Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Marrying for money left a sour taste. Frederick Percy, Earl of Astley, had pursued every option other than a marriage contract, but nothing else served to save his future with such expediency. His mother had arranged it all, after an unexpected introduction in London between both sets of parents led to a speedy decision of the perfect match. Frederick reined in a sigh.

His family's legacy hinged on a respectable exchange. His title. Her dowry.

Respectable. He stayed the grimace waiting to curl behind his smile. The agreement had sounded simple enough two months ago when an ocean separated him from the reality of it, but now, with the signatures' ink still wet on the contract and a mere week until the wedding, the decision weighed upon him with treacherous foreboding. Was this truly the only way to make amends for his past and save his family's estate? And what of the girl?

He glanced down at the woman in his arms as they danced together across Whitlock's marble floors, the glow of Christmas lights casting an otherworldly hue against the soft folds of her golden hair and glimmering off the silver-blue headband set like a crown among her curls. Her gown matched the headband, a sleek display of the latest fashion, or so that is what Frederick presumed. Cinched at the waist, slim skirt, and an open neckline above a beaded bodice to reveal an ample amount of her milky skin.

Lillias Ferguson met every requirement on his mother's extensive list, and her father's money met every necessity on Frederick's.

Appearance? Almost angelic. Demeanor? Aloof. Affections? Tempered. Carriage? Flawless. Conversation? As expected, a command of the weather, local news, and the art of diversion from herself. Miss Ferguson presented as the very portrait the Countess of Astley ought to depict.

In fact, she exerted such control over her emotions and facial features, Frederick felt as though she'd arrived with prescript discourse down to the very breath. Perhaps she was nervous. What woman wouldn't be at the prospect of marrying an utter stranger? They'd barely had two conversations before Mr. Ferguson produced the contract and sealed their fates.

Frederick gave a mental shake to dislodge his unease as he moved with Miss Ferguson in graceful unison across the Music Room floor. The space teemed with at least two dozen of the Fergusons' party guests, some sitting in conversations while a few chose to dance, the holiday festivities encouraging more gaiety than Frederick could muster, though he was well equipped to play the part. He met Blake's gaze through the expanse of enthusiastic dance partners, as his cousin waltzed with a woman twice his age. A Mrs. Seaton, was it? Frederick almost grinned. Stephen Blake and his avoidance of matrimony had become almost leg-endary. Ah, the liberty of being the third son of a baron. The very idea nearly vaulted Frederick into a foul mood. His days of liberty had ended six months ago when his older brother suddenly died, leaving Frederick as the sole rescuer of an entire legacy.

He stiffened his resolve. There was nothing else to be done. And he would see it through.

He returned his attention to the lovely inducement in his arms, her countenance as controlled as his. They both knew their roles and—God help them—the consequences.

"Is it true, Lord Astley, that you were almost overrun by an autocar in the village upon your arrival today?"

A most unfortunate introduction, for certain. Frederick forced a smile. "A simple case of someone mishandling their new automobile, I'd imagine. Finicky machines, they are."

Instead of being appeased, she blanched, her hand tightening against his shoulder. "When I overheard Father speaking about it only a few moments ago, it sounded terrifying. It's lucky you were not injured or worse. After all the plans and expectations…" Her brow furrowed for an instant and cleared so quickly he wondered if he'd imagined the tightening around her eyes, the fear trembling over her countenance. "For your dear Havensbrooke, of course."

His stomach clenched at her subtle shift. He searched her face a moment longer to no avail. Nerves most likely. Blast his own suspicious nature! The poor woman didn't deserve it.

Despite his best efforts, his gaze sought Blake's, as if the man could overhear their conversation above the exuberant thrums of the piano. His cousin was already on edge about the entire affair with the autocar, and Frederick half wondered if Blake had been hidden among the shrubberies of the gardens earlier while Frederick took Miss Ferguson on a private stroll.

"This was not an accident, Freddie. And neither was the docks."

Blake's words cast a shadow over the festive evening with its Christmas lights and cheerful holiday decor. A residual throb from Frederick's sore shoulder provided the tactile memory of barely dodging a falling tower of freight upon disembarking their steamer in New York. Had it not been for Blake's quick movements by slamming his body against Frederick's…

"Yes, Havensbrooke." Best navigate the discussion away from uncontrolled autocars and his possible demise. "I understand you enjoyed your most recent visit to England. September, wasn't it?" And the catalyst for this choice.

Her gaze flickered to his, golden brow arched as if perfectly aware of his careful topic shift. "Yes. The countryside was beautiful."

A response without feeling but perfectly executed. It's exactly what Frederick needed and should have desired. No scandal. Low attention. "Were there any places you particularly enjoyed visiting?"

"We spent two weeks in London, and it was thrilling. I adore the exciting opportunities the city provides, don't you?"

London! His least favorite place in all of England. "It is most diverting."

"Father said that your estate of Havensbrooke is in Derbyshire." Her smile clung to her lips but failed to surface in her eyes. "We passed through that region on the train. It's lovely but…rather remote."

Remote? The word brought unvoiced criticism with it. "We are only a few hours from London by rail, and there is an estate village with all the necessary comforts."

"Ah, that's good news." Her body stiffened ever so slightly, but otherwise nothing changed. "And does Havensbrooke have telephones? Electricity? I've heard from my great-aunt who married an earl some ten years ago that she moved into an estate house that had been nearly untouched for a hundred years."

Frederick's stance tightened along with hers. If her expectations for Havensbrooke matched the modern elegance of Whitlock, Miss Ferguson was doomed for disappointment. "Part of the house has electricity, a new feature in the past year." His brother's addition, despite depleting funds for the estate. "As well as a telephone. And I do have a townhome in London."

"A townhome?" Her gaze shot back to his, brightening. "That is good news."

He felt his defenses rally. "And once we're married, I would appreciate your involvement in deciding how to best improve Havensbrooke, to see it modernized for our benefit as well as the next generation's."

She studied him, her delicate chin tipping in assent. "I am no architect, but I have studied some of the more modern conveniences and, of course, will delight in hosting your parties."

" Our parties."

Her gaze darted away and back, her smile not quite right. "Yes, of course."

Oh, this was a disaster. God help him. God help them both.

Another sweep of silence stilted their dialogue. Frederick raked his thoughts for further questions. "Are the gardens at your Rutledge House of similar style as those here at Whitlock?"

"They are much smaller. We haven't the grounds as Whitlock, of course, but Mother took painstaking care to ensure Rutledge's beauty, so Father has made it his purpose to maintain them to the highest standard to preserve her memory."

A tender sentiment. "And do you have a hand in designing them?"

"Heavens, no." She laughed, shaking her head, her periwinkle gaze meeting his. She did have the most engaging eyes when she smiled. "I enjoy their beauty for as long as it lasts, but attempt to sort them out? That's for the gardener, don't you think? Their work and our pleasure, so to speak."

"Yes, of course." Despite being second-born, the love for his land forked into his very nature, braiding through his bloodline. He lived for country air and open vistas, dirtying his hands alongside the gardeners at times to feel the earth of Havensbrooke beneath his fingers. He steadied his breath and gave another try. Surely there had to be some interest they shared. "And what do you enjoy, Miss Ferguson?"

Her manner maintained a tempered expectation. There was nothing for which to find fault, yet Frederick, who had no false fancies of romance, had hoped for something…more.

"I'm quite fond of music and dancing." She tilted her head as a gesture toward their current movements, her expression the most animated he'd witnessed thus far in their acquaintance. "And fashion, of course. I'm rather adept at it."

Fashion and dancing? Perhaps benevolent indifference was to be their lot in life. "You and my mother will have a great deal to discuss. She was quite the expert in her day."

The strains from the piano took a more turbulent turn, snagging Frederick's attention. Grace Ferguson—dark green evening gown spilling around her—sat poring over the keys in a fury, eyes closed, brow clenched in concentration. Frederick tightened his lips against a growing grin. The poor girl had no reserve whatsoever.

"Your sister plays with a great deal of…energy."

"Energy?" A welcome glow warmed the social veneer of Miss Ferguson's expression as she followed Frederick's gaze. "I'm afraid my sister isn't meant for a life of refinement, and there's no training her. Father and I have tried without much luck."

"She appears quite lively of mind and spirit."

"That is a very kind way to speak of her. She is the most generous-hearted person." Miss Ferguson's entire countenance gentled. "Though among our social circles, she's a disaster."

"I believe she's found a way to live above such disappointment."

Miss Ferguson laughed, a light airy sound, and her entire face bloomed with a beautiful genuineness. Frederick's chest expanded. Perhaps this relationship only wanted time and understanding.

"She truly is one of the dearest creatures in all the world, but her mind overflows with innumerable ideas and impossible stories. She's been well protected from the trials of convention, as is evident in her passionate playing for all the world to see. Such…freedom." As quickly as the brightness appeared, her countenance clouded. "Yet there is something to envy in her lack of concern for others' opinions or expectations, don't you think?"

"Pardon?"

She stared toward the piano as if lost in thought. "But she's young yet."

"Miss Ferguson?"

"Speaking of my untamed sister." She blinked back to him, as if rallying from a dream, and smiled too brightly. "I'm certain she would enjoy a dance with you. She's spoken of little else than becoming better acquainted. Excuse me."

Without warning, she left his arms and approached the piano. The sudden alteration of her mood from adoring sister to—what was it? mel-ancholy?—unsettled him. As desperate as he was to save Havensbrooke, a worst decision would be to marry a woman who became embittered by her choice or, worse, sought intimate companionship outside their marriage. A knife of memory stabbed against his determination. No, he must avoid another scandal at all cost. Hadn't he done enough to his family? Yet he had no choice. He'd signed the contract.

Blast his heart! Following the unpredictability of his affections had led to every past calamity of his life. He steadied his expression and chilled his own feelings. He'd mastered his emotions in the past. He'd master them again.

This was a business transaction. Her money. His title. His future happiness couldn't matter.

Within a few seconds, Lillias ushered a reluctant Grace toward him and returned to the piano, beginning a waltz by Chopin.

As he took Grace into his arms, her ready smile melted the tension from his shoulders. "You play with great…feeling, Miss Grace."

Her countenance dropped with an exaggerated sigh. "I was hoping I played so wildly they'd ask me to leave the room, but alas, everyone enjoyed dancing too much to find offense."

A laugh nearly shot from him, but he muted it into a cough. "So is it that you don't enjoy playing or dancing?"

"I'm fond of both, but I'd prefer to do them in a smaller company." Her grin tipped. "Perhaps even by myself."

"You enjoy your own company, is it?"

"As an enthusiastic reader, Lord Astley, I'm never really alone." Her voice lilted with easy kinship. "There are myriad book creations to share my mental space. I've danced with princes, and fought a few too. I've even swung through the jungles with Tarzan. Breathtaking!" Before he could react to her divergence into fictional raptures, she leaned closer and lowered her voice to a whisper, those sapphire eyes as alive as her sister's were distant. "Did you know that Mr. Rochester already has a wife and tried to marry Jane anyway?"

He took a mental inventory of the invitation list in search of the scandalous Mr. Rochester without upturning the name, but he'd heard it before. Where? He studied the young woman and the answer emerged, along with a desire to grin. "You'd rather be reading."

"Wouldn't you? Or at least having tea and cake with a party of no more than four?" She worried her bottom lip and nodded toward her sister. "I don't know how Lillias can love these parties so much, and hours on end too." She sighed, a small smile returning. "But she does look exquisite at the piano, and you should hear her sing. Heaven's angels and all that."

He glanced toward his future bride where she sat poised as perfect as any debutante, more beautiful than most. She played the waltz well, commanding attention from the tilt of her chin to the charismatic glint in her eyes. Another rise of caution squeezed his chest, but he stiffened against the uncertainty. Duty over heart. "Indeed."

"Isn't she immaculate? Always so poised and in control," Grace whispered, the woodsy scent of rosemary accompanying her nearness. The fragrance suited her, rather sprite-like. "And she's brilliant too. Well, if that's important to you. I realize not all men care about a woman's brain, but you seem the good sort."

His smile teased up on one side against his bidding. "Do you say everything that pops into your head, Miss Grace?"

"Oh goodness, not everything." Her eyes rounded to saucers, but she didn't lose one step in the dance. "If I said everything, I'd leave many more horrified expressions in my wake. But at times my feelings are so large, they must burst out into words. Don't you ever have that happen?"

"I cannot think of any particular time." Except when Celia ruined his family, and not even his strict upbringing controlled him in the wake of his wounds. Another instance of bowing to heart instead of head. "But I do hope I am the good sort, for I believe a wife with a brain is much better than the alternative."

It took her only a second to recognize his jest, and that infectious laugh of hers bubbled forward without reserve. "Unless you're writing some Gothic horror novel, and then they provide all sorts of glorious mischief."

After the stilted reserve of Lillias Ferguson, Miss Grace's authenticity slipped through his guardedness like wind through spring trees. Of course he needn't feel as cautious with her. She wasn't the one to save his estate and restore the honor of the Percy name. Miss Grace, however, would certainly add colorful dialogue when she visited Havensbrooke. His mother would be absolutely appalled.

"I see your brain is in good shape too." Her chin dipped in assent as if he'd passed some test. "We're going to get along quite nicely, I believe."

"I'm pleased to meet with your approval."

"I have very high standards, Lord Astley." Her brows darted northward with a playful intensity. "I read fiction."

He resisted the compulsion to laugh, shocked by its sudden arrival again. "What is it you find so appealing about fiction?"

"Where do I begin? Exploring new places, escaping into history." She sighed as if her thoughts plundered some previous novel. "I've been on treasure hunts, solved mysteries, been captured by pirates, but my favorite stories are romances."

"Of course you'd choose something as predictable as romance."

"You say that like it's second rate." She wrinkled her nose, a tiny spray of freckles across the bridge momentarily distracting him. "But romance has to be worth something if people throughout all time have spent years, money, risk, and a whole host of daydreams in finding it."

He studied her, his lips tempted into another grin. Hmm…young but quick-witted and thoughtful. He'd have to reevaluate his initial thoughts on her simplicity. "I stand corrected in my opinion."

"Though I have to say I've never experienced real romance." A rush of pink brought out the glow in her eyes. "Lillias raves about it—all the swooning and pining. She says men rarely think of much else when the conquest of a woman is involved."

"Does she?" Not a very flattering thought to his general sex. His gaze shot to the pianist. And how would Lillias know? Had she been pining over someone? Did she still?

"But I'd rather keep my head while losing my heart, wouldn't you?" She continued, oblivious to the utter inappropriateness of her divulge-ment. "A thoughtful romance makes much more sense for a lifetime friendship, even if kisses change things."

He choked out the words. "Kisses change things?"

"That's what Lillias says, anyway." She studied his lips with such intensity, they warmed beneath her perusal. "But I've never sorted out how placing one's mouth on someone else's could render a person wit-less." Mercifully, her gaze flitted back to his, no worse for the wear in the irregular turn of their conversation. "I suppose I'll understand one day."

He cleared his throat. "Indeed."

"Oh dear, I've gone down the dark road of impropriety again, haven't I?" Her bottom lip jutted out into a pout. Paired with the kissing talk, he couldn't seem to pull his attention away fast enough. "I can keep my conversation dull and proper, if I put my mind to it. Truly. And you never need worry about Lillias speaking so scandalously. She's the very model of decorum."

Yet what Grace had said about Lillias's statements lent doubt to how untouched Lillias Ferguson's heart was, a fact Frederick had to uncover. Failing that, he must find a way to securely transfer her affections to him.

Frederick lowered his head to his hands at the desk in his bedroom and exhaled a shaking breath. This was never meant to be his lot. He was the second son—not the bearer of the family's extensive legacy—but here he sat, shouldering a position that his heart and head felt utterly ill-equipped to bear. He squeezed his eyes closed against a lingering ache.

Please, help this choice be the right one for Havensbrooke…and for me. He'd prayed for months. Pleaded. Offered his entire self for the remaking of his inheritance. Only God could work things to the good at this point. But couldn't he at the least pray for his own heart too, even if he couldn't be guided by it?

"I believe I shall enjoy my bit of American charm, Freddie. Indeed, this place is remarkable."

Frederick slid a look to the doorway where Stephen Blake leaned against the frame, pale hair tousled in typical disarray and lackadaisical grin set in place, though the expression never fooled Frederick. Blake had the unnerving ability to keep a steady head while playing the part of a leisurely gentleman. If only Frederick held such expert skill.

But there was little to be done for Blake, and no better friend in all the world. Frederick's home had always been one of gravity and expectation, but Blake's existence provided an almost necessary levity.

Always had.

"Remarkable indeed," came Frederick's slow reply. Yet the word seemed a flimsy descriptor for the opulent country estate. The drive in from the train depot featured pristine landscaping and manicured lawns, all framed by a sea of purplish-blue mountains. Then the house? An Italian revivalist villa of white marble and updated features: en suite lavatories, electricity, even a lift!

He focused back on his cousin, his gaze dropping to Blake's bandaged hand. "How are you?"

Blake shrugged a shoulder, his grin taking a turn. "A mere flesh wound."

Frederick shook his head and held to the levity of Blake's response. If it hadn't been for Blake, the car in the village would have hit Frederick head on, and Blake had already been nursing a hand wound from the disaster at the docks. A hollowed-out feeling reverberated in his stomach. No! Let the accidents keep Blake on edge. Frederick had enough to busy his mind.

"Thank you for being here, Blake."

"It's good to keep an extra set of eyes about." Blake held to his smile, but his gaze sobered with an unspoken camaraderie. "I'm happy to provide them."

Frederick attempted to ignore the steely weight Blake's words set on his chest, but they took up residence anyway. "You should endeavor to enjoy yourself while you're here, instead of worrying over a few accidents."

"Accidents?" He raised a brow and waved away Frederick's excuse. "You're here to become a married man, and I'm here to see that the new Earl of Astley lives a great many years yet. You don't have to agree with my concerns or methods, but I'll not be dissuaded." Blake's smile vanished. "I didn't like how your brother's death was handled, and I'm not about to take a lazy approach to his successor taking up a mantle under which the previous two earls died unexpectedly. Something doesn't sit right about all your accidents." He spat the word. "And until I feel satisfied, I won't settle."

Frederick twitched at the mention of his brother's and father's deaths, but he refused to be teased into another argument about it. "I fear spending time with your detective-cousin has sent you looking for invisible fiends, Blake."

His cousin shoved his hands in his pockets and turned to the nearby window, promptly ignoring Frederick.

Frederick joined his cousin at the window. An afternoon fog cloaked the distant mountains in a ghostly shroud. "I shouldn't have been so hasty to sign the contract."

Blake released a slow sigh before turning. "Cold feet or…worse?"

Frederick thrust a hand through his hair, replaying various scenes from his time with Lillias Ferguson over the past two days. "After all that happened with Celia, perhaps I'm too cautious, too concerned about the slightest change of interest or turn of attention." He groaned and dropped down into the nearest chair. "I…I cannot bring such disgrace on my family again, Blake."

"Freddie, you fell in love with a social-climbing predator. You can't take the blame for Celia's depravity."

"But my response didn't help."

"If you're speaking of your mother, stop there. You know as well as I that her happiness and goodwill are as predictable as my sister's fashion sense."

"I shouldn't have challenged her in front of a crowded room."

Blake winced, and Frederick sunk back into the chair, sighing, his memory fresh from the sting of shame and betrayal. "Miss Ferguson is nothing like Celia, Freddie. Mark my words. She hasn't the malicious air."

"Perhaps not malicious, but some of the comments Miss Grace shared about her sister inadvertently suggest…unpredictable."

"And you don't think the youngest Ferguson is prone to exaggeration?"

"Indeed." Frederick almost grinned. "Which is why I didn't take much heed, but after my interactions with Lillias today, I'm beginning to wonder how untouched my future bride's heart is."

"What do you mean?"

"Today, as we engaged in a more personal and private conversation, she seemed to become friendlier. Before I left her, I took her hand and placed a rather intimate kiss to her wrist, and there was no response. No intake of breath. No shock at the touch. Not even a recoil, but quite indifferent." Frederick ran a hand down his face. "As if…"

"She had experienced such liberties before."

"I'm not naive enough to expect love, Blake." Frederick shook his head. "She wants the social catapult, and I need the financial salvation. At best, I hope for camaraderie, and at worst, benevolent indifference. But anything more?" He rubbed at his chest as the ache ground deeper. "It is a commodity I cannot afford, even if I wish it."

This decision was about redeeming his past and securing the future of Havensbrooke, not of his heart. Frederick raised his gaze, the weight on his shoulders doubling. "I know it seems small, maybe even a slight paranoia, but it's my future, and I cannot take my family through another scandal."

Blake shook his head, his lip curling into a frown. "This is one of those rare moments when I'm exceptionally grateful you're the son of an earl and I'm not."

Frederick shot him a weak glare. "You're the son of a baron."

"The third son of a baron, so I feel quite safe in my position of irre-sponsibility." Blake sobered and took a seat near Frederick. "You can't back out now. You'd lose a third of Havensbrooke based on the contract."

"It's a sad world indeed if my two options are either financial ruin or possible scandal."

"Isn't that the very definition of an aristocratic life?"

"Are you supposed to be helping me?"

Blake snapped his fingers, his smile spreading with too much mischief for Frederick's peace of mind. "I have an idea, Freddie."

"We change situations?"

"Not on your life. And certainly not on mine." Blake slid into an opposing chair and leaned forward, an unsettling glint in his pale eyes. Frederick had a sudden memory of the time the two of them had bet on riding one of the new horses in the stables at Havensbrooke. Frederick had lost—and ended up with a broken arm. "But since you've already agreed to marry the girl, the only recourse is to kiss her."

Frederick's head shot up. "What?" All this kissing talk was unnerving. First Grace and now Blake?

"Come on, Freddie, you're not as thick as all that. A woman who is used to being kissed kisses much differently than one who isn't. If it allays your fears, then what is the trouble? I'd expect you'll be doing quite a bit of kissing within a week at any rate."

"You can't be serious."

His palm came up to temper Frederick's reaction. "She's practically your bride already, so show her your commitment with a good kiss. For one, it could encourage a transfer of her wayward affections, so to speak, and for the other, it may provide a gauge for how entrenched your fiancée's heart and emotions are. Then you can plan any drastic measures accordingly."

"You say the most ridiculous things."

Blake shrugged. "I can't say I ever shy away from a good kiss now and then."

"I'm beginning to understand all the more which one of us took after Grandfather's sensibilities."

"Which means I must have taken after Grandmother's charm." Blake grinned. "So I should age like an excellent wine."

Blake's levity eased some of Frederick's angst about the entire affair. He couldn't change his decision, but Lillias Ferguson was not Celia Blackmore. He would do all in his power, with God's help, to make his future much better than the mistakes of his past, and that process started with wooing his fiancée's heart.