Page 107 of The Mistletoe Countess
Romance, mystery, murderess, secret passageways, ghosts? She was living a novel and within only the first three weeks of marriage!
As soon as they returned to Havensbrooke, Frederick rang Detective Miracle, who was surprisingly asleep. But then Grace saw the clock and noted that it read two in the morning. Most people slept then, unless they were finishing an excellent book or participating in a ghost hunt, she supposed. Detective Miracle assured Frederick that he would go to the authorities with the information he’d collected and be on the first train from London in the morning.
Frederick and Grace slept a few hours, took an early breakfast, and alerted Lady Moriah that they would like to see her.
Would this encounter prove the most difficult one of all? Was her dear hero prepared for whatever they might uncover? Grace had already worked through ten possible scenarios.
“What do you think Celia has planned? She gave a clear threat to you at the party.”
“I don’t know, but we must keep our heads.” He placed his hand over Grace’s on his arm as they walked toward Lady Moriah’s room. “She’s not one to be trifled with.”
“Clearly she has practiced this plan before.” Grace shuddered at the sheer cleverness of the scheme. “SheisLady de Winter.”
“Except, my darling, she’s quite real.” His gaze met hers, and for the first time, she noticed the smallest hint of fear. “And dangerous.” He stopped at his mother’s door and brought Grace’s knuckles to his lips. “As much as I adore your cleverness, you are not Lady Molly of Scotland Yard who can survive on the page.”
Poor man, he really didn’t understand how very educational mass reading could be. Money-seeking murderer was not an unfamiliar arche-type in fiction, and with Celia’s threats from the night before, Grace knew the most dangerous part of the story happened next. Most likely someone would receive a mysterious note or be kidnapped or find that one of the servants had inexplicably disappeared, and all just before the authorities could arrive to nab the scoundrel. That was exactly when the hero and heroine were placed in the most life-threatening situation of all. Though she hadn’t quite worked out what Celia might choose. Fire? No, it seemed too obvious. Shooting? Not very creative.
At any rate, Grace had already thought through three different ways to escape a kidnapping, which is why she had a pair of scissors in her pocket.
She touched Frederick’s cheek and brought her lips to his, lingering in the sweet sensations of skin on skin. His arms slipped around her, engulfing her in that wonderful feel of safety she’d come to adore. She pulled back far enough to look into his eyes. “I’m not afraid.”
“That’s what concerns me.”
“Do you know why?”
“Because you’ve reread Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s works often enough to calculate Celia’s next move?”
Grace laughed at his exasperated attempt to reprimand her. “No, though you may be surprised at how much I have gleaned from the trials of Violet Strange or Dora Myrl. I’m not afraid, because we have each other. Two very good brains, if I may say so.” She tugged him toward Lady Moriah’s door. “Let’s finish this so we can move on to our next adventure together.”
Grace slipped her hand into Frederick’s as he knocked on his mother’s door, the simple touch easing the tension in his jaw. There was something infinitely dear in that sort of power to soothe some of the weariness in his world. A tenderness stole over her, hints of it she’d experienced throughout the passing weeks. Love. A caress over the crinkles of life. A hand to hold in the dark. Or lips to kiss during a storm. Yes, she loved him.
Lady Moriah’s voice ushered them inside.
She greeted them with her usual impassive expression, hands folded on her lap, every wrinkle giving off a very Miss Havisham waxiness, but Grace had seen beneath the veneer. In Lady Moriah’s uninhibited moments of sleepwalking, in the chinks in her stoic condescension, brokenness hovered just beneath the surface.
“We’ve come to speak to you about a serious matter, Mother.”
One of her brows tipped. “Have you finally procured some hovel in the village where you can banish me?”
“We’ve come to inquire after Edward’s death.”
The wax melted off her expression, but she quickly recovered, straightening her spine in a defensive move. Her eyes darkened to steely coldness. “I don’t see how discussing that horrific day is of any benefit.”
“We’ve not discussed it, Mother.” He stepped closer, stance as tense as hers. “I never asked the questions I should have. I never stopped to see the inconsistencies.”
“I am sorry I pushed you so quickly toward finding a wife.” She raised a palm, a sudden softening of her features giving off an artificial concern. “I feel certain the pressure has been overwhelming.” Her gaze flitted to Grace with a grimace tagged on. “I see the errors of my haste.”
“No, Mother. Grace is the best decision that’s been made about my life in years.”
Grace almost melted into the carpet. What a man!
“But now is the time for answers.”
“There are no answers.” Lady Moriah stood, faster than Grace had ever seen her move. “Death doesn’t give any. Leave the dead in peace.”
“Not when it impacts the living.”
“We know about the hemlock.”
