Epilogue

"Sir. Madam." Elliott breathed out the response as he sent a shy gaze around the Great Hall, where the other servants sat or stood, each opening their own gifts from Lord and Lady Astley.

Grace squeezed her hands together, attempting to keep her giggle of delight in check. She'd always loved watching people open presents. It was like a marvelous mystery of the sweetest kind, even if she knew exactly what the gift was. The mystery came with the response of the recipient, and she felt confident in her choices.

Once she'd known the servants for an entire year, just imagine how excellent her gift-giving could become!

First, Elliott uncovered Frederick's chosen gift. From the folds of white paper, a golden pocket watch gleamed into the glow of soft lights around the room. "Sir?"

Frederick nodded, a look moving between the two men. Perhaps Elliott truly understood how much Frederick respected him with this gift. "Turn it over," he whispered.

Grace nearly bounded from her seat next to Frederick. She'd encouraged Frederick to leave a personal note, especially after her dear husband had shared with her some of the history he had with Elliott. Having someone rescue you from a life of boxing only to have Elliott save Frederick's life on occasion certainly deserved recognition, in her book anyway.

Elliott read the simple inscription and flashed a smile. "Thank you, sir."

Grace squeezed Frederick's hand, her teeth skimming over her lips in pure delight. My friend. Frederick's choice for his message to Elliott.

Elliott cleared his throat and raised a brow as he tugged a larger parcel from the wrapping. Grace's entire body stiffened as the paper fell away to reveal her choice for Elliott. Three books. A Study in Scarlet, The Moonstone, and The Manual of Becoming a Detective .

"Just imagine how much more prepared you'll be next time." Grace grinned and leaned forward to watch the man's smile brim to sparkle in his eyes.

"I have no words to express my emotions right now, my lady."

She clasped her hands together. "I'd hug you if it wasn't improper, Elliott, and I feel I've already pushed your limits for impropriety enough this week."

A coughing sound erupted from the handsome hero at her side, so she quickly reached for a glass of customary Christmas champagne and handed it to him. "Do you see how excited Lord Astley is at the very idea of you becoming more prepared for sleuthing, dear Elliott?"

Grace sent Frederick a subtle wink, chuckling a little to herself that her sweet husband was trying his best not to reveal how amused he was at her plans, but she didn't mind. She'd already proven how very helpful studying fiction could be to real-life crimes. She only needed to test the theory a few more times to prove her hypothesis, and what better way than to bring along as many knowledgeable, trustworthy people as possible in the process?

As Brandon opened his gift, Grace had to get as close as politely possible to watch him, because the man's expression remained as stoic as ever. How could anyone remain stoic while opening Christmas presents?

The first present to meet Brandon's eyes was from Frederick. A beautifully crafted fountain pen with an emblem of Havensbrooke etched in the pen holder.

"I noticed you needed a new one for all the excellent work you do for us, Brandon," Frederick offered, causing the man to nod stiffly and run a finger over the smooth, polished wood of the pen's stem.

"Thank you, sir. It's the best one I've ever owned."

"It's a small token for your service."

The man refused to raise his gaze as he continued sifting through the gift paper. The firelight played across his etched features, deepening the lines on his face into a frown. Grace began fidgeting with the edge of her sleeve, her stomach lurching in sudden agitation. What if she'd chosen poorly? They hadn't known each other a great while yet.

He raised the small bag to view first, reading the words on the front aloud. "Luden's Cough Drops?"

"I don't want you to become sick, dear Brandon, so I thought these may help with that nasty cough you seem to have so often."

"Cough, madam?" His large brows rose in wonder.

"Yes, I've heard it fairly regularly, and these are supposed to help soothe any possible beginnings of an illness."

Brandon's gaze shifted to Frederick, and then the butler's lips pinched and his shoulders seized, releasing a short-lived cough.

"See? There it is!" She gestured toward the bag. "And now you have relief."

His lips pressed even tighter, but he nodded. "Thank you, madam," but the way he said it sounded strained and tight.

Oh dear, she had chosen poorly. What would he do when he saw the second gift she'd picked?

Frederick's hand suddenly swallowed up her fidgeting one, and he offered her a smile. "Don't worry, darling," he whispered. "You chose everything with such personal care, they'll all appreciate them. I think you might be their favorite surprise this Christmas, and the gifts are just a bonus."

"What do you mean?"

"You care, Grace. And they know it." He squeezed her fingers, his gaze caressing her face with such tenderness it nearly brought her to tears. She wanted to grab his face and kiss him, but in the middle of a Christmas party in the Great Hall probably wasn't the best time for acting on those impulses. "It's been a long time since they've known such kindness from their mistress, and they may never have known kindness with such…generosity before."

Grace breathed a sigh and turned just in time to see Brandon pull his lovely hardbound book from the wrappings. A Christmas Carol, in the beautiful red cover used when it was first published. His gaze came up to hers, brow pinched with questions.

"For the ghosts." Grace shrugged. "So you'll know what to expect next time."

Then the most remarkable thing happened. Brandon laughed. Not just a simple chuckle, but a hearty, shoulder-shaking laugh that garnered everyone's attention in the room and brought out their smiles—though Mrs. Powell looked more shocked than amused.

Grace's bottom lip dropped in a wide-mouthed smile.

"Thank you, my lady." Brandon chuckled through the words, taking out his handkerchief to wipe at his eyes. "I'm honored, and this particular book is very special to me because it was one my father used to read to me when I was a lad."

It took everything in Grace not to pop up from her seat and give the sweet man a kiss on the cheek. Maybe she could later, when all the other staff weren't looking. Surely Frederick wouldn't find that too inappropriate for a countess, would he?

"I'm so glad it brings good memories with it, Brandon, considering the circumstances surrounding our spectral night of ghost hunting together."

Another cough slipped from his smile, but this time it sounded much more like a laugh. Grace blinked. Had he been laughing all along? Perhaps he wasn't in need of cough drops at all! For an amateur sleuth, she felt very silly, but the twinkle in Brandon's dark eyes as he grinned at her somehow doused her momentary frustration.

Each servant opened their gifts, and each appeared to enjoy the simple offerings. Grace had gotten the cook a new hat to wear to church, since she'd heard the woman had a fondness for hats. She'd cooed and aahed over the green felt as if she'd never seen a hat before. And with the dashes of auburn in her hair, the round-faced woman looked rather fetching wearing the lovely shade of green. Grace had chosen classy new heels for each of the maids, and she'd particularly chosen the fur-lined ones for winter, as well as a book for each person. With a few strategic questions here and there, she'd learned of interests and reading levels—some rather surprising. Who would have known that Mary enjoyed Gothic romances? She seemed like such a quiet girl.

Mrs. Powell, as reserved as the woman usually was, sat in shock for a good ten seconds before responding when she opened the teapot Grace had chosen for her. Mary had mentioned how Mrs. Powell loved butterflies and had recently chipped her personal server, so when Grace had seen the Herend Rothschild china tea set in the window of a local shop—complete with a bright flourish of butterflies—she'd snatched it up. Grace had made sure to leave her gift for Lady Moriah on a table in the woman's room so she could open it on her own. She'd felt compelled to give her mother-in-law her own beloved version of Pilgrim's Progress , complete with Grace's own rather whimsical notes in the margins.

After all the servants opened their gifts, the dancing began. Grace had read about the Servants' Ball, a festive time for the servants to dress in their best and enjoy dancing, merriment, and delicious food, along with their employers, that usually happened in January. But given that both Frederick and Grace were rather happy with quiet, subdued holidays—and since they'd apparently fulfilled their social duty by attending the Kerifords' Christmas party—Frederick had agreed to Grace's suggestion that they hold the Servants' Ball on Christmas Day.

After the presents and a solemn moment of Frederick reading the Christmas story from the Gospel of Luke, Grace encouraged the quiet housemaid Lucy to take to the piano, and the dancing commenced. Frederick gallantly sought out Mrs. Powell, who stood slack-jawed for the third time that evening, as he asked for a dance, and Grace encouraged the rather reticent Brandon to be her own partner. Elliott took the opportunity to ask Mary, and other partners made it to the floor of the Great Hall as Lucy impressed them all with her expert repertoire of country dance tunes.

Grace gave Lucy a reprieve from piano playing so the young girl could have her turn at dancing, which enabled Grace the opportunity to watch the others from her perch in the corner of the room. The massive tree glowed with golden electric lights, the firelight waved its toasty warmth across the gleaming wood floor, and the room hummed with the happy chatter of people who may have been different as far as society was concerned, but not so different at the heart. As Grace looked from face to face, she claimed them all as her new family. Even the grumpy footman John, who refused to dance with anyone at all.

Her eyes narrowed as she stared at him. Perhaps he waited because he had a secret engagement to a young woman in the village and felt that dancing with any other lady would betray his wholehearted devotion to his beloved.

Grace sighed as her gaze settled on her handsome hero. He was dancing with Mrs. Lennox, and the cook's rosy cheeks were a sight bit rosier than usual. His smile shone with kindness, his dark eyes lit with the glow from the surrounding lights.

A month ago, Grace never would have imagined being married to an earl. In fact, she hadn't planned on being married at all. But just when she'd thought her choice to take her sister's place would lead to her giving up on her dreams, God had used the unexpected to give her even more. How very clever of Him! She supposed He did have the very best of imaginations, since He had created imaginations from the start.

She'd not only become a wife, but a mother of sorts, even though she couldn't openly announce Lily as her adopted darling. Grace and Frederick had visited the sweet girl together earlier in the day and brought not only presents but also the grand surprise of bringing Lily and Miss Quinnly into the house once the renovations were complete.

As Frederick tugged Grace close to his side later that evening in their private sitting room, Grace nestled against him, grateful all over again that God had made her husband a wonderful combination of all the things she loved best about fictional heroes. Dashing, intelligent, kind, brave, devoted, and wonderfully roguish—in his own special way. She'd never appreciated lips as much in her life. Her cheeks heated. Lips were wonderful inventions.

And she'd never quite realized how wonderful it was to have a husband who cared about her thoughts and imaginations, but she found it one of his most attractive features of all.

"It seemed everyone enjoyed the gifts we gave them." She looked up at him from the cocoon of his arms. "Though John didn't show it, I caught him opening Ulysses when he thought no one was looking. I knew a fellow Irishman would be tempted by his own countryman's work."

Frederick chuckled, his fingers moving through her hair, loosening it with expert skill. He was excellent at misplacing her pins, but the feel of his hands in her hair made it worth every lost one.

"I had much more fun watching you watch them than I did seeing their reaction, I'm afraid."

She blinked up at him. "What do you mean?"

His palm slid to her cheek, and he captured her chin with his finger and thumb, placing a gentle kiss to her lips. "The sheer pleasure in your face lights up the room more than electric lights ever could. I think half the servants enjoyed watching your joy as much as receiving presents or dancing." He held her gaze. "You have been the very best gift for Havensbrooke—and for me, my darling."

Grace nearly melted into his admiration until the word gift surfaced in her comprehension. She pushed out of his arms. "Oh, you haven't opened your gift yet!"

She dashed to her bedroom and returned with a long package, barely able to contain the laughter bubbling up in her throat. It was unnerving choosing a gift for a man whom she'd only begun to fall desperately in love with. Well, not desperately in love. That sounded rather pathetic. And thoroughly in love sounded a bit too pedantic. Hmm. Shamelessly? Yes. Scandalously? Her grin took a decided upswing. Most certainly. Incandescently? Her face warmed. Oh yes.

"I know you said that I was your gift, which was terribly romantic of you, but I feel the very same way about you." She returned to her seat beside him, the firelight playing across his features and causing his eyes to take on an even softer glow. "To be perfectly honest, I expected an earl-like husband to be rather boring, a little overbearing, and thoroughly, well…proper."

"I know my heart holds a great number of emotions all the time and my head swirls with uncommon notions, but I do think you are the very best for me, and I can't imagine loving you more." She shrugged, hoping he caught her intention. "You've been absolutely and deliciously wonderful, Frederick Percy."

"Except for when I refused your marriage proposal." His lips twitched. "Or nearly got us killed in the river, or left you at the mercy of my mother, or behaved so idiotically you ran off to my aunt's house in retaliation, or—"

Grace's laugh burst out. "You're deliciously wonderful in all the ways that matter most." She leaned close and kissed his cheek. "Especially in your long-suffering ability to listen to your wife and in the rather adept way you have in making up after disagreements."

His gaze took the type of dark turn that incited a wonderful thrill through her body.

Her breath hitched as she pushed the gift forward. "I cannot offer you anything that could remotely equal these enormous affections I have for you, but at least I can give you something special for our very first Christmas together."

He held her gaze, his expression so tender, she nearly leaned forward and rewarded him with a kiss, but she had the sneaky suspicion that if the kissing started, it might not end for a very long time, and Christmas presents needed to be opened on Christmas, after all.

He tugged at the top wrapping, which soon opened to its contents. His laugh burst out before he sobered and offered her a look through narrowed eyes. "A deerstalker? As if I'm the enigmatic Sherlock?" He placed the hat on his head and raised his brows.

"I don't think that's for you." She swept it off his head, liking his dark waves much better. "And it's never truly mentioned that he wore that sort of hat often, but I did want to tease you a little."

He grinned and pulled the next thing from the wrapping, turning the cover around for her view. "Detective Miracle's Advice to the Amateur Sleuth?"

"Did you know he'd written a book?" She clapped her hands together, smile growing. "After everyone who needed to be arrested was arrested and everyone who needed to give testimony had given testimony, and I was able to get Detective Miracle to myself for a moment before he was swept away by the inspector, I asked him for some suggestions on how I could improve my sleuthing skills, and he told me about his book! Isn't that convenient?"

"Remarkably."

"So not only do we have a little practical experience, but we can learn a bit of head knowledge too." She tapped her head and nodded, her entire body nearly shaking. "And once I learn how to use my new pistol you bought me, think of what a pair we'll be."

"I try not to, darling." His shoulders shook from his internal chuckle. "But I'm glad it makes you happy."

She rolled her eyes at him and pushed the remainder of the gift deeper into his hold. "Oh, stop teasing and finish opening your gift."

He sent her one of his rare winks, dousing any annoyance she might have felt at his teasing, and pushed back the last remnants of paper to reveal the pinnacle of the gift she had specifically designed for him. All humor fled from his face as the wrapping revealed more and more of the painting.

"I didn't use the original letters of your grandparents. I copied them to create the matte for the painting of Havensbrooke because it just felt like they were there too, hugging you and your world through the painting, so to speak." She grinned to herself as she traced one of the signatures in the paintings' matte with her finger. "I hope you don't mind that I used a copy of the letters, only the sweetest parts, of course, but it seemed to reflect their love for you and Havensbrooke so well together." She pointed at the way the "letters" had been set around the watercolor landscape. "Mr. Poole in the village has a daughter who is excellent at watercolor, and when I asked if she could create a painting of Havensbrooke at sunset, with the glow coming from behind the beautiful stones, she eagerly agreed. The payment probably helped too, but it turned out so well. And you have a spot in your office where it would fit perfectly right over—"

His mouth took hers without warning. He kissed as if he savored her taste, her touch, his fingers trailing from her neck up into her hair, turning her face so his lips had the best access. His caress radiated the tenderest of emotions, slow, lingering, somehow leaving her teary-eyed and swooning at the same time.

"I have no words, Grace." He leaned his head against hers, fingers playing with strands of her hair as he stared at her. "It is the perfect gift to complete the very best Christmas of my life."

"I'm so glad you like it." She sneaked another kiss. "Just imagine how excellent my present choices will become as I get to know you better."

He slid a palm down her cheek and kissed her ready lips again, then slid back, raising a brow. "Now I believe it's time for your gifts and, if I use my powers of deduction well enough, I'd guess that my wife loves presents."

She clapped her hands together. "See how well you are at deductions already, and you haven't even read Detective Miracle's book yet."

His chuckle followed him to his room and back, as he returned with a gift that looked much too small for what she'd expected. Well, she wasn't quite sure what she'd expected, but the simple, oddly shaped rect-angle didn't fit her expectations. But it held an odd book shape, which certainly couldn't be bad.

And after all, her husband had only known her for about a month.

He eyed her carefully as he placed the gift on her lap and took his place beside her. "Merry Christmas, Lady Astley."

She opened the wrapping to find a smaller square box positioned atop a book. Grace pulled the book out first and read the title. The Rules of Croquet. The intention slowly flared to realization as she remembered her very poor attempts at playing croquet at Aunt Lavenia's. Grace burst out laughing and wrapped her arms around her husband's neck, giggling against his lips. "Be careful, husband dearest." She sat back to wave the book at him. "If I actually learn how to play the game, I may best you at it like I will at lawn tennis this spring."

He crooked a brow, his dark eyes glimmering. "I look forward to the challenge, my lady." His gaze dropped to the smaller box. "But we may have something else to prepare for this spring."

She studied him a moment before reaching for the box. Carefully, she unclasped the simple gold clasp and raised the lid. Inside sat a beautiful ornate brass compass. She gasped and looked back at him, but he only smiled, encouraging her continued perusal. With careful fingers, she opened the compass. The internal cogs and dials shone through a clear lens, and the arrow swayed back and forth searching for north. Her teeth skimmed over her lips as she examined every part of the new gift, until she finally tipped it over to the bottom. Engraved in calligraphic style were three words and a name. For our adventures. Frederick .

She drew the compass to her chest and blinked back tears. "Thank you, Frederick." The words barely made it above a whisper. Perhaps he knew her better than she had guessed, because instead of giving her something finite, he'd given her a dream.

"And here is the final one." He pulled another book-sized gift from behind his back and gave it to her.

"Oh dear, I don't know that I can handle much more."

Her fingers trembled as she tugged off the simple brown paper tied with red ribbon. Yes, it was a book, and on the cover was one word. Italy .

Her attention flew to Frederick's face and, without looking away, he opened the front cover of the book to reveal two steamer tickets. "I think it's time to start those adventures, don't you? In the land of Romeo and Juliet and Julius Caesar, and—one of your personal favorites— The Betrothed ."

As she searched his face, the tears she'd barely held in spilled down her cheeks. She placed the compass and the book to the side and moved so close her face waited mere inches from his. Without a word, she framed his face with her palms, continuing to smile so wide her cheeks ached. "My dear Lord Astley, my adventures started with you the day I met you in the Whitlocks' library, and I cannot wait to continue them with you wherever they may lead."

How God could take two people's very different stories and combine them to create an entirely new tale was rather remarkable. Instead of his story or her story, it had become their story, and Grace was fairly certain this one would be her favorite.