Chapter 16

Chapter Sixteen

Grace spent the entire morning in the library, even taking tea by the window to enjoy the scenes of varied green disappearing into pale skies. The landscape, both inside the house and without, urged her into a giddy prayer of thanksgiving for another item to counter the many challenges she faced. If she could just hide away in the library for the rest of her life, she'd be the perfect Lady Astley, invisible from the world—for an invisible Gracelynn Percy would prove much more refined than the present one.

Zeus kept her company, finding a cozy spot at her side no matter where she moved in the room, almost as if he were trying to herd her about. It was rather endearing.

Frederick had not returned by the time the dinner bell rang, so with great trepidation and a hearty tug at her necklace, she found her way to the grand dining room for her first dinner in Havensbrooke's dining hall. Thick, ornate wooden molding framed the tall ceilings. Disrepair showed through the faded wallpaper that had turned a ghastly orange, but the eastern wall lined with floor-to-ceiling windows drew the eyes away from the walls and onto the gardens. An excellent use of windows.

Grace took her place a few seats from Lady Moriah, offering Brandon a smile as he pushed in her chair. Quiet shrouded the meal, thick and heavy with lingering disdain from her mother-in-law. Grace enjoyed silence involving libraries and evening strolls, or even the whispered breaths of a handsome man asleep at her side, but this sort of quiet raked over her nerves like talons. She could practically feel the woman's disapproval.

Kindness—as her grandfather had always said—was one's greatest weapon.

"Have you enjoyed your day, Lady Astley?"

The older woman took a sip from her glass before answering. "I've had no company, no useful conversation, and nothing worthwhile to read."

"That sounds like a horrible day."

"I prefer my solitude, and it's rare to find something truly enjoyable to read with all the silly dime novels littering the world. Dramatic drivel."

Grace hid her gasp in her glass, but she thought perhaps Brandon heard it, if the look he sent her before focusing ahead again was any indication. "Perhaps you've not been given the right sort. They're incredibly entertaining and filled with such adventure and—"

"How old are you?"

Grace sat up a little taller. "I'll be nineteen on Christm—"

"You act much younger." Her beady eyes pinned her until Grace almost squirmed. "But that is young enough for time and proper instruction to temper your inappropriate enthusiasm."

"Have I been inappro—"

"You smile too much."

Grace blinked at the severe interruption. "Smile too much?"

"And too broadly. It's unnerving and exposes you as silly."

A laugh tickled at the back of Grace's throat. "Perhaps I'm happy."

The woman singed her with a sharp look. "Time will cure that as well."

The urge to laugh dwindled.

"You are not left to your own devices now, Lady Astley." She scraped the word lady from her throat. "You have stepped into the shoes of centuries, so you are no longer free to believe in your dime novels and fairy tales. It is time to grow up. You are responsible for securing an heir for this estate and ensuring my son completes his task of saving it. That is all, and it's time you faced your new reality."

Her voice nailed the words forward.

Grace refused to lower her gaze. "And where does making him happy fall into your plans?"

"Happiness is as fleeting as paper. It will neither buy a stone for this house or food for this table. The sooner you forget those fanciful ideas and turn your attentions to the purpose for which Frederick married you, the better for Havensbrooke. And Frederick."

Grace's breath puffed shallow. "How do you suppose someone came up with the idea for this beautiful home of Havensbrooke?"

The woman blinked. "What do you mean?"

"Or the oil landscapes so proudly displayed in this room. Do you suppose their creations stemmed from a lackluster indifference?"

Grace dared not reach for her glass, because her hands trembled from her attempt to maintain her composure.

"You talk nonsense, ridiculous girl."

"Imagination, fanciful ideas, joy in the beauty around us inspires creativity and productivity. Why can't we have both the beautiful and the practical? The fantastical and the functional? Didn't God create with both practicality and pleasure?"

"You'll be the embarrassment of us all with such drivel." Lady Moriah's jaw tightened, and she tossed her serviette to the table. "It is a sad reality that you care more for your daydreams than you do for others' opinions of your husband and his legacy."

"That is not true. Of course, I care—"

"And if you did care"—she stood and took the cane Brandon offered—"you would learn to keep your conversations safely between two topics—the weather and the state of our gardens. I fear that anything else you offer will cause Frederick more social harm at having such a silly wife than the remote possibility of doing him any good from your proposed creativity. You were an undesirable solution to a most unfortunate turn of events."

Heat slipped from Grace's face at the mixture of truth and barb in the woman's accusation.

Lady Moriah's cane beat against the glossy floors as she took her leave.

"Mother," Frederick said from the doorway.

"You've married a simpleton," she murmured in passing. "We'll be the laughingstocks of the county."

"That's quite enough."

His reprimand bounced off Lady Moriah's glare, and with scowl firmly fitted to every crinkle in her face, she left the room.

Grace's insides quivered almost uncontrollably, but she tempered her expression with a greeting smile. "The Bible says ‘a merry heart is good like a medicine.'" Her gaze shifted to her plate. "But perhaps I cast too much sunshine in places where it is unwanted."

He rounded the table and took a chair near her. "I don't know if there is medicine strong enough to cheer her heart."

Grace refused the negative turn of her thoughts, holding back a sudden rush of tears for Frederick's sake. He'd had so much hurt, she couldn't bear to add her sadness to his brimming cup. "There's another verse that seems apt to the moment."

His smile crooked in question.

"‘All the days of the afflicted are evil: but he that is of a merry heart hath a continual feast.'"

He studied her and quite surprisingly took her hand. "I apologize for my tardiness. The venture in town took much longer than anticipated, and I still did not complete my task."

She stifled a whimper. "You'll be gone again tomorrow?"

"Only for the morning, and I'll make certain breakfast is served in your room to keep you out of Mother's claws. She has a great deal of helpful guidance about how to prepare you as an aristocratic lady, but her methods are not the best, so I will employ the help of my sister, Eleanor. I saw her in town, and she's anxious to meet you."

What if Grace failed with Eleanor too? She had found a book in the library titled Beadle's Book of Etiquette for Ladies and Gentlemen, but it was from the mid-1800s, so she wasn't sure how much stock to put in the advice. She'd flipped open A Book of Edwardian Etiquette and felt much better after reading, "The test of good manners is to be able to put up pleasantly with bad ones."

"Mrs. Powell has been instructed to meet with you each morning as you take over household responsibilities. Blake will be with us for dinner tomorrow evening, so she will certainly want to know how to prepare for our guest."

Grace pushed aside her worry and turned her attention to her new responsibilities. She pelted Frederick with questions about guest rooms, servants' names, previous meals, and Mrs. Powell's personality, to which Frederick had very little to add to Grace's initial assessment. It was shocking how men didn't know the answers to simple questions like when a person's birthday was or their favorite flower. Those questions seemed fairly elementary.

And Frederick had no news to add to the information about the crashed automobile. The inspector took notes, but the mechanic had not come to any conclusions yet. Clearly the men in town could use some help with this investigation, but Grace felt fairly certain the etiquette book would not support her dashing to town to unearth her own answers.

The dowager's assessment stung afresh. Maybe Frederick Percy really had married the wrong bride after all, and maybe that was why he hadn't taken Grace with him to town. Perhaps she really would be alone in this new world.

"You've left her alone for two days with your mother?"

Already Blake's directness had hit on points Frederick hadn't considered. "For an impeccable reason, as I told you."

"But she's a stranger here. Perhaps you should've taken her with you."

"To study bathtubs and toilets?"

"To be with you, Freddie. From my brief acquaintance with your dear wife, I'd say she could become interested in about anything without any motivation whatsoever."

Frederick stared at Blake and pinched his lips into a frown, diverting his attention to the car window and the passing countryside. Perhaps he should have left Blake at the train station to find his own way to Havensbrooke.

"Imagine it from her point of view. You're the only person she really knows in the whole of England, and her head is filled with fanciful notions of you sweeping her off to some castle forever. Then she arrives instead to find a dark, gloomy estate in disrepair, an evil dowager mother, and a houseful of doleful servants, with no friend in the world as her companion. I expected more from your tender heart."

"My tender heart, as you call it, was working feverishly on keeping my wife from the discomfort of walking about the hallways in her unmentionables."

"Yes, right. Those particular pleasures are reserved for her charming yet absent husband."

Frederick looked away. "Hmm."

Blake stared at Frederick for a full five seconds. "I say, Freddie. What is it? Has she refused your advances?"

Heat climbed up Frederick's neck at his friend's almost cultic gift of observation. "Blake."

"Is she unable to complete the task?"

"It's nothing like that." Frederick forced the words through clenched teeth. "She receives my somewhat chaste affections with…appreciation."

"Chaste?" Blake folded his arms across his chest. "She's your wife!"

"A young, naive wife who has only known me for a little over two weeks, and married to me only one."

"And who you underestimate a great deal, I believe."

Frederick growled. "What on earth do you mean?"

"You know as well as I that naivete doesn't mean disinterest." His friend studied him in a most annoying way. "And with her proclivity for romance, I'd imagine she has a healthy dose of curiosity. You've held your emotions in check for so long, perhaps it's time to give yourself as freely as she gives to you—as she likely needs you to do. Are you afraid she'll break your heart like Celia? Is that why you're waiting?"

"No." His cousin's words stung with a truth he hadn't considered. Was he? Did that undercurrent of fear pause him from offering her his heart freely? He cleared his throat and offered a half glare. "I'm attempting to be a gentleman."

Blake's brows shot high. "Freddie, a gentleman is all well and good in society, but the last thing a woman needs in the bedroom is a husband who doesn't know what he wants."

"I know what I want." His words sharpened.

"Then perhaps she wants the same thing."

Frederick released a long sigh as they turned up the drive for home. "You need to get married, Blake."

"No." He frowned and shook his head. "It's much less troublesome and more entertaining to criticize those who are already in the thick of it." He patted the seat of the car. "And I can enjoy the way you've put your wife's money to good use. A roadster is the car to have nowadays, I hear."

"Since we lost the other car in the river and already have an outdated Touring, I thought we might as well purchase something more fashionable and reliable."

"Lost the other car in the river?" Blake's palm rose with one blond brow. "What on earth did Lady Astley do with your car?"

"It wasn't Grace." Frederick stifled a groan, wishing he hadn't been so free with his words. It was already bad enough than an entire town watched the car accident unfold. The last thing he needed was another reason for Blake to worry. But there was no going back now. He proceeded to divulge the entire scene.

"Well, it was a good thing your lovely bride spent her childhood with servants and an eccentric grandfather, or you'd have been a chauffeur short." Blake released a whistle, his lighthearted demeanor cloaking a mind filled with caution, if Freddie knew his friend aright. "And what of the car? Did you discover the reason for the malfunction?"

Frederick kept his gaze forward as the spires of Havensbrooke came into view. "Patton and I met with the new mechanic this morning before fetching you from the station. His thoughts after examining the car were inconclusive. He noted possible evidence of tampering, but due to damage from the accident and the age of the car, it was difficult to ascertain a cause with certainty." He locked gazes with his cousin. "So it's all likely nothing but an accident."

"Of course it is."

"Blake."

"I wonder what your curious little wife will think of these inconclusive findings."

"I'd rather not worry her, especially with her generous imagination." The roadster slowed to a stop in front of Havensbrooke's entry. "Besides, the authorities will continue the investigation, and once they come to a definitive conclusion, I will share it with her."

Blake groaned and shook his head. "Freddie, it is preferable to keep information from other people's wives, but keeping secrets from one's own wife is being bound for destruction. She inevitably finds out."

Frederick stepped from the car, soaking in Blake's warning. Of course the man was right. With Grace's rabid curiosity, she'd likely find out before he had a chance to tell her anyway.

As they entered the house, Grace greeted them on the way to the dining room, wearing a deep burgundy evening dress with some sort of black lace overlay and looking every bit the part of the lady of the house.

It was rather nice to come home to such a sight, though his bride's smile did not reach her eyes and her walk remained as stiff as a tree. Frederick's heart squeezed in response. What had happened?

"It's a pleasure to see you again, Mr. Blake."

Grace offered her hand, her posture the very picture of elegance. Ah, she'd been practicing. His grin paused. Yet something about her rehearsed movements turned his stomach. Where was the glimmer in those eyes? His gaze shot to Blake. Was the old chap right? Had he been holding out his most intimate affections to guard his heart? Had he neglected something she needed most to give her something he thought she needed more?

He was her only friend in England. And his mother wielded words like knives. How had he failed his wife so obviously?

"Lady Astley." Blake bowed over her gloved hand with exaggerated flair, encouraging the addition of a brief sparkle in her eyes to the smile on her face.

"I see you found my husband."

"Indeed." Blake flashed Frederick a glance from his periphery. "The poor fellow looked lost without you."

A rush of rose blushed her cheeks in a most fetching way but faded just as quickly. Frederick's stomach panged in discomfort.

"Dinner is waiting for us," Grace offered, chin high, gesturing toward the hall.

Blake extended his arm, sending a wink Frederick's way. "Freddie, you won't mind if I escort your lovely bride into dinner, will you?"

Frederick offered a begrudging nod and followed behind the pair into the dining room, where Mother already had taken her place.

At once, Grace's demeanor shifted. Her smile faded, and her conversation diminished to basic answers. She even made some noncommittal reply to Blake's question regarding her recent literary exploits. His mother kept the dialogue turned away from Grace as much as possible, sending subtle stings in the process.

Heat surged into Frederick's face. He'd been such a fool!

He'd underestimated his mother's influence. Whatever she'd said or done to steal Grace's smile, he'd allowed by his absence at such a crucial time in their relationship. He was supposed to protect his wife, even from his mother, but within a paltry two days of their arrival in Derbyshire, he'd nearly gotten Grace killed in an automobile accident and allowed his wife to endure alone the verbal attacks of his embittered mother. God, help me make amends!

And prove he could be the husband his wife needed.

Grace had chosen a simple, dark blue gown for her first visit to the parish of Astlynn Commons. She really couldn't top the river incident as far as memorable introductions, no matter what fashion mishap she made, so at least she faced lowered expectations. Besides, Lillias had always said Grace looked heavenly in dark blue, so why not match the place and the compliment? Surely, she couldn't fail with heavenly at church. The gown boasted an empire waist with delicate embroidery over the elbow-length sleeves. A close-fitting, cream-colored hat embellished with matching blue ribbons topped the ensemble.

Lady Moriah had impaled Grace with more criticism during lunch the previous day, and some of the advice in the Ladies of Refinement pam-phlet left Grace convinced she'd never reach the heights of "refinement" expected for a true lady. Certainly if she failed at being a lady, she'd never win Frederick's heart.

She stared at her reflection. Her lips tipped downward in a sad little pout, her eyes almost…fragile. Lillias had been right. Grace hadn't known the harshness and loneliness of the world outside her books and fairy tales. What loneliness Cinderella must have known in a world so bereft of the ones who loved her.

Heated tears warmed her eyes. Was this what the rest of her life would be? Isolation? Expending energy to suppress herself and pretend to be someone else? Even if her dashing husband slept beside her at night, he disappeared during the day, leaving her to the gaping emptiness of Havensbrooke and the verbal poison of his mother.

Oh, what must Frederick's childhood have been like to live with such a woman!

Grace had spent a good half hour talking quite fervently with the Almighty that morning.

Lillias always considered Grace's animated and friendly prayers sacri-legious, but if the King of heaven adamantly referred to her as not only His child but also His friend, why keep to pious formality? And she desperately needed a friend.

God hadn't created her for plastic smiles and shallow relationships. She closed her eyes tight. This could not be her future.

She shook her head and dared her reflection to wilt. Heroines were not weak creatures. They captured their own futures. Forced fate's hand.

What of Jo March, Shakespeare's Beatrice, Jane Eyre?

Grace stood taller, her soul drawing from her reserves. She refused to allow Moriah Percy's antagonistic disposition to steal any more hours or tears.

"You look lovely, my lady." Ellie stood behind her as she stared into the full-length mirror. "There's nothing to disapprove of in either your manner or appearance."

Grace's gaze shot to her shock of red hair, made all the more so by the hue of the gown. Oh well, there was no hiding it. And if God gave her this astounding color, He must have known she could wear it well—or at the very least, respectably.

With or without Frederick's attention, Grace had to find a way to live well where God had placed her. For her own heart, if nothing else.

Let the dowager countess do her worst.