Chapter 23

Chapter Twenty-Three

Grace breathed in the crisp air of the afternoon, enjoying the fresh snowfall covering the beautiful countryside with a fine dusting of powdery white. To get a closer view, she'd taken one of Havensbrooke's stallions, Dash, out for a ride. He lived up to his moniker, gliding across the lush fields and offering her a sense of celebration since successfully managing workmen, surviving a ghost hunt, and—most daunting of all—navigating morning tea with Frederick's sister.

Of course Eleanor proved the perfect example of a genteel, collected English lady. Nothing like Lady Moriah. Thank heavens! And Grace didn't seem to shock Eleanor half as much as she thought she might, even when Grace put an inordinate amount of sugar into her tea or spoke of the glassworks with such exuberance that the table shook. Perhaps Frederick or Lavenia had given her due warning. Very clever of them.

The meeting also proved providential in a most desperate of ways. Eleanor Percy Ratcliff knew something about fashion! So Grace divulged her deepest concerns and inadequacies regarding the topic, particularly with the upcoming dinner party at Lord and Lady Keriford's house, and Eleanor rose to the challenge—referring Grace to a dress shop called Rouselle's in nearby Edensbury.

The idea of embarrassing her husband and all of his progeny by wearing a summer gown on a winter evening seemed less likely than ever. Eleanor even allowed Grace to take a few fashion magazines for perusal.

Following a path along the tree line, Grace reveled in the beauty of her new home. Untouched forests, acres of farmland, and a river emptying out into a lake—with a gristmill at the water's edge. Havensbrooke was a gold mine of opportunity.

As the spires of Havensbrooke Hall rose in the distance, she felt a renewed connection. Yes, she could learn to love this place. And if God had brought her all this way under such extreme circumstances, He must certainly think she belonged here too, even with a ghost haunting, a possible murderer, and Grace's poor fashion choices.

A movement to the right caught her attention. Through the veil of trees, a rider approached, clothed in black with a scarf covering the lower half of his face. A chill snaked up her neck. She turned to a sound on her left, only to find a second rider, both in pursuit of her .

Well, this definitely proved that something underhanded was going on, because hooded men didn't ride around on other people's land for an afternoon excursion of delight.

The house waited up ahead, at least a fifteen-minute hard ride away. Plenty of time for the assailants to catch her, possibly kill her, and maybe even drag her lifeless body into the woods to dispose of it under freshly dampened, snow-covered earth.

She stiffened her shoulders. They'd have to outride her first.

Thankful for her billowing riding skirt, she tossed her right leg over the saddle to secure a better grip on the horse and spurred Dash into a hard gallop. Here was another logical rationale for riding astride. Escaping murderers.

Up ahead and off to her right, a cottage came into view. Not huge or elaborate, but enough to provide witnesses and possibly a weapon.

Perfect. She glided across the field, hooves beating close behind. With a quick tug to the strap at her chin, she flung her riding hat in the direction of the man at her right. It hit his shoulder, surprising him enough to nearly knock him from the horse.

Aha! What else? She leaned close, reaching into the saddle bag, her hand meeting something hard and metal. Wrapping her fingers around the find, she turned enough to get in a solid aim and swing. The horseshoe slammed into the short man's leg, provoking a cry of pain that spooked the horse and sent the animal galloping in the opposite direction.

One down.

But the tall man was gaining on her. She neared the cottage, urged Dash to jump the stone fence surrounding the house, and slid from the horse before he'd come to a complete stop. Without looking back, she ran to the cottage door, slapping her palm against the wood.

"Help."

She turned to see the tall man on the other side of the rock wall.

"Please." She shook the door handle. "Let me in."

Just as he jumped the fence, the cottage door opened and Grace stumbled inside to find a motherly looking woman staring at her, wide eyed.

"Two men in black are chasing me." She burst out the words. "Do you have a weapon we can use to fend them off?"

The dark-haired woman stood immobile, so Grace ran to the kitchen and began rummaging through the cupboards for a knife.

Suddenly the sound of a gunshot reverberated through the room. Grace froze and waited for death's icy grip. Most books described it that way, but on the contrary, her pulse pumped a warm stream through her quivering legs.

A child's cry sounded from the corner of the room where a little girl, perhaps four or five, sat tucked against the wall, knees to her chin. Oh dear! Had Grace gotten a mother killed?

But instead of wilting from a gunshot wound, the woman stood poised at the door with a rifle in hand. Grace paused to appreciate the fierceness of the stance. Fantastic!

Graced edge up behind her. "Did you shoot him?"

"No, milady." She turned, lowering the rifle to her side. "But I put the fear of God in 'im. He rode north."

My lady? Had Grace met the woman on the day she and Frederick visited the tenants?

"Well, you were spectacular with that rifle. I mean to learn how to use one as soon as Lord Astley will teach me."

The woman's pale gaze shot to Grace, pale brows raised. A whimper came from the little girl, so with another glance outside, the woman closed the door and made her way across the room.

"It's all right, luv." The woman knelt and rubbed the top of the little girl's head, soothing away the whimper. "The worst is over."

Grace stepped closer to them, smiling at the little girl, whose large, dark brown eyes looked strangely familiar.

"Do you have any idea who he was?" The woman tossed the words over her shoulder.

"Not at all," Grace murmured, studying the little face.

"It's curious why they'd come this far from the main house." The woman moved forward toward the stone fireplace, holding the little girl's hand. "They must have been after you specially."

"Exactly." Which tossed a kink in the idea of someone trying to murder Frederick. She paced near the round table at the edge of the small kitchen, speaking more to herself. "Ransom? Revenge?" She looked over at the woman. "I don't think I've been here long enough to offend somebody to the point of murder."

The woman's lips softened at the corners. "You must alert the authorities, ma'am."

"Oh, most certainly." Grace's breathing began to relax so she could take in her surroundings. A quaint cottage with warm colors all around, from the hardwood floors covered with rugs to the dark red curtains on the windows.

The woman gestured toward Grace. "We have a guest here, don't we, Lily?"

Grace turned her full attention on the little girl, who had quieted at the woman's side. Loose dark curls framed a pale, cherub-like face. Frederick's daughter .

The little girl studied Grace's face with such fascination, Grace couldn't help seeing a little of Frederick as a boy in those eyes.

"Lily." Grace melted to her knees. "That's a beautiful name." A nursery was certainly the next addition on Grace's list of renovations. "I'm Lady Astley, but I think you should call me Grace."

"I can tell already Lord Astley's worries were in vain." The woman studied Grace, the hesitance in her smile dissipating.

"Worries?"

"I think he was concerned about how you'd take to his ward." She touched Lily's head with the tenderness of a mother. "Though he wouldn't say as much outright."

"I can't imagine not falling in love with her." Grace touched Lily's nose, inciting a shy grin, and looked back to the woman. "Do you have all you need here? You'll be safe?"

"Lord Astley takes good care of us, but I've been seein' to myself for years." The woman's jaw hardened. "And my brother lives here with us."

"Oh, I'm so glad you're not in the cottage alone." Her gaze went back to the window. "Though, I may send an extra man to scout the area tonight, if you don't mind."

The woman's expression gentled as she nodded.

"Dat was a woud noise." Lily blinked those dark eyes up at Grace with renewed interest.

The sweet voice shot directly into Grace's heart. "I'm sorry, Lilibit."

"I don't wike woud noises."

"I don't either. Thunder especially."

Her nose scrunched into a frown. "It can be vewy woud."

"And terribly frightening. I try to think of happy thoughts when I hear thunder. Is that what you do?"

She nodded, bouncing those curls. "And hide in de piwows."

"I couldn't agree more." Grace brushed back a loose strand of Lily's hair and stood, finally feeling as if her pulse had resumed a normal pace. A double-dimpled smile crested the little girl's face, stealing Grace's heart forever.

Grace looked at the woman. "I cannot thank you enough for your help, Miss—?"

"Quinnly, ma'am. And you'll know my brother. He works in the stables."

"Yes, I've met him. He goes by Quinnly, yes?" Grace looked out the window, wondering how she should get back to the house without a horse.

"He does." The woman glanced toward the window, as if reading Grace's thoughts. "He'll be home soon for a bite to eat, and I know he'd feel better escortin' you to the main house."

Grace's shoulders relaxed with a sigh. "That would be wonderful."

And in the meantime, Grace could get to know the ward of Havensbrooke.

Frederick's day had gone from bad to decidedly worse, and it wasn't even teatime.

Parks didn't return to work the following morning, and his assistant had no idea of any impending travel to France, which only added more incentive for Frederick to go to the police. Frederick's meeting with his brother's solicitor proved a nasty business, especially when Frederick asked pointed questions related to certain investments. After only a half hour, Frederick left the office with all of the man's paperwork related to Havensbrooke and in search of a new solicitor.

If Frederick had only pursued the financial particulars before now!

"I'm not meaning to pry, sir," Elliott offered as the two of them sat in a pub overlooking Linton Street. "But if you're in need of someone trustworthy, might I offer a recommendation?"

"I'd be grateful for it, Elliott." Frederick sat back with a hard sigh. "Some of the finances are murky, and I need an honest, smart man to help me sort it out."

"What about Andrew Piper, sir?"

Frederick's attention shot across the table. "Grandfather's former solicitor?"

Elliott nodded, looking quite uncomfortable at a chair in the pub across from his employer as if they were comrades, but Frederick trusted no man other than Blake more than he did Elliott.

"He was a young man when your grandfather took him on, and it's not been four years since your brother replaced him." Elliott cleared his throat and reached for the cup in front of him. "He had an excellent reputation."

Why hadn't Frederick considered him at the onset? Kind but shrewd, he'd worked with Grandfather for years.

"That's an excellent notion, Elliott." Frederick rapped a palm to the table. "Do you recall why Edward released him?"

Elliott scratched at the back of his neck and swallowed. "I believe Lady Celia wasn't too keen on his financial advice."

"He probably put a knot in her plans." And how worse had it gotten when Frederick left the country? "I happened to see Mr. Piper before leaving for India, and we spoke of my grandfather. Do you think he still lives at the same London address?"

Elliott raised his cup. "It can't hurt to start there, can it?"

"Then that is our next stop, directly after we locate a detective I've heard about."

Elliott's expression sobered. "Sir, may I ask you something?"

"Of course, Elliott."

The valet's brow pinched as his finger skimmed the rim of his cup. "I don't understand what reason Parks or anyone else would have to harm you."

"I have an unconfirmed theory on that score." Frederick took a sip of tea before answering. "Money."

"But Havensbrooke has been struggling for years, hasn't it?"

"Exactly, almost as if on purpose. Which leads to the question of what happens if the estate is left without lord or heir and must then be sold."

"What happens to the money, you mean?"

"Right." Frederick's jaw tensed as his musing took on voice. "After securing my sister's allowance and a few stipends to certain staff, according to Edward's most recent will, if the estate is sold, the remaining funds are divided among the three widows."

"Three?"

"Yes." Frederick shot Elliott a knowing look. "Mother, Lady Astley, and—"

Elliott's gaze locked with Frederick's. "Lady Celia."

"Exactly."

"I think you ought to have a new will written straightaway, sir." Elliott drew in a deep breath. "Not that I expect your death, but I wouldn't want Celia Blackmore taking anything more from Havensbrooke than she already has."

The day ended much better than it had begun. Frederick located Jack Miracle, the young and astute private detective he had read about in the papers. Miracle took detailed notes on Frederick's knowledge and conjectures, as well as interviewed Elliott. Something about knowing a detective was keeping watch put a little more confidence in Frederick's steps.

Andrew Piper was in the process of leaving his office for the day when Frederick and Elliott caught him. He welcomed Frederick like the lost prodigal, and after hearing an accounting of all the facts thus far, Piper readily took back his position as solicitor for Havensbrooke. He even made plans to meet with Detective Miracle before traveling to Havensbrooke within the week to divulge any inconsistencies he uncovered in the information Frederick left with him.

As Elliott and Frederick settled back at the town house for the night, the weight Frederick had carried since leaving Havensbrooke felt a little lighter. Blake. Piper. Elliott. Miracle. He had four allies in the messy affair now—his grin spread as he removed his coat—and Grace, of course. Who knew what she'd been up to during his absence? Knowing she'd met Eleanor and had Aunt Lavenia as an acquaintance made the idea of leaving her alone with Mother a bit easier, especially since Mother had refused to leave her rooms since Frederick had told her he was searching for a dower house for her.

The same longing he'd experienced throughout the day branched through his chest. He missed Grace.

As Frederick turned toward the desk to read through some of the documents he'd collected from the former solicitor, another envelope, like the one from the night before, caught his eye. Frederick picked up the card and pointed it toward the valet. "Did she plan this with you?"

Elliott's brows rose in faux surprise. "I assure you, sir, I only followed Lady Astley's instructions."

"Which, I suspect, were quite detailed." Frederick imagined his wife with her bright eyes regaling the valet with her secret designs.

"And given with great excitement, sir."

Frederick's smile unfurled. "No doubt."

"If I might say so, she does bring a certain light with her. It doesn't go unnoticed in the house or"—Elliott turned to place Frederick's jacket in the wardrobe—"in you, sir."

Frederick slid down into the desk chair. "Why, Elliott, you sound almost poetic."

"I shall try to refrain from future exposition, my lord."

Frederick chuckled at the man's droll reply, but the observation clung around his heart with welcome truth. "You're right, though. She does bring light with her."

"If you were hoping to add the right people to your good intentions, a higher hand chose better for you than you chose for yourself."

Frederick lowered his face with a nod, slowly peeling open the note. "It's a pity it's taken me such hardship to prefer His choices to mine."

"As my mother would say, sir, that is the beginning of wisdom."

Frederick cast him a knowing grin, embracing the awareness of God's fingerprints all over the debacle with Lillias. No, he wouldn't have chosen as well for himself. He'd have chosen out of duty and necessity, but God chose for his heart.

Once Elliott left the room, Frederick opened his note.

Oh, hero of mine, I'm determined to keep myself fresh in your thoughts.

He could practically see her sitting at her desk, pen in hand, mischievous smile tipping her tantalizing lips into a grin.

And if you were to miss me in the slightest, I thought these notes would help me feel closer to you. I'm a sentimental girl, but I hope you don't mind it too awfully. I can assure you, it will only prove to be for your benefit, especially once you return and I can sequester you away all to myself.

The slow rising heat associated with her innuendo scorched the inside of his throat with a rush of longing. It had taken him much too long to go to sleep last night as she visited his thoughts. The endearing minx. She would most certainly accompany him on any trip from this point forward.

Of course I wish for your journey to be successful, but I do hope you miss me a little bit. I'm certain I shall miss you. If you're to become my dearest friend—and we've gotten off to a very friendly start—then I shall have to find things to do to distract myself from searching the drive for your return.

I do prefer your brand of friendliness. I must say it's my favorite kind, and I hope you will continue to be friendly with me as often as you like. Very friendly. Often.

Good heavens, he was going to attack the poor girl as soon as he crossed the threshold of Havensbrooke!

Do have a marvelous time among the solicitors and architects you meet. Dear me, that doesn't sound exciting at all, but I'm sure you'll find a way to make it memorable.

I look forward to seeing you tomorrow, my dear Lord Astley. My lips await your steadfast attentions.

Your Grace