his lips over each one in such a way that his beautiful bride gasped. “I think you should write me letters every day.”
“I was inspired by your grandparents’ letters.” Her breath shook out the words, her gaze focused on his lips against her hand. “They provide such lovely romantic inspiration.”
Once they were sequestered in their sitting room, Frederick guided Grace to the window seat and tugged her down on his lap, continuing the kiss he’d started in the hallway. She tasted of warmth and strawberries—and home. Her rosemary scent wrapped around him in welcome as she melted against him, the softest breath escaping her mouth as he skimmed his lips down her neck.
“Grace,” he whispered against her neck as he skimmed kisses across her skin. “I’ve never longed for anyone like I long for you.”
She pulled back, her palms framing his face as glimmers of sunlight bathed her glorious hair in fiery gold. “That was beautifully poetic.”
He kissed one corner of her mouth, then the other. “Next time you’re going with me to London.”
The Mistletoe Countess Page 27