Her nose skimmed over his, teasing. “And on any of your other adventures?”
“All of my other adventures.” His mouth took another detour down her neck.
“Since you’re so agreeable for the moment.”
His lips found her ear.
“I have a confession to make.”
His palms found their way into her hair, loosening her pins. Cool locks of silk fell over his knuckles, and he buried his face into them. “Mm-hmm?”
“I met Lily yesterday.”
Lily? His hands paused in her hair, his gaze meeting hers. “What?”
She smoothed her palms over the front of his shirt, a pucker forming on her brow. “I didn’t plan to meet her, but I was out riding—”
“What did you think of her?”
“She’s wonderful!” Her smile spread. “I fell in love with her on the spot, and the fact you named her after your grandmother—”
“You knew about her name?”
“You forget, I have your grandmother’s letters, and when you’ve talked of them, I’ve listened.” Grace drew so close those gold flecks hidden in her sapphire orbs glistened in the sunlight. “I see the love of your grandparents in you. Their kindness and desire to do good.” She rubbed against his chest as if she was trying to wipe away a wound. “They’ve influenced who you are, even if the past hurts overshadowed it for a while.”
He covered her hand with his, holding her fingers against his chest. “You are a part of who I am, and I should want my life no other way.”
Her gaze roamed his face, pausing on his eye. “Then, if I am such a part of you, tell me what happened to your eye. Your lip is slightly swollen too.”
He trailed kisses down her neck again, attempting to derail her curiosity.
“My dear Lord Astley.” She framed his face with her hands and pulled his attention back up, those eyes an unyielding force. “I feel certain you want my undivided attention right now. So give me the benefit of your doubts and tell me what happened.”
His throat constricted at the notion of her faithful companionship, her love. He unpinned more of her hair and ran his fingers through it until her eyes flickered closed in response, giving him time to find his voice. “I don’t want you to worry.”
“I’ll worry more from having to conjure up my own scenarios, which will invariably be much worse than the truth.”
He grinned and brushed back some of the loose tendrils from her face. “I was attacked in London.”
“Attacked? At night?” Her eyes widened. “Of course it was at night. Much easier to conceal an attack.” Her gaze—alive and curious—searched his. “Was it a fog-fingered night? The most likely candidate.”
“Yes and only a few hours after my rather revealing meeting with Mr. Parks.”
“I knew it.” She patted the front of his shirt, rocking back on his lap. “There is something underhanded going on, and if this didn’t confirm it, the men who chased me on horseback yesterday certainly do.”
Frederick’s entire body surged to alert. He took her by the shoulders. “What did you say?”
“It was all such a surprise.” She’d loosened one of his shirt buttons as if she hadn’t just sent his heart careening toward terror. “Two men in black came after me from the forest during my ride, almost out of nowhere it seems, but of course they had to come from somewhere. At any rate, they chased me across the field, and my first thought was to find other people so there would be witnesses, you see.”
All the internal warmth from their earlier kisses chilled. Men chasing her? At Havensbrooke? He covered her fidgeting hand with his own to remove the added distraction. “Tell me everything that happened, Grace. Every detail so that we can share it when the inspector arrives.”
“You’ve secured an inspector! Very clever of you, Frederick. I do believe this case is getting much too unwieldy for us amateurs.” She snuggled in closer to him as if she hadn’t completely shaken him from any peace.
He wrapped his arms around her, holding her against him, offering thanksgiving for her safety. “Grace, I won’t leave you again, not even for an hour, until this situation is resolved.” He pulled back. “You may be strong, but I’m not certain I’m strong enough to see someone hurt you.”
“You are incredibly dashing when you’re worried about me.”
He shook his head, smile reluctant at best. “Then I must appear as the very model of a jaunty rogue.” He sobered, tipping her chin up with his finger and thumb. “We must take care. This situation has become more dangerous than even you can imagine.”
“I will take care, I promise.” She brushed back hair from his forehead and offered a consolatory smile. “But I don’t think anything could ever be that dangerous.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
As Grace readied for dinner, she tugged another letter from the box belonging to Frederick’s grandparents, grinning at the recollection of their sweet adoration for one another. Oh, she hoped she and Frederick would create such a tender romance. They’d gotten off to a fantastic start. She skimmed a finger over her lips at the thought of their most recent romantic interlude. All afternoon.
She sighed. What a perfectly delightful man!
As her fingers skimmed over the papers, she touched paper of a different texture tucked at the back of the box. Newer. Not worn from time.
How curious.
Carefully, she removed the sheets and unfolded them. At the top of the first page, she read the words:
I, Edward Richard Phineas Percy, the sixth Earl of Astley, being of sound mind and mortal body, do make my last will and testament. I revoke all previous wills in my name.
Grace’s fingers clenched reflexively against the paper. The date by Edward’s signature at the bottom of the page marked only one week before he died. She skimmed over the document, not fully understanding some of it, but what she did comprehend was that this will left everything to Frederick alone, bequeathing nothing to Celia or even Lady Moriah.
Grace met her own reflection in the mirror. “We have a motive.”
But for whom? Celia or Lady Moriah? Or some third player in the game?
Grace turned to the next page, and a shiver slipped up her arms from her fingertips.
Two lines from a shaky hand marked the page:
Frederick, my brother,
I have wronged you beyond forgiveness. Do what I could not.
Grace stood so fast her gilded chair nearly tumbled over.
“Lady Astley?” Ellie called as Grace ran for the door. “I still need to set your hair.”
“What care I for hair when there is such a discovery upon us, Ellie.” She jerked open the door and peered back at her wide-eyed maid. “I must find Lord Astley at once.”
Frederick stood just outside his office, speaking to Brandon and looking rather dashing in his evening tails. Grace almost lost her train of thought in order to give him the thorough appreciation such a figure deserved, but she blinked from her stupor and focused on the task at hand.
“Frederick. I found something.”
Frederick’s head came up, and Brandon’s eyes grew wide as she approached at a pace quite unlike a countess. Perhaps her wild hair had something to do with it as well.
“Are you all right?”
She nodded and took Frederick by the hand, pulling him into the study away from listening ears. “You come too, Brandon. I think we’ll need an extra pair of eyes.”
Brandon looked to Frederick, who hesitated for only a moment before gesturing for Brandon to follow. As soon as the door clicked closed, Grace pulled the paper from behind her back and turned it for Frederick’s view. “I found the will. Your brother must have known you’d want your grandparents’ letters, so he hid it there for you to find. It’s proof of what you already knew. Edward had written her out of everything.” Her breath pulsed as she tried to calm down. “Not only Celia, but your mother too.”
“What are you talking about?” Frederick took the paper and read over the
words, his face paling. When he turned to the next page, he pressed his palm to his head and collapsed into a nearby chair.
“He…he wrote to me.” Frederick’s words emerged on broken air.
He worked his jaw as if attempting to control his emotions. Oh, her dear hero. She lowered herself to her knees by his chair and rested her hand against his arm, drawing Frederick’s watery focus back to her. “He called me brother.”
Grace’s vision blurred at the mingling of grief and gratefulness weaving across Frederick’s features. For too long he’d carried the label of outcast, unforgiven especially by one of the most important people in his life, and now, painfully late and from the grave, his brother offered healing.
Frederick drew in a shaky breath and wiped a hand across his eyes. “I’ll present this to Piper when he arrives and phone Detective Miracle.” He sat up straighter. “But he’ll be here in a few days to look at it himself.” He offered the will to Brandon. “The signature looks authentic.”
Brandon studied the paper and nodded. “Indeed, sir.”
“I hope this will provide you some peace, knowing he thought of you at the end.” Grace stood and wrapped her fingers around his. “That he believed in you.”
Frederick cleared his throat. “There is a measure of solace in that.”
“I’m only sorry I didn’t find it sooner.” She sighed. “I’d have gotten through the letters yesterday if I hadn’t been so tired from another ghost hunt.”
The dinner bell sounded from the other side of the door, so Grace moved in that direction, but Frederick caught her by the arm. “What did you say?”
Grace looked from Brandon to Frederick. “I wish I’d found the will sooner?”
“Something about a ghost hunt?”
“Oh goodness, yes. Brandon can attest to it.” She leaned forward, the tantalizing details of the past two nights still tingling near the surface of her memory. “One of the servants said there was a ghost living in the east wing.” She paused, shaking her head. “Well I suppose, it’s not really alive, so it’s not living in the east wing, but haunting the east wing. I went in search of it so you wouldn’t have to be bothered when you returned home.”
His eyes narrowed as she continued.
“But I’m afraid you’ll have to be bothered, because the first night I saw the ghost, but it disappeared before I could identify it, and the second night, the ghost never appeared at all.”
He was blinking like he had something in his eyes.
“I don’t really think it’s a ghost.” Grace offered, trying to remain sensible. “But someone certainly walks about the east wing in a white gown, moaning at night.”
“Why haven’t I heard of this before now?” Frederick turned to Brandon.
“It only began during your travels to the States, sir.”
“So it isn’t a figment of Lady Astley’s”—he stumbled over his words as he met her gaze again—“most remarkable imagination?”
She smiled her appreciation at his careful choice of words. “I do have an overzealous imagination, but I rarely see things that aren’t there. I only pretend to.” She smoothed her palms across her waist. “I plan to search for our ghost again tonight and would be ever so grateful if you’d join me. If not, I’ll have to enlist the services of Brandon again, and I’m fairly certain he’d rather not be party to another ghost hunt.”
Brandon coughed, something he seemed to do quite often, if she thought about it.
Frederick took a great deal of time to resurrect a response. “I’ll be happy to take over my butler’s place as your sleuthing partner.”
“Sleuthing partner. It sounds much more delightful when you say it.” Grace braided her hands in front of her and brought them to her chin. “But I think I’ve sorted out the mystery of our ghost, and I hope to uncover the truth tonight.”
Frederick had envisioned many opportunities in his life, but sneaking through the east wing in search of a ghost? He’d never even remotely imagined something this bizarre. Of course he’d never expected his life to have Grace in it, and Grace changed everything.
He held the lantern ahead of them with one hand and Grace’s hand with the other as they entered the Morning Room. Whether from Grace’s influence or the memory of his brother’s body, a cold sweat broke out over Frederick’s skin. Ghosts didn’t have to float into view to impact a life. Sometimes they haunted thoughts and memories.
At the recollection of the hastily scrawled note, Frederick’s throat tightened. Edward had forgiven him. Believed in him even, as Grace had said. Some lost piece within Frederick’s heart emerged from hiding to make his heart whole again.
“The last time she came from the hallway.”
Frederick shook away the gathering tears and looked down at his wife. “She?”
“From the timbre of the moan and the flow of the skirts, our ghost is female.”
His gaze shot to the ceiling, laughter tickling to release the tension. “Of course she is.”
“Doubt as you may, Husband dearest, but I can assure you I’m more educated about ghosts than you are,” she whispered, her eyes glinting in the golden lantern light.
He held her gaze, hoping his touch, his expression somehow communicated how much she meant to him. “I have no doubt, darling.”
“I love it when you call me darling.” Her grin surfaced. “You always say it so sweetly, as if you like it, even when you’re doubting my clearheadedness.”
Despite the gloomy theme to the room, his smile spread, and he placed a kiss on Grace’s head. “I like you, clearheaded or not.”
“I’m ever so glad you do, since we are bound to each other for all eternity.”
Being bound to her was one of his favorite activities.
They moved around the room in tandem, steps quiet. And then he heard it. A swelling moan, rising from the deep recesses of the wing. He nearly dropped the lantern, his gaze searching the shadows. The moan rose again. He pushed Grace behind him and searched the darkness for the origin of the eerie sound.
“Blow out the lantern” Grace whispered from behind him.
“What?”
“If it’s a real ghost, the lantern light will keep us from seeing clearly.
If it isn’t, the light may cause her to stay away.”
“Grace, I don’t—”
“There’s enough moonlight to help us.” She ducked beneath his arm and blew out the flame.
The sound emerged again. Closer. His eyes adjusted to the moon’s glow from the windows, and he reached back to wrap his fingers through Grace’s, keeping her near. Safe. Or as safe as a ghost hunt could keep anyone.
A white flutter of cloth slipped in and out of his periphery through the room they passed to their left. Frederick’s blood went cold. He pressed Grace back against the wall, shielding her as he peeked around the doorframe.
“Isn’t this romantic?” Grace’s whisper pulled his gaze to her face. She was almost smiling. “You’re ever so good at protecting me.”
Frederick drew a blank for response, so he switched his attention back to the room, but the ghost was gone.
Her moan rose from the adjoining room.
“She’s saying something. Do you hear her?” Grace’s question spurred him farther down the hall. “Can you make it out?”
Three syllables.
“The last word is me,” Grace murmured, his sweet bride not intimidated in the slightest.
The words became clearer as they stepped over the threshold into his brother’s office.
Frederick’s breath halted. “Forgive me.”
Icicles of awareness slid a chill of cold sweat down his neck. What sort of fictional world had Grace brought into his real life?
Bent over Edward’s desk, the moonlight draping a luminescent glow over her contorted face, stood his mother. She wept as she scanned his brother’s desk, shifting through the pages, eyes fixed and unblinking.
“Mother?” the word scraped over his dry throat, barely making
a sound.
“She’s sleepwalking,” Grace’s voice came near his ear. “Do you see her face?”
“Charles,” her wild cry upheaved with a new rush of volume. “Edward.”
Frederick couldn’t move, transfixed by the scene before him, haunted by a myriad of questions. What drove his mother to such grief that she’d seek consolation in her sleep?
Her body shuddered beneath the weight of her sobs.
He’d never seen her weep, and now in the ghostly light, tears rained over her sunken cheeks, her hair a wild mass around her face. The pale light highlighted her hollowed eyes and reflected off the silver streaks in her dark hair. Mother circled the desk, blindly sifting through the papers.
“Tell me you forgive me.” Pages fluttered to the floor as she continued her perusal and finally, as if defeated, quit her task. “Where? I must find it.”
With those words, she stepped to the far bookshelf and escaped out the servants’ entry in a wisp of white. Frederick followed her, entranced.
When they reached the dimly lit Great Hall, only the emptiness of the room greeted him. Grace’s warm fingers slid into his. Had she been there all along? “I thought it was her, but I never imagined…”
“There’s more than grief there.” His voice came scratchy. “Regret?” He met Grace’s gaze. “Guilt?”
She breathed out a sigh as she searched his face before bringing his hand to her lips. “Let’s go to bed, Frederick. Rest. Pray. And discuss this in the morning. There’s nothing to be done now that can’t wait.”
He looked up the stairway, fighting the inclination to run to his mother’s room for immediate answers. Did she know something about Edward’s death? Father’s? She’d begged forgiveness for both. What did that mean?
“Let her sleep.” Grace wrapped her arm through his, tugging him toward the stairs. “I doubt she even knows what she’s doing, and drawing attention to it at the wrong time won’t bring any answers.”
“I don’t understand this.”
“We’ve uncovered something hidden for a long time, I think, and so dark it emerges in your mother’s sleep. We must be very careful from here on out, Frederick. I fear we’re nearing the end of the game, the darkest part of the story, and someone doesn’t want us to discover the truth.”
The Mistletoe Countess Page 28