The Mistletoe Countess

by Pepper Basham

  Dinner with Andrew Piper proved a lighthearted affair. The man oozed quick wit and kindness, but when they retired to Frederick’s study, the conversation took a decidedly serious turn.

  Frederick, Piper, and Grace poured over dozens of financial books, a personal journal or two, and added the recent ledgers recovered from Edward’s study.

  “Your brother closed the glassworks two years ago,” Grace said. “But there’s no indication that the business wasn’t viable any longer.”

  Piper blinked over at Grace and looked to Frederick, who couldn’t help the hint of pride pushing up at the corners of his mouth. True, most women didn’t usually speak of money and business affairs, but Grace was certainly unlike most women.

  “But the gristmill became a point of contention years ago,” Piper said, “just before I was dismissed. Mr. Rupert Cooper and your father came to blows, and in a fit of passion, your father closed it all down.”

  Rupert? Frederick’s mind paused on the name, but he wasn’t certain why.

  “The gristmill closed by your father and the glassworks by your brother?” Grace shook her head. “No wonder the estate began to wane, and if Celia had taken over finances along with the natural expenses of covering the costs of such a large property…”

  “She always seemed to get her way, if I recall correctly,” Piper added, examining the ledgers strewn across the billiard table. “When I met with Detective Miracle about some of the inconsistencies in the books, he mentioned that the former Lady Astley had been married before. Did you know?”

  Celia? Frederick nearly spit the drink he’d just taken. “Married?”

  “It appears that your detective did a little digging and uncovered that she’d been married to a businessman with new money, nearly three times her age.”

  “What happened?” Grace’s palm flew to her chest. “Oh, oh, let me guess.”

  Piper’s lips twitched beneath his finely trimmed moustache.

  “The husband was found dead within the first year.”

  Piper ran a palm over his mouth, studying Grace with a quizzically humored expression. “Very clever, Lady Astley.” The man’s blue gaze flipped to Frederick’s. “You have a budding detective on your hands, my lord.”

  Frederick wasn’t certain whether to smile or not.

  “It’s a repeated plot in many fiction books.” She nodded, sending Frederick a wrinkle-nosed grin for her cleverness.

  Frederick resigned his concern and turned back to Piper. “And how did Celia’s first husband die?”

  “It was listed as”—Piper nailed Frederick with a look—“a heart condition.”

  Deafening silence followed Piper’s declaration.

  “But what proof do we have?” Frederick gestured toward the papers on the table. “Nothing. It’s too late to exhume bodies to test for poisoning, and what would Celia have to gain from it all? I was still alive.”

  “Money.” Piper tapped the ledgers in his hands. “Or it seems as though someone is. There are large and consistent funds missing from each of your brother’s former accounts, and the notes for the fund trans-fers are not in his handwriting. It’s a close attempt but not exact.”

  Frederick walked to Piper’s side and peered over him to review the notes. “Celia, you think?”

  “She signed as your brother?” Grace came to his side.

  “It seems most of the accounts for the last few months of your brother’s life were managed by the lady in question. He’d given her sovereignty.”

  “Or she’d taken it,” Grace added.

  “But one would think Mother would have recognized what was happening.”

  “Unless someone held something over her.” Grace reminded.

  A fire fueled beneath Frederick’s skin, pulse pumping for justice. “Can you trace these funds?”

  “Miracle was able to locate that information, actually.” Piper sorted through a few more of the ledgers, comparing information, and then raised his direct gaze to Frederick. “An account held by Mr. Mason Parks of London.”

  Frederick braced his hand against the table. The web was much worse and more prevalent than he’d imagined.

  And increasingly more dangerous.

  Dr. David Ross was nothing like Grace imagined a country doctor to be.

  “Lord Astley.” The young doctor offered his hand, his smile at the ready. He turned to Grace. “Lady Astley. To what do I own this unexpected visit.”

  “I’ve come on a private matter, Doctor, as it concerns my brother whom you were kind enough to see to earlier this year.”

  The man’s emerald gaze settled on Frederick and then switched to Grace. “I see. Please, sit down.” Dr. Ross gestured toward two chairs in his private office. “And how may I help you?”

  “I’ve heard good things about you, Doctor. And well—” Frederick stiffened in his chair. “I don’t care to shilly-shally around the point. Time is essential. I’m sorry you were dismissed from Havensbrooke in so hasty and, as I understand it, impolite a manner after my brother’s death. If I’d been more present of mind, I’d have come to you sooner to discuss your findings on that day.”

  “It was my understanding you’d only arrived back in the country. To discover your brother’s unexpected death along with inheriting the responsibility of his title? I can imagine how overcome you must have been.”

  “Thank you.” Frederick bowed his head in appreciation, and Grace ignored the urge to take his hand in front of the good doctor. “But since then, certain concerns have come to light that have brought me to your door. Do you recall that day?”

  “Indeed I do.” Dr. Ross sighed and stood, walking to a shelf nearby and sifting through some papers, finally withdrawing one from the pile. “I’m afraid you’ll not like my findings.”

  “I don’t think they’ll surprise us, Doctor,” Grace added.

  Dr. Ross took his seat and leaned forward, offering Frederick the papers. “I have all of my observations detailed here. Your brother had symptoms consistent with poisoning, and not just any poisoning, but a quite common one which most doctors would note upon a cursory examination, especially after the butler answered a few questions for me.”

  “Hemlock.”

  Dr. Ross examined Grace’s face. “Yes.”

  Silence stained the moment with a sudden dread Grace felt to her toes. This wasn’t from a story or a fantasy. Without any doubt, Edward had been murdered.

  “I suggest you alert the authorities, Lord Astley.” David’s palms pressed against the desk. “If the perpetrator knows of your doubts, this may put both of you in danger.”

  “I’m afraid it already has.” Frederick turned to Grace, his dark gaze holding hers. “But we believe we know the culprit. We only need prove it, and you’ve given us some help on that score.”

  The declaration sent a wonderful thrill through Grace’s entire body. Oh heavens, her husband would make a gloriously dashing detective. She could almost picture him with spyglass in hand. Marriage certainly proved much more exciting than she’d anticipated, and if they survived another week without being drowned, poisoned, or attacked by moonlight, just imagine how much more thrilling it could become.

  Frederick phoned Detective Miracle with the new details from their meeting with Dr. Ross when they returned home, and the detective planned to take the first train to Havensbrooke the next morning to meet Grace and Frederick after the house party. Tension tinged the air. They were hurtling toward some unseen culmination in this dark plot, and the only thing to do was prepare as best one could.

  Frederick’s wife dazzled the guests upon entry at Keriford Hall in a gown of midnight blue lace, silk, and beading, a sash of a paler hue cinched around her waist, enhancing curves he knew so well.

  Her hair was a halo of fiery red, piled into a mass of curls on her head and decorated with a thin band of silver. He held his breath at the sight of her. And she was his. The awareness reverberated through him afresh every time he acknowledged God’s gift in giving him Gr
ace.

  Lady Caroline Keriford welcomed them forward, a vision in dark rose, her expression honed to perfection. Grace must have inherited her eyes from the Rosemunds, because her aunt shared the same captivating hue.

  “Aunt Caroline, your home is beautiful.” Grace released Frederick’s arm to embrace her aunt. “Thank you for this wonderful gesture tonight.”

  “I couldn’t leave you to the wolves of the aristocracy without a proper introduction, my dear.” Lady Keriford peered over Grace’s shoulder to offer Frederick a wink. “But I daresay you’re in excellent hands. Mr. Andrew Piper is a mutual acquaintance, and quite complimentary of the new Earl of Astley.”

  Frederick dipped his head in acceptance of the compliment. “He’s the best of men.”

  “Yes he is.” She offered her hand to Frederick, which he accepted with a bow.

  “And so is Lord Astley.” Grace lifted her eyes to her husband, one eyebrow winging high in a flirtatious tilt.

  A smile warmed his face at her unabashed admiration.

  “You’re acting as if you truly like one another.” Lady Keriford chuckled. “Very uncommon indeed.”

  “Our American counterparts do bring a shock to the institution, don’t they, Lord Astley?” This from Lord Keriford who joined his wife’s side in greeting. Lord Keriford had done well in his marriage, by all accounts from the outside world, and the two made an amiable pair if first impressions held any credence.

  “I’m quite certain I married well.”

  “Of course you did. You married into my family.” Lady Keriford ushered them forward with a laugh. “I’m pleased to have you so close, Gracelynn. It’s been much too long since I’ve seen family.”

  Music filtered from the room ahead of them, a space boasting high, elaborately carved golden ceilings and a pale oak floor that glowed in the carefully placed lighting. “I should prepare the two of you, though. At the last minute, Lord Elston brought a guest not unknown to you, Lord Astley.”

  Frederick halted at the threshold of the doorway, tension constricting his chest with warning. Almost as if drawn by magnetic force, Frederick’s gaze found the root of the aggravation. Surrounded by a group of ladies and gentlemen at the far corner of the room stood Celia Percy in her mourning gown. The very fact she’d shown up to the house party filled with some of the upper crust of English society defied every social expectation, yet from the faces of the enraptured throng, no one seemed to mind. His mother would have been horrified that Celia had taken some of the more relaxed views of mourning by wearing half-mourning attire, let alone showing up at a house party when her husband hadn’t even been in the grave a year.

  “I was surprised at her arrival, of course, since she’s still in mourning.” Lady Keriford offered a one-shoulder shrug. “But this is such a small party, and though some of the more astute members of the gentry may scoff, I felt it couldn’t hurt anything really. She seemed determined to celebrate your happiness, so I overlooked propriety this once. Family, you know.”

  “This once?” Lord Keriford offered his wife his arm and a crooked grin. “You’ve been overlooking propriety since the day you stepped off the boat from America.”

  “You are right.” She laughed and took his arm. “But I do attempt to avoid scandal, at least.” Her gaze settled on Grace. “Which is the only point you need to remember in this British upper class. You’re allowed a great many liberties as long as none of them end in scandal.”

  “Come darling, let’s announce the guests of honor.” Lord Keriford drew his wife away from them, leaving Frederick a few seconds with Grace.

  “She’s even better than I imagined.”

  Frederick really should have failed to be alarmed by Grace at this point.

  “Raven hair, deliciously deceptive eyes, and a smile with all sorts of alluring secrets.” She touched his arm. “Oh Frederick, no wonder you fell so desperately.”

  “Stay near me, Grace.” He shook his head and leaned closer, lowering his voice. “If anything happened to you, I’d never forgive myself.”

  “Who’s to say you won’t need me to protect you, my chivalrous husband?”

  As creative and inventive as her mind could be, his bride had no idea of Celia’s cunning. Manipulation was one thing; murder was another.

  At that moment, the music died, and Lord Keriford’s voice swelled over the quieting throng of about forty people. “Thank you for joining us this evening for our Christmas celebrations. We would like to welcome our guests of honor, Lord and Lady Astley, in their first public appearance in England as man and wife.”

  Frederick’s attention swept directly toward his sister-in-law, who didn’t disappoint. Her dark eyes met his, and her lips curved into a smile as wicked as that of the serpent in the garden. His stomach curled. It all seemed so clear now, so obvious. The death of her first husband. The game she’d played with Frederick’s affections. Whatever scheme she concocted in his brother’s death.

  Frederick forced a smile and turned to the hosts. “Lady Astley and I thank you for your generosity and kindness. And thank you all for celebrating with us this evening.”

  “Take up your glasses everyone!” Lord Keriford held up his glass. “To the bride and groom.”

  The room erupted in the expected echo of congratulations followed by an immediate quiet as everyone took a sip of their drinks—everyone except Celia.

  Frederick and Grace mingled with some of the guests, Frederick taking the happy opportunity to introduce Grace to those living in Havensbrooke’s general vicinity.

  As Celia approached through the crowd, Frederick turned to Grace.

  “Will you go and speak with your aunt? Let her know we’ll be leaving as soon as dinner ends due to…” He searched for an excuse.

  “My being overtired?” She shrugged, attempting to help him.

  “Would anyone actually believe that, darling?”

  Her eyes brightened. “Well, I am a new bride.”

  Her beautiful smile drew him closer, his lips dropping to her cheek. “You are indeed.”

  With a squeeze to his hand, she retreated through the crowd until she’d made it safely to her aunt’s side. Frederick’s relaxed expression hardened as he turned to the scent of lilacs and the ominous presence of Celia Blackmore Percy.

  “So that is your blushing bride?” She swirled the liquid in her glass, following Frederick’s gaze across the room. “What a lovely child.”

  Even her voice lathered false. Frederick kept his expression stoic. “I hadn’t expected to see you here.”

  Her dark brow angled high, fully aware of his implications at her rebellion against the social norms. “I simply couldn’t refuse an opportunity to share in the joys of my brother-in-law’s happiness after such loss.” Her lips reflected the appropriate emotion that her eyes failed to convey. “How could I stay away?”

  “A handwritten note would have appealed to convention a bit more.”

  She took a slow drink, biding her time. “I’ve never been fond of convention. Besides, I heard you were asking about me in London, so I thought perhaps”—her gaze trailed over him in a way he understood full well—“your sweet little American wasn’t quite up to the task.”

  “Do not fear, Celia.” His gaze bore into hers. “Your very thorough lesson on the value of faithfulness and honesty has ensured my fidelity.”

  “Fidelity?” The light in her eyes faded a little, but she recovered with a raised brow. “How quaint. I had wondered about the value of this unexpected marriage, but I see a quite profitable connection.”

  “For me, yes.” The undercurrent in her words churned with threats. “I’m immensely grateful I hadn’t conceded my heart to a lesser woman.”

  The sting hit its mark. Her stare faltered slightly, but she was quick to rally. “How is your mother?”

  Frederick forced his features still. “She’s as content as she is able.”

  This almost resurrected the woman’s smile. “An accurate answer, no doubt, but how i
s her grief? To lose a husband and son in five years’ time? There’s no wonder what sort of stories she might concoct to appease her heartache.”

  “Even the most sorrow-induced stories bite with some truth.”

  The hitch in her smile spoke volumes. “I wouldn’t attempt to dig too deeply, Lord Astley.”

  “A threat does not become you.”

  Her laugh rang false. “I don’t threaten, my dear Frederick.” She never moved her gaze from his. “But do remember, curiosity is a dangerous thing in the wrong hands.”

  Her words fired a warning shot Frederick felt to the core. There was no more time to wait. Tomorrow Detective Miracle and Frederick would present their evidence to the authorities before something more sinister led to another scar on the Percy name. Or worse, on his heart. His gaze rose to find Grace.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Lady Celia exceeded any expectation Grace could have envisioned for a villainess. Even her smile slid to just the right angle for deceit. She was remarkably fascinating in real life.

  Romance, mystery, murderess, secret passageways, ghosts? She was living a novel and within only the first three weeks of marriage!

  As soon as they returned to Havensbrooke, Frederick rang Detective Miracle, who was surprisingly asleep. But then Grace saw the clock and noted that it read two in the morning. Most people slept then, unless they were finishing an excellent book or participating in a ghost hunt, she supposed. Detective Miracle assured Frederick that he would go to the authorities with the information he’d collected and be on the first train from London in the morning.

  Frederick and Grace slept a few hours, took an early breakfast, and alerted Lady Moriah that they would like to see her.

  Would this encounter prove the most difficult one of all? Was her dear hero prepared for whatever they might uncover? Grace had already worked through ten possible scenarios.

  “What do you think Celia has planned? She gave a clear threat to you at the party.”