Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

Her father had wept when he learned of the engagement.

Wept and apologized while holding her within an embrace Grace had known her whole life. It had all seemed rather lovely last evening on the terrace, but now, in daylight? The truth settled with finality over her heart. All the plans she'd made for her future, all her daydreams, plummeted into a monotony of social expectations and fashionable conversations. What about her own adventures? Her passion for becoming a daring heroine in possible life-threatening situations?

She wiped a hand over her damp cheeks and dropped down at her bedroom window seat to rest her forehead against the cold pane. The horizon of mountains and sky beckoned her heart to trust in One who weaved the patterns of life and death and adventures and romances together in the tapestry of eternity. Would He work this decision out for good? He knew she had done it all for the right reasons.

She breathed out a long breath and sat up. She'd made her decision, and crying didn't help. But the ache reverberating through her chest found no other release except through her eyes. God, help me.

"I see reality is settling in, my dear." Grace looked up to find Mrs. Whitlock entering the room, her salt-and-pepper hair pulled back in a becoming way.

The illustrious mistress of the manor offered a gentle smile and took a seat beside Grace. The Whitlocks had been one of the few in the wedding party who'd learned the whole truth of Lillias's situation. Otherwise, the simple narrative had been shared that Frederick's affections had transferred to the younger Ferguson daughter and an amiable transition had taken place for the wedding. It had sounded so simple and, in many ways, true. Lord Astley desired a wife who didn't already belong body and soul to someone else, but the lingering awareness that love was nowhere in the decision weighed upon Grace.

She wiped her face with the back of her hand and then groaned at forgetting to use her handkerchief like a lady. "I don't know if I can do this."

Mrs. Whitlock tipped her chin in a thoughtful manner. "And why do you suppose you can't?"

Grace stared at the dear woman as if she'd lost her mind. "I know little about what life is like as an earl's wife. I'm not worldly and elegant and witty. What if I ruin his entire legacy?"

"I have known you your whole life, Grace." Mrs. Whitlock chuckled. "And I don't believe you have the ability to bring down the entire Percy family."

Grace sighed with a sudden sense of relief. If Mrs. Whitlock said so, it had to be true. She'd been raised among the aristocracy.

"You don't recognize it, my dear"—she took Grace's hand, her smile kind—"but you already possess the tools within you not only to survive but to thrive in this choice, perhaps even more so than your sister."

Mrs. Whitlock spoke with such confidence that there had to be a semblance of truth somewhere in her optimistic ravings, and Grace adored optimism in any form.

"How can that be? Lillias had training to become a countess. I can't even remember which fork to use at dinner."

"My dear Grace." Mrs. Whitlock's gentle countenance smoothed away even more of Grace's worry. "Embrace his world as your own, and in doing so, you will find your place."

"What do you mean?"

"Despite your misgivings, you make a fine match. Your optimism suits his reserve. His thoughtfulness compliments your action. The pair-ing is far from hopeless." Her brow rose. "But as is true of any marriage, you will have to work for your happily-ever-after. Noblemen carry a burden far beyond themselves, so to win his favor, you must learn to love his land, his home."

"Havensbrooke?"

"He shoulders the weight of generations. It is a heavy burden, so if you support him—love his world as freely and fully as you love so many other things—he will respond to you." Her smile softened. "With as full a heart, if I am any judge of men."

"So by caring for Havensbrooke, I could nurture a friendship with Lord Astley?"

"I have every faith you'll nurture much more than friendship." She raised a finger in warning. "But it's no easy feat, my dear. You will be faced with trials from a dowager mother who, by all accounts, is not even-tempered and has had her way with the place for years now. The servants may be rigid in their ability to see you as their mistress, and Lord Astley will feel the pull of conventions and expectations of his rank and station. His world will be very different than yours. But you are strong, brave, and filled with imagination. Remember who you are and what you believe. You were made for this moment, Grace."

Mrs. Whitlock's smile offered such tender encouragement that Grace almost started crying again. The woman had witnessed Grace's childish misadventures and triumphs and had watched her grow into the distracted, whimsical young lady she'd become. And being from England herself, Mrs. Whitlock brought a unique view into a world Grace had only glimpsed through the pages of books. Could dear Mrs. Whitlock be right?

Despite a tremor in her chest, Grace smiled. If God chose her for this task and knew she stepped into it with all the best intentions, wouldn't He also provide everything she needed to fulfill it?

"You've never been the pampered, indulgent sort. And you have an amenable and adaptable demeanor, which will prove indispensable to your and Lord Astley's happiness. So many of the less successful American brides in the past failed to reach beyond their differences and disappointments or failed to employ their imaginations to assist them in the transition from our world to Britain. Continue in your kindness, even when it's not returned. Sprinkle your very special type of joy on the shadowed parts of his world, and you will glean more than I think even you can imagine, my dear girl."

Grace wiped away the remnants of tears from her cheeks and sat a little taller at the compliment. Why, if what Mrs. Whitlock said was true, Grace had plenty of resources from which to draw at least an adequate amount of courage. "More than I can imagine? It sounds like an adventure worth the risks."

"Indeed it does." Mrs. Whitlock squeezed Grace's hand and offered a smile that somehow held power enough to evoke a great deal of confidence. "You hold to the same faith as I, but even more than that, your Creator holds to you. No matter where you go or what the expectations are, you are not alone. Remember who you are, and you will not only survive, but you will flourish."

With the flurry of transition in plans and only one day until a wedding, Grace had few opportunities to spend time with Lord Astley more than meals and one turn around the garden with a party of six. He'd remained polite and pleasant enough, keeping his conversation well-honed except for a rather stimulating discussion about their mutual pleasure in reading The Mystery of Innisworth —he'd liked it as much as her, by all accounts—and an enthralling discussion about Havensbrooke and his desire to restore it. Mrs. Whitlock's words settled deeper into Grace's spirit. Love his world and win his heart.

Oh, to win her husband's heart! Wouldn't that be a lovely adventure?

Grace was just contemplating those words on her way to the Music Room for a final evening of conversations and games, when someone grabbed her hand and pulled her into the shadows of the Mahogany Room. Strong arms wrapped around her to keep her from stumbling, and the sudden scent of amber hinted of the identity of her assailant.

"I apologize for startling you." Lord Astley's deep voice pearled a delicious warmth around her as inviting as his scent. "But it is nearly impossible to find some privacy in this house, and I mean to speak with you before tomorrow."

She looked up from the cocoon of his arms, his face half hidden in shadow. "Our sudden transfer of affections for one another has caused quite a stir."

"Yes, that." His grin tipped. "I'm afraid it was Blake's idea to circum-vent a scandal."

"I doubt anyone who really knows Lillias or me believes it." She shook her head, slipping back a step from him. "The very notion that you would choose me over Lillias is beyond imagination, Lord Astley, and I am a great proponent of imagination."

"Frederick," his voice swooped low in a tingle-down-her-neck sort of way. Oh, was this marvelous response attraction? She liked it a great deal. Very magical. "In private you may call me Frederick."

Frederick? It sounded lovely in her head. She worked the syllables over her tongue as amber shrouded her in a tantalizing hue. "Frederick…is a very nice name."

"I believe Grace is nicer." His gaze softened, watching her in a most curious way. What was he thinking? Did he find her pretty doused in moonlight? It probably gave her hair a much less fiery glow.

"You don't seem quite so aloof when we are alone." She swallowed against the sudden knot in her throat at his nearness. "Not that we've been alone a great deal, but the few times we have, you've been more…approachable."

"I want you to feel as though you may always approach me."

The quiet room paired with his nearness left her uncharacteristically speechless. She was marrying him in the morning. Surely she could usher up something to say, especially since he was encouraging her freedom to speak and all of that. Her throat tightened around another whiff of amber.

"Mrs. Whitlock said that you've been poring over architecture books in your leisure hours the past two days."

"Oh yes! In one of our earlier conversations you had mentioned that you'd welcome my help with Havensbrooke's improvements."

"Indeed I would." He studied her, his face unreadable in the dark, but then he wrapped his hand around hers and led her to a nearby couch, settling beside her. "My grandmother was an integral part of the estate business with my grandfather." He had positioned himself so that the firelight played across his strong, angled features and his eyes glowed amber gold. "I should like a similar partnership between us. Something, if you'll forgive me, your sister would not have offered, I don't believe. But I hope, perhaps, we can find such an alliance."

Was he complimenting her? Even over Lillias? No one had ever done that except her grandfather. She'd flattered herself that she was her grandfather's favorite, if favorites were to be had, but he was a bit of a trouble-maker too. "I find the entire thought of reworking a house or designing gardens enthralling, like an adventure of sorts. A puzzle to be solved, you know? There are quite a few innovations related to hydraulic-powered fountains. Have you heard of them?"

A shock of a laugh burst from him. "You do fix yourself to something quite passionately, don't you?"

She looked down at her lap, fidgeting with her gloves as a swell of heat rose up her neck. "Another vice to add to the list, I'm afraid."

"Or virtue?"

Yes, he did keep growing handsomer, especially when he spoke sweetly. Amazing how kind words could impact one's appearance. "Please hold to that interpretation as long as you can. Then perhaps I won't become such a nuisance."

He chuckled, a warm sound that awakened wonderful tingles across her shoulders. "I can be rather gruff at times, and Havensbrooke hasn't afforded many happy memories for me, I'm afraid, but I'll endeavor not to bring such shadows into your life, if I can."

She studied his profile. He carried a heaviness she could almost see. She had the greatest urge to cover his hand with her own. It waited on the cushion between them. Was it proper for a fiancée to take such liberties? She had no idea! She sighed. This attraction and marriage business was mentally taxing. "I can become cross when I'm stuck indoors for too long."

His grin crooked. "Is that so?"

She traced a finger along the cushion nearest his hand, trying to work up the courage to touch him. He had such nice hands. Strong with long fingers. "My father used to call me his fairy child because I was drawn to nature like a creature of the forest." Her attention came back to his face, searching his unreadable expression. "But I will try my best to learn what I must for Havensbrooke…and for you. I do so want you to like me for more than my money."

His smile flashed for a second before he quelled it. "And I should hope you'll like me for more than my title."

"I don't know a great deal about titles, so you're already at an advantage."

He turned toward her, close, studying her face with such intensity she thought…maybe…he'd kiss her again. If she was prepared this time, she'd do a much better job of responding in kind. She'd imagined a second chance over and over and felt certain she'd sorted out where her hands should go.

"Grace." Her name radiated across the inches between them, somehow touching her pulse. How had her simple name suddenly taken on feeling? "I want this marriage to be more than an exchange of money and titles. We've both been thrust into positions we were never meant to fill, and I don't take your choice lightly."

She stared at the bowed head of this dashing man and, paired with little glimpses and phrases he'd mentioned of a childhood much less happy than her own, some untouched part of her heart opened to him. What would it be like to really feel loved by him? And to love him in return? If she looked close, beyond the grand earl and all of those connections, she had the slightest inclination Frederick Percy was in as much search of happiness as she. With a timid hand, she slid her fingers across the cushion to wrap around his.

His gaze shot to hers, the faintest hint of a smile touching his eyes, and without breaking his focus on her face, he turned his hand to envelop hers. Sparks erupted in her chest at the warm touch of his skin against hers.

"I'm certain it will take all of my money to match your forbearance, but I assure you, when I stumble it will be from the very best intentions to do right by you." His thumb moved across her knuckles, and she nearly forgot what she was saying. "I…fumble often but almost always from good intentions."

"Almost?" His dark brow rose, his question a mere whisper.

"I have red hair." She unleashed her smile. "You can't expect me to have perfect intentions all of the time."

His grin flashed as if he wanted to laugh, and then a tenderness fell over his features, somehow drawing her closer to him. Or was he moving toward her?

His fingers tightened around hers, and he brushed a palm against her cheek. Air whooshed from her lips at the unexpected touch. With a trembling breath, she copied his movement, pressing her hand against his face, the angle of his strong jaw fitted inside her palm. In an achingly slow approach, his mouth found hers. Gentle, a whisper of a touch, but it shook through her, pooling a warmth in her chest and dispersing it in waves through her body. His free palm slid to curl around the back of her neck, his thumb grazing her ear. Nothing in any novel ever described such a delicacy as this. A sudden sense of belonging washed through her.

Oh heavens! If this was a foretaste of marriage to Frederick Percy, then bring on the wedding bells.

He pulled back, and she blinked open her eyes, a surprising sheen of tears invading her vision of his face. "Thank you, Lord Astley."

His breath quivered slightly, as his palm slipped over her cheek. "And to what do I owe your gratitude?"

"For that lovely kiss."

"I've kissed you before, if you remember." He studied her, his thumb trailing to her chin, brow raised. "And more thoroughly."

"But this time you knew who you were kissing and continued to do so anyway."

His lips tipped ever so slightly, and he gave her hand another squeeze. "My dear Grace, it seems that my mistaken kiss wasn't so mistaken after all."