Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

"Not certain?" Grace's eyes met his, unwavering, wounded. And the sight hit him like a blow to the stomach. "You'd risk losing your home instead of marrying me?"

"It's not about you. It's about this farce of a decision." He stepped back, distancing himself from the way her emotions set him off-balance, the way her choice affected him. "A deceptive bride is a worthy reason to flee from marriage."

Her gaze flared with a sudden fury. "You do not have a deceptive bride now. "

She was sincere, if misdirected. Confident to a fault. He shook his head. How could he view her as a bride? She was practically a child! "You have no idea what you're saying."

"Then let me see if I have it right." She stepped closer, one ginger brow peaked high, the challenge in her eyes unyielding. "Do you, or do you not, still need money to save Havensbrooke and the Astley legacy?

He squinted, the truth stinging afresh. "I do."

"And do you or do you not have an agreement to marry a daughter of Henry T. Ferguson, which states that if you refuse, you will have a sum of money to procure at your precious estate's expense?"

He almost growled. "I do."

Her other eyebrow edged up to join the first, proud of her interro-gation. "And don't you think it makes logical sense for both parties to receive what they agreed upon without any wasted time or funds?"

"I do."

"See?" A faint light glimmered in her eyes as her pink lips slipped crooked. "You say those words quite well. Just in time for a wedding ceremony."

Her humor nearly derailed his annoyance. "You're young."

"I'm almost nineteen. On Christmas Eve, in fact."

"You were born on Christma—" He shook his head against the distraction, attempting to sort through this catastrophe. "And…and we barely know one another."

"How many more conversations could you really have had with my sister?" She waved toward him with her hand. "We have some similar interests, can participate in successful, if not even enjoyable, dialogue, and have working minds, even if one has thoughts that wander unchecked at times. I think we could be compatible, at least."

She was right on all accounts, so why was he fighting her? Lillias understood the world she entered. Grace? She had no idea. A house haunted by his brother's death. His mother's bitterness seeping through the halls like a poison. A crumbling manor house and an earl with a sullied past, not to mention centuries of aristocratic expectations. She didn't deserve to feel the brunt of what he knew. To have that joy stolen. There had to be another way. "Youth isn't always defined by age, but experience."

"Which you can give me. Unless you haven't the courage."

"Courage has nothing to do with it. I'm actually thinking of you. My life, my world, is not one to enter unprepared."

"And I'm thinking of you and your dear Havensbrooke." She brought her palms together and graced him with a pseudo-angelic smile. "How very generous we both are already! What an excellent start for matrimony."

He didn't know whether to laugh or scoff.

"Come now." She stepped forward, her expression pleading with him. "In all honesty, Lord Astley, just imagine how much worse you could have it."

Those eyes, as bright and distracting as her hair, challenged him. Indeed he could have it much worse. In fact, he nearly did. Her honesty and her courage humbled him. She had more strength than he'd realized.

"I believe you underestimate me a great deal. Loving fiction, having an overactive imagination, and skirting along the edge of propriety at times does not make me weak. In fact, I may be prepared for many things no one else is."

He squeezed his eyes closed for a second, then leveled her with a look. "We are two very different people."

"As most are." Her smile faded, and he immediately felt the loss. She lowered her gaze. "If you're worried about my lack of qualifications at elegance, then I could understand your hesitancy, though I am teachable and—"

"Grace." Her name slipped out so easily, too familiar. He waited for her gaze to meet his, and then his voice tempered to a whisper. "You shouldn't feel forced into this."

"I know what I'm agreeing to by my own will."

"No, you don't."

"Now you are questioning my intelligence as well as my maturity?" She placed her hands on her hips, her eyes narrowed into slits. He certainly preferred her ire over her hurt. "I may be young, Lord Astley, but I am neither dimwitted nor oblivious. Choosing not to focus on certain things does not mean I do not see them."

Her statement nearly derailed his train of thought again. Did she choose to see the good, even in the middle of this disaster? "Your compassion is admirable. Your zeal may be to your detriment in this case, however."

" My detriment!" Her posture shot pencil straight. "Stubborn man, you seem bound to lose an entire estate."

"Stubborn?" That was a bit of the pot calling the kettle.

She released a massive sigh and pinned on a glare just for his benefit. "No bride should have this much trouble convincing a groom to marry her."

He almost laughed out loud. The woman was maddening. "Within the past few minutes, I've learned that my previous bride planned to marry me as a ruse for her involvement with her longtime lover, and her younger sister has offered herself as a substitute to save her father's future." He sent a look to pale-faced Mr. Ferguson, by all accounts as surprised. No, this seemed a rash decision on Lillias Ferguson's part, which left the rest of the family piecing the situation together—especially Grace. "So I beg your pardon if I seem indecisive or abrupt."

His mind spun, unbalanced. He needed some distance and a level-headed conversation with Blake for perspective. "I will give an answer by this evening, and then we can make plans accordingly."

"I won't change my mind, if that's what you're worried about." Her brow tilted in challenge, her sapphire gaze following him as he moved toward the door. "Another one of my many vices, Lord Astley, but I've found reason for it to be a virtue as well. I'm terribly good at solving problems, and this"—she waved a hand between them—"doesn't have to become one."

He stared at her, unable to muster a reply. His need for justice warred with his desire for compassion. She'd never been a part of the plan, nor did she deserve such a fate. But Havensbrooke had to come first. The decision clawed a raw ache through his middle.

There really was no choice.

Frederick found Blake in one of the three spots his cousin had occupied since arriving at Whitlock. The bowling alley. Blake's life was looking more and more appealing with each passing catastrophe. Perhaps they could switch places as easily as Grace had with her sister.

He groaned and slowed his pace as he entered the long corridor, the clash of ball and pins welcoming him. No, it couldn't have been an easy decision for her. What woman would wish for another woman's intended?

Blake took in the news with nothing more than a quizzical brow, even as Frederick divulged the entire affair to his friend, complete with the possible scandal in the papers when the bride's name changed.

"I really think you ought to add a bowling alley to your improvements of Havensbrooke, Freddie. A jolly good way to spend a rainy day, if you ask me."

Frederick pinched the bridge of his nose and released a long-suffering sigh. "Blake, have you heard one word I've said? My former fiancée has eloped with the father of her unborn child, and her younger and much less experienced sister has offered to take her place as the Countess of Astley." Frederick shoved a hand through his hair and paced from the scoreboard on the wall to the window on the opposite side. "When I told Lillias Ferguson to enjoy the remnants of her freedom, I had no idea she'd take my well wishes so liberally."

"Pass that ball, will you?" Blake gestured toward the bowling ball the servant brought forward, without one hint of concern. "It was certainly a poor choice on her part, though she didn't quite seem your type."

"What? Monogamous?" Frederick grabbed the heavy white ball and shoved it into Blake's stomach. "How can you take all of this so lightly? Everything has changed."

"Your circumstances, despite the shock, have not altered all that much." He rolled another ball toward the pins and took down all but one. "You will still gain a dowry and a bride."

"A child bride."

"As far as I can see, she has all the alluring female accoutrements of her sister." His grin quirked with his infernal shrug. "In what way a child?"

"Her…her exuberance and authenticity." Frederick groaned. "Her joy."

Blake leveled him with a frown. "It is a sad commentary, Freddie, that you only relate joy with the behavior of a child. Understandable from your parents' atrocious actions toward you, but sad all the same. I do not believe Miss Grace has suffered a similar childhood, which would likely be a benefit for you and your offspring."

Frederick's shoulders wilted with a groan. "A benefit?"

"Her exuberance, as you call it, makes her appear more youthful than she is, and the fact she was your former bride's younger sister secured that mental assertion, but a woman with such generosity and selflessness cannot be all bad." Blake's forehead creased. "And should I remind you that your sister was eighteen when she married?"

"My sister is an English woman raised in an earl's house. She grew up knowing the conventions and expectations. And that's beside the point. There are a million things Grace Ferguson doesn't begin to understand about being a countess."

"Is the woman smart? From my limited conversations with her, she appears intelligent. An amateur sleuth, as I recall."

Frederick growled as he rolled the ball down the lane and missed the entire lot of pins, Grace's repartee from only a half hour before still ringing with clarity and wit. "Yes, she is."

"Kind? Agreeable? Which, to my mind, are more important than knowing what dish to order for a dinner party." Blake made a solid strike. Frederick was starting to think the game was trying to make as much of a point as his cousin.

"She certainly appears so, though my judgment may—"

"Weren't there similar interests the two of you shared? Reading? Riding?"

"That is not the point."

"I don't understand your argument." Blake waved a palm in the air, as if the decision was simple. "If she is so young, then you have time to shape her into the lady you think she needs to be. I'm certain your mother will be more than willing to take her in hand."

Frederick cringed at the very idea of placing Grace at the mercy of his mother.

"No, wait, you're right. I like Miss Ferguson too much to send her into a home with your tyrant mother and the unsolved mystery of your brother's death lingering over the house like a cloud."

"Edward's death is not a mystery. The doctor said—"

"Come now, Freddie." Blake shook his head and took another ball. "Edward, the model of health, dies within the house on the very day you arrive back from India?"

"Of a heart attack."

Blake narrowed his eyes, unconvinced, the suspicion knocking like an unfinished story in the back of Frederick's mind.

"And your mother has no idea of ever writing a letter to request you return home? No wonder the whole town refers to it as the Astley curse."

Astley curse? His fist tightened at his side. Frederick could not contemplate another scandal. Not again. Even if Blake's doubts needled with unanswered questions. Salvaging his family's estate remained his first priority. "We are not speaking of my brother. We are speaking of Miss Ferguson and an impossible match."

"Impossible? How so? If the girl has no objections and you have no qualms about ushering her into the disaster which is your family, I don't see why this should change your mind about the arrangement at all. And let's not forget that she chose to take her sister's place, a decision that speaks a great deal to her character." He raised a brow before turning back to the task of besting Frederick at bowling. "Imagine that, Freddie. A woman of character on your side? Something you've never experienced, I should remind you."

Frederick squeezed the bowling ball between his hands.

Blake spoke truth, so why did the very idea of marrying Grace Ferguson leave him in a dither? He rolled the ball and knocked down six pins. What was he afraid of? Was he concerned she'd breach the wall around his heart, and he'd only disappoint her as he'd done everyone else?

"I know you're thinking of your mother's reaction."

Not exactly.

"But in all honesty, Freddie, you're the one marrying the girl. Shouldn't your primary concern be your ability to get on with her, not your mother's?" He took another ball and turned back to his friend. "She's made sport of managing people's affairs and done a poor job of it. This is your future. Your bride."

Frederick looked down at the ball. The weight of his own past when compared to Grace's genuine innocence pressed upon his shoulders like a heavy black cloak. "To be honest, Blake, I…I don't deserve someone like her. Not with the fool I've been. But for Grace Ferguson's convic-tions, I'd have walked directly into a deception very similar to what I left years ago."

Blake's blond brows rose. "But for Grace Ferguson?" He held Frederick's attention with a look to drive his point home. "It seems to me that Grace Ferguson is a providentially provided answer." He grinned. "I'll admit she's a bit odd, but some of the best people are, you know? Just think of Aunt Lavenia."

Frederick almost grinned. His aunt was certainly one of a kind.

"What if you took this whole situation for what it appears to be? A new beginning? If I'm not mistaken, you've been searching for such an opportunity for over two years now."

"Yes, but—"

"Then why are you suddenly surprised when the Almighty gives you what you asked? If I recall from what sermons I've attended to, God is known for lavishing love on His children. Grace, I believe it's called?" His brows winged high again. "Why not shower Him with thanksgiving and take the gift He's placed before you? I would hazard a guess that gratitude is never a bad start for any relationship."

Frederick stared at his friend, the truth sinking in. A new beginning? Could it be possible, right before him? He dared not believe it. "You're very smart for a single man with no responsibilities."

"Plenty of time to contemplate others' futures, I suppose."

Gratitude? Could this one choice set in motion a future to redeem his past? Frederick rolled the ball forward and produced the sharp crash of a strike. A tiny shaft of hope slipped beneath his fear. Could God really offer a solution for his heart and legacy? "I believe I've regained my focus, good man."

"I'm glad to see it." Blake nodded. "You're horrible company when you're pensive."

Frederick walked toward the doorway, a lighter step to his gait. "I hope you'll see less of it in the future."

If God was offering a new beginning, Frederick had every plan to take it—if the woman he'd rejected would still have him.

Rejection left an unsavory flavor.

Grace had offered Lord Astley a solid proposition, yet he seemed less than interested in the proposal—or her. Was she really that horrible of an option? It was true that in light of Lillias's many attributes, Grace fell terribly short, but honesty and a dash of creative wit had to count for something in the grand scheme of things, didn't it? And she'd gotten much better at talking about dull things without yawning.

An uncommonly hollow feeling branched out through her chest and made her think of reading something morose like Wuthering Heights , but the haloed glow of sunset kept her from delving too severely into disappointment. The golden-orange hues deepened as the shadowed mountains cradled the sun's fading light. A smile warmed her face.

God always seemed to send a cheerful something at the most opportune times.

The chilly breeze from her position on the Whitlocks' back terrace brushed against her warm cheeks and offered a sweet caress. She embraced her solitude to tend her wounds, taking the opportunity to sneak away from the other guests, especially the unnerving eyes of her would-be fiancé. Or rather, "wouldn't be" fiancé.

He'd watched her during supper with that piercing gaze of his, an inscrutable expression on his face. What did he see when he looked at her? Likely anything but a countess.

Grace sighed and pressed her palms into the rough cement of the terrace wall. What had she done wrong? She'd witnessed a few of her father's business conversations—mostly from the safe distance of a crack in the door—and her offer to the reluctant earl held as many solid arguments as any of those. Even more than some.

Yet he'd refused her.

Though she wasn't as socially equipped as her sister, surely she came with a few virtues of her own. She couldn't really help her hair color, and she wouldn't apologize for her vigorous imagination—it had proven indispensable on many occasions. But she did come with a great deal of money, which seemed more important than her penchant for speaking before thinking and riding astride.

She held her shoulders a bit straighter. And she was quite pleased with her own eyes. They were like her mother's, a fact she clung to with gratitude. Her gaze lingered on the halo of gold still gripping daylight.

Perhaps Lord Astley's rejection was for the best. Being married for one's money instead of oneself couldn't be the best start to a lifelong romance.

She raised her eyes to the growing splattering of stars, vast and innumerable in the fading night. "Dear Lord, what do You want from me? I'll happily oblige, if You'll let me know. I understand asking for an overt sign feels rather faithless, but I'd be content with a shooting star or a voice from heaven or even a message scrawled on a wall as long as it didn't mar the beauty of Whitlock's marble walls. Something fairly obvious, if You please, because I'm quite a distractible creature, as You well know, and…I only want to do the right thing, whatever that right thing may be."

"Is talking to yourself one of your vices as well, Miss Ferguson?"

She spun around to find Lord Astley approaching from the Music Room doors, the lights framing his silhouette like a shadow from a dream.

"Actually, I do talk to myself quite often, but in this particular instance I was praying aloud, so unless you're one of the growing number of atheists in the world, you were interrupting a quite honest conversation for guidance."

"I'm acutely aware of my need for divine intervention, and I do hope the Almighty will forgive my interruption."

She couldn't make out his expression with the light behind him, so she turned back toward the horizon. A pleasant tingle skittered up her spine at his nearness in the dark. No, no. She shouldn't like his presence. He'd rejected her, even with her dowry, her ready smile, and her somewhat aver-age beauty. "He's known for being slow to anger, from what I understand."

Lord Astley slipped up beside her, his amber scent not far enough behind to keep her from turning to breathe it in. Rebel senses. No man should smell good enough to eat, especially one who refused to marry quite marriageable ladies.

"Abounding in love too, I believe is the way of it."

She looked up at his profile, attempting to make out his approach. Was he trying to dismiss her gently? Reject her in a kind way on a lan-terned terrace surrounded by mountains and starlight at Christmas? That was too cruel. Clearly, he'd been reading all the wrong books.

"Well, it's good someone is abounding in love." She clenched her hands in front of her and noted a few moonlit clouds passing in the darkening sky. "Generous hearted, willing to take the quite shameless overtures of a sweet young lady without dismissing her outright."

He chuckled. Chuckled. "You are simply the most unique woman I've ever met."

She glared at him, and his expression sobered.

"I'm sorry to have offended you, especially since you have also borne the burden of this broken situation. And I do mean unique in the most delightful of ways."

She sighed out her frustration. A heartfelt apology killed her anger every time. "I'm sorry for my sister's selfishness." Her gaze returned to the sunset, which had almost flickered into night, the weight of her sister's guilt, her thoughtless actions, swimming in the same heart pool as Grace's wounded pride. "After this horrible fiasco, it's no wonder you wish to end the entire arrangement. You expected a refined and elegant lady. Not me."

"No, I never expected you." His voice brewed over the night air, warm and enticing.

Oh, the comparison between her and her sister was too awful to imagine. Poor Lord Astley. No wonder he'd rejected her. "And instead of the excellent conversationalist that my sister is, you're offered someone who rattles off about the silliest things and has a tendency to talk to fictional persons."

"Grace." There was a smile in his voice when he said her name, and the sweetness of the sound almost distracted her from her defense against herself.

"And you're right, I'm not the best candidate to be an earl's wife. In fact, I'm probably the worst option as a whole." She sighed forward, the case against her building to mind-numbing proportions. "What does an earl need with a bookish chatterbox who rides astride when no one is looking?"

"Grace." He took a step closer, and she turned to him, tilting her head to make out some of his features.

"But I feel certain I can learn to be the wife you need." She shrugged and pinned on a smile. "There have to be books about it somewhere."

With a gentle move, he gathered one of her hands into his warm ones, drawing her close enough to wrap her breath in delicious amber. "You forget, I've never been a husband before. We both may need to locate the proper books."

"Well, you have an enormous library, I'm sure—" What had he said? Her attention shot to his. "What did you say?"

"Miss Gracelyn Ferguson, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?" His gaze, as black as the night, stroked her face with an expression she couldn't decipher but very nearly brought her to tears.

A lantern-lit terrace probably helped matters a little.

"Oh, it sounds very different when you say it." The words slipped out, her breath lodged around any reply. The tenderness of the request housed in such a baritone blend swept any response clear from her head. She kept staring, replaying the lingering sound of his voice in her mind. Amber and that voice? A cello in a fragrant wood.

Proposals were very romantic things when done properly.

"This is the part where you give me an answer, Grace."

"Oh," she laughed, and her cheeks bloomed with enough heat to make her eyes water. "An answer." She looked down at their hands, braided together in the night as if…as if they belonged. Could he learn to love her for more than money? Even if he didn't, holding hands with a man who smelled of amber, looked like a dashing villain, and kissed like a rogue couldn't be the worst of futures. "Yes, I'll marry you."

She felt his devastating smile all the way to her heart.

"But remember, I've been sure to list off my many vices, so whatever awaits us, prepare yourself for the need of a great deal of fortitude."

He raised his brows and squeezed her fingers, his expression creasing with a little uncertainty. "I'm looking forward to the journey."

The man was delusional, and the very thought made her like him even more. Perfect and dashing caused too much intimidation, but delusional and dashing? She could fit into a world with a man like that—maybe—if she could just figure out what exactly a countess was supposed to do.