Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen

Frederick marched from his mother's room with a hardened edge knotting his stomach. There was no use arguing with her. To her he'd forever remain the black sheep of the family—the failure. Every decision, every choice she tore apart with her poisonous tongue, leaving him as bereft of her affection as always. At least when his grandmother lived, he'd known the tenderness of a woman's kindness.

Except now. With Grace. He'd never expected her presence to provide such a comfort, even as his mother spewed criticism and anger. Despite their unconventional beginning and her youthfulness, she fit him in a way he'd never imagined. They held easy conversations from anything related to improvements at Havensbrooke to fiction to faith. Even when they'd confronted one another during and after the car accident, they'd argued as friends—equals—her opinion as readied as his own. It all seemed too good to be true. Too sweet and right.

Over and over throughout their journey, Grace had looked at him as if he truly was capable and good and worth admiring. He rubbed his fingers against a new ache in his chest. When was the last time someone had looked at him with such genuine and unguarded esteem? Had anyone ever?

He gave the door latch a quiet turn and stepped from their shared sitting room into her bedroom. As he scanned the gold-and-white decor, he frowned. Gilded. Pristine. Regal. No, those didn't suit the bride he'd brought home. Grace's room should hold vibrancy and warmth.

Firelight provided the only light in the room as he stepped soundlessly forward and then stopped. Curled up on the bed, blankets piled to her chin and firelight flickering a golden glow across her face, lay his wife, fast asleep. She looked beautiful, her hair fanned out across the pillow, hand tucked beneath her cheek.

He slid a finger over her skin before trailing his hand to her hair, still damp from the river…where he could have lost her. The thought sent a visceral ache spiraling through his chest. Could the vows he made in front of God and the camaraderie they'd begun to share be enough to bind him to her in such a way so quickly?

She smiled in her sleep but didn't stir. Frederick hung his head with a resigned grin. She needed rest, especially after everything that had happened. His gaze dropped to the pillow beside hers. But he'd promised to sleep in the bed with her every night. He went to his room, dressed in his nightclothes, and returned. Careful not to wake her, he slipped into the bed.

Her gaze flickered open, long enough to give him a sleepy smile and curl up against him, murmuring something unintelligible as she did. He rolled his eyes toward heaven and offered another silent prayer. This time in thanksgiving instead of for help.

Perhaps God had sent Grace to fortify his prayer life, because it was working. He hadn't prayed so much in the past two years as he'd prayed in the previous two weeks.

With a sigh, he tucked her close and rested his head against her hair. His mother wouldn't make the transition easy—she rarely made anything easy—but one thing his mother hadn't counted on was the strength of Grace Ferg—Percy. His Lady Astley.

Despite the harsh and intimidating words his mother wielded like a blade, Frederick placed his bets on the ginger in his arms.

Morning light glittered through the slits in the curtain, orienting Grace to her surroundings. She blinked the gilded room into view, it's opulence and refinement reviving her last thoughts before sleep mercifully took hold. This room was meant for her sister. Its distant and distinguished beauty, pale and monochrome, fit Lillias's tastes.

But not hers.

She cringed at the negative turn of her thoughts and pushed herself up in bed. Lady Astley's words still clung to her heart, leeching to her joy like a black glove. Grace had never considered herself a pawn in the grand social game, but her mother-in-law's harshness revealed the fairy tale of the last few days in a stark light of reality.

Frederick married her for money, and Grace had never been part of the plan.

She clenched her eyes closed and dropped back down on the bed, refusing tears. She was an impulsive creature—too quick to make decisions without counting the cost, too ready to give everyone the benefit of the doubt. And here she was. She'd left home and family for this vast and cold world without a true friend among the walls.

She rolled on her side, an unruly tear slipping from her control to warm her temple before disappearing into the folds of her hair. You know, Lord. She'd chosen this path for all the right reasons, yet even He felt far off as the echoes of Lady Astley's criticism reverberated through Grace's heart.

Surely if God was everywhere, He could find His way to the second floor of the south wing of Havensbrooke Hall in the middle of Derbyshire, England. Could all of it, even her poor attempts, still somehow fashion into a grander part of God's plan? She'd been taught so, but everything blurred into a rumbling ache in the light of morning.

Grace blinked the bedside into view. The neighboring pillow and blanket lay crinkled from use. She smoothed her hand over the cloth, and the faint scent of amber accompanied her touch. Had Frederick joined her last night? She thought she'd dreamed him slipping beside her and tugging her against him, but here was evidence it was not a dream.

Maybe she wasn't so very alone after all. And maybe it wasn't just about money.

"Good morning, my lady."

Grace shoved her hair away to see Ellie drawing back the curtains, ushering morning light into the room. Being on the east side of the house would make excellent use of the sun's heat. As it was, Grace drew the blankets up a little closer to stave off the slight chill in the air. England felt much colder than Virginia in more ways than one.

At least the sun shone. That was a good start to any day.

Ellie's pale eyes looked tired, even her usually excellent posture waned.

"Did you sleep at all, dear Ellie?"

She shook her head. "It's gonna take me a few days to get used to my surroundings, and since my bedroom is so far from yours, I got lost on the way this morning or I'd have been here earlier to wake you."

Sounded like wasted time to Grace, and all the more reason to move the family quarters to the east wing.

The young woman's gaze met Grace's. "And I beg your pardon, my lady, but now that you're a countess and we're in England, you're bound to call me by my surname."

All this title business was exhausting. Grace had already determined to call the elder Lady Astley "Lady Moriah" just to bypass the confusion. Besides, calling one's mother-in-law "the dowager" sounded a bit too intimidating for familial camaraderie. "But we're too well acquainted for me to call you Miss Moore."

Ellie's shoulders drooped a little farther.

"What about this, Ellie?" Grace stood and drew in a deep breath. "I will call you Ellie when we are in private but Miss Moore in other areas so neither of us will get into trouble."

She offered a weary smile and adjusted her white cap. "That will do, my lady."

"I think we both have a great number of adjustments to make, but we're young and smart." Grace pushed more confidence into her speech than she felt. In fact, she wanted to drop back down into the bed and hide for a few days like a weak heroine. "We'll make do, won't we?"

"If you say so, my lady." Ellie shook her head and opened the ward-robe, which held some of Grace's things. "At any rate, breakfast is served in a half hour, so we need to make quick work of getting you ready."

Grace needed an en suite lavatory immediately.

When he'd found her in the hallway not an hour ago, half-clad in her nightgown in desperate search of the necessary, he inwardly flailed himself for his lack of thoughtfulness. Why hadn't he considered something so basic? Especially for a woman of means who was used to such conveniences.

Lillias would have thought him barbaric. Grace likely hadn't considered how insensitive the situation was. If Brandon or Elliott had happened by with her in such a state of undress! Frederick's neck grew warm at the very notion. Elliott, good man that he was, had only a year on Frederick and no wife of his own, and Frederick didn't like the idea of any of the male servants seeing something only he should appreciate.

Since he had to go into town to meet with the constable about the incident with the car, he'd take time to consult his local solicitor to inquire after qualified workmen to begin the necessary renovations immediately. He reread the message from the constable, which detailed how an inspector had been notified. Frederick frowned. Hopefully the inspector would do his part to keep the incident out of the public's knowledge as much as possible.

"You look very intent on something."

Grace entered the breakfast room clothed in a seafoam-green walking suit, her glorious hair, which had been down about her shoulders in the hallway not too long ago, now sat in some sort of style on her head that highlighted the swan-like curve of her neck. His gaze followed her to her seat, his grin in rebellion again.

He stood. "Good morning, Lady Astley."

Her smile brightened the entire room. "Good morning, my lord."

Her gaze landed on something across the room, and as if the dog realized he'd been recognized, Zeus charged directly toward Grace, who had lowered herself to meet him head-on. "Oh my goodness, what a beautiful dog."

Frederick met Brandon's wide-eyed expression.

Either Grace's exuberance had transferred to his dog, or Zeus knew a friend when he met one. The English setter had never grown into his thundering name and remained fairly docile except on rare occasions when provoked.

"This is Zeus."

She buried her face in his fur as if they'd been long-lost friends. Frederick refused to send a look to Brandon, who was likely shocked beyond words at his wife's response. "Is he ours?"

"He is."

"I'm so glad you have dogs." She smiled down at Zeus, who gave her a solid lick on the nose in return. "They're much easier to talk to than people."

A strange sound erupted from Brandon's direction, but his expression gave no change.

Grace finally stood, trailing her hand across Zeus's fur one last time before moving to the table.

Brandon assisted Grace with her chair. "Thank you, Brandon." She took in the dishes of fruit before them. "You have strawberries?" Grace sent Brandon a smile so bright even the seasoned butler stared entranced for a moment. "You must have miracle workers here, Brandon, to find strawberries in December."

"They're from the hothouse, milady." Brandon nodded, face impassive. "Lord Astley mentioned that you were particularly fond of strawberries."

She flashed Frederick another smile. "He's so very thoughtful, isn't he, Brandon?"

Brandon's expression flickered with surprise for a second and returned to its controlled posture. Hopefully Grace recognized the res-ervation of the staff as wholly English, but Frederick knew they were on their guard, anxious that the new Countess of Astley might prove as tedious and unmanageable as the last. Or as difficult as his mother. Since Grandmama's death, there had been very few kindhearted ladies of the house, and never one so very…ebullient.

"I hope you rested well after the events of the evening."

"I did, I think." Her gaze rose to his as she reached for a strawberry. "And I was happy to see you kept your promise."

His promise? At the twinkle in her eyes, understanding dawned. Sleeping beside her.

"I am a man of my word, Lady Astley."

"I'm glad to hear it, my lord, for I am very fond of words."

She took in a deep breath and adjusted her serviette in her lap, glancing about the room as she did. Did she notice the peeling wallpaper? Or the wooden trim in need of repair? Or the uneven tilt of one of the sconces?

"I think this is the best breakfast room I've ever seen."

He paused his glass to his lips and stared at her. The woman with a silver-lining view. He'd gotten much more than he deserved or anticipated in this botched contract-turned-hopeful-beginning. His chest expanded with a strange sense of gratitude that nearly brought him to tears. What in heaven's name was wrong with him?

"What an excellent use of morning light." She gestured toward the glass doors at the end of the room. "And do those lead out onto a terrace?"

"With a fine prospect of the river and hills beyond."

"There's so much to discover, isn't there?" She glanced about again, absently raising her glass to her lips before turning her attention back to him. "What do you like best about Havensbrooke?"

He lowered his glass to the table and sat back, pondering the novel question. "Well, I…" He looked to Brandon, who only raised a dark brow in response. "I love the memories I have of my grandparents here, as well as other things."

She rested her chin on one hand and wiggled her brows at him. "Like?"

He enjoyed her playful prodding so much that he refused to sully the moment by correcting her posture. "Like the gardens, especially when they are in good shape. And the Great Hall, as you well know. There's a room beneath one of the back stairways where Grandfather and I stored wooden bric-a-brac we'd attempt to create on our own, though neither of us knew much of woodworking."

Her wrinkled-nosed grin encouraged more.

"Grandfather had a tree house built for me once. I don't even know if it's still standing." He hadn't thought of it in years. "My grandmother and I used to take a walk up the hillside to the vista and talk of stories and history and God. It's a special place to me. And I love the east wing with its turrets and morning light. I'm actually rather pleased at the notion of moving our sleeping quarters back to that portion of the house. The third-floor observation balcony points toward the west for the best views of sunset."

"I want to see all of it." She sighed, turning back to her breakfast. "Every place."

"Why?"

"First of all, I think the more time we spend in your sunny memories, the more strength we'll possess to combat against the more shadowy present." She took a sip of her tea. "And if they're important to you, I imagine I'll find them charming too. Each place will teach me more about you, and I want to know you best of all. It's what special friends do, you know."

Special friends. He'd never imagined anyone wanting to know about such treasured and intimate things, but why did he keep expecting Grace to follow some prescript pattern? Nothing about her fit anything he'd ever imagined. "I would like to share them with you."

"Should we start today? Perhaps with the vista? Or the gardens?"

His hope deflated. "I'm sorry, darling, but I've been called away." He slid the telegram toward her.

"But we only arrived." She read over the paper, her face brightening. "Would the inspector need my testimony too? I can take very good note of details sometimes, especially during life-threatening moments."

Brandon's head shot up.

"I believe my account and Patton's should suffice, and I need to attend to a bit of estate business while I am there, but Mrs. Powell and Elliott will be happy to assist you while I'm away."

His reassurance failed to resurrect her smile. The choice was unfortunate in timing, but he'd not wait another day without putting this plan into motion for her…and for his peace of mind. "But I do have a very special place to show you that may keep you duly occupied during my absence."

Her frown deepened. "Please tell me it doesn't involve finding toilets or evading spiteful dowagers."

Brandon coughed.

"Not at all." He cleared his throat to cover his desire to laugh. "It's more to your particular tastes, I believe. When you're finished with breakfast, I'll show you."

Her jeweled eyes widened. "I expect an excellent diversion then, my lord, if you plan to abandon me so soon." She took a few bites of toast and finished every strawberry on her plate, then proceeded to encourage him to share the remainder of his strawberries too.

As he escorted her away from the breakfast room, she asked dozens of questions regarding each room and fixture. She oohed over the beauty of the Great Hall in daylight and expounded upon how she'd like to decorate it for Christmas, while Frederick assured her he'd ask Brandon to locate enough garland to line the entire staircase. Her happy chatter echoed around the room as they climbed the stairs, a joyful addition to this large house.

As they reached the top of the stairs, Grace rushed forward to one of the third-story windows that offered a dazzling scene of the countryside stretching to rolling hills and a fog-fingered horizon.

"This is remarkable," she whispered as she took in his land. His legacy.

His thoughts corrected. Their legacy.

"Is all of that part of Havensbrooke?"

He nodded, drinking in the familiar view. "As far as our eyes can see, all the way up to the vista, there."

She followed his direction to the tallest hill nearest the house, which rose up to a flattened area filled with rocky outcroppings and evergreens. "The place you would walk with your grandmother?" "Yes and Grandfather too. It provides an excellent prospect of the house." He shook his head as he stared down at her. "I've thought of them more since knowing you than I have in years. I believe you're a very good reminder."

"Reminder?"

"Of good things."

She searched his face with such raw compassion, his throat tightened. He cleared it and tugged her within his embrace, his words near her ear. "Are you ready for your surprise?"

She immediately melted against him, resting her head back on his shoulder, shrouding his senses in rosemary and Grace. "Please say it involves kissing!"

He complied, her fingers finding their way to the nape of his neck and encouraging him to linger. Blast the investigation! He'd rather give Grace a more intimate tour of Havensbrooke instead of keeping his appointment with the investigator. The past few nights aboard ship, he'd introduced her to more familiar and liberal kisses, to which she responded with a degree of enthusiasm to encourage his imagination in all sorts of distractible directions. But making her his? That seemed to wait just out of reach at every turn. He rested his forehead against hers, reveling in the wonder of this unexpected sweetness, this right desire and design. "Close your eyes."

She feigned a look of suspicion, then acquiesced—grin growing as he took her hands and tugged her forward. The double doors to the library creaked open, but she dutifully kept her eyes closed.

"I smell leather," she said with a giggle. "And…paper?"

He beamed as he led her to the center of the room. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt such excitement. Light streamed in from the windows and cloaked the entire space with a hazy glow. Perfect.

He brought her hands to his lips and stared at her face. "Open your eyes, Grace."

A slight gasp escaped her lips as she took in the rows and rows of bookshelves rising to meet the oak-paneled, arched ceiling. At the far end of the room, a similarly arched window took up most of the wall, allowing in enough brightness to overpower the electric lights. A red-cushioned bench waited in front of the window, allowing for a view toward the drive of the house and the hillsides beyond.

"This…this is perfect." She spun slowly, in rapt wonder, taking in the splendor of the room with her hand clasped to her chest. Sunlight glinted off her auburn locks. She giggled and ran to him, hugging him close. "I'm so glad you like books."

She was much too easy on his heart.

"Does this mean you'll forgive my absence today?"

"If you'll send Zeus for company." She tossed a grin over her shoulder. "I suppose you have provided an almost suitable distraction."

"Almost?"

She snatched a book from the shelf and opened it. "My poor fictional heroes have never had such delicious competition before."

He paused his retreat toward the door. "Competition?"

She smiled sweetly. "My very own real-life hero."

Was that how she saw him? The tenderness, the faith? He wanted to be that man. He left the room and closed his eyes. Lord, help me remain a hero for her—even when she learns the truth.