Page 109 of The Mistletoe Countess
“You lost them because of Celia.” He tried to pull his hand away, but she held on. “This is the time in the story where one slip from our focus can lead to disaster.”
“This is not a story, Grace.” He jerked away. “This ismylife.Myloss.” He turned his ire back to his mother. “I’ve always wanted to do right by you. My whole life you kept the one thing I longed for most from me. Your acceptance. You’ve not only withheld your affections, you’ve stolen my brother and father from me. You’ve attempted to ruin me and this family.”
Lady Moriah turned away, pressing a handkerchief to her face.
“Frederick Percy,” Grace clapped her hands on both sides of his face, forcing his attention to her. “Youare not ruined.Weare not ruined. Havensbrooke may be your home, but it’s not your legacy. How we live, who we love,thatis the true legacy.Thatis who you truly are.”
A knock broke into the gritty silence, and Frederick stumbled back from Grace, shaking his head, his gaze searing hers, still so lost in his indignation.
Brandon entered. “I’m sorry to disturb you, sir, but an Inspector Clarkson is downstairs to see you.”
“Clarkson?” Grace looked to Frederick, who barely glanced her way. “Didn’t Detective Miracle mention an Inspector Reynolds?”
“I’ll be there at once.” Frederick shot his mother another glare and turned toward the door.
“Frederick. I’m not certain—”
“I cannot discuss forgiveness and hope right now, Grace.” His hand sliced the air. “Not now.”
The door slammed behind him, shattering through the tension in the room. Grace braced herself with a palm to the back of a nearby wingback. Her husband had been dealt a blow to his soul. Perhaps time and distance from his mother would provide clarity.
Grace turned to Lady Moriah. The strong, powerful woman from days before withered beneath her admissions, her soul as frail as her body. In a few halting steps, Grace sat next to her at the window.
“Haven’t you done enough?” the woman muttered. “All of this started when you arrived.”
Grace ignored the remark. “I can’t imagine what grief you’ve carried to keep this secret for so long.”
The gentle answer brought Lady Moriah’s attention around. She studied Grace, eyes narrowing. “What do you want?”
“I want your help.” Grace stared right back. “Can you search your memory for anything to prove what Celia’s done? Anything at all? For the son you do have.”
Lady Moriah shook her head but paused. “There might be something.” She stood and walked to her desk, cane tapping against the floor in a crescendo of anticipation. “It’s half burned, though I think the intention is clear.”
“Burned?” Grace followed.
“One of the maids found it in Celia’s fireplace and brought it to me.” Moriah raised her chin. “I promoted her to my lady’s maid at that point to ensure she didn’t rattle on about what she’d uncovered. But Dr. Ingle’s signature is clear.”
Lady Moriah sifted through a box on her desk, drawing out a crumbled, half-scorched page and handing it to Grace.
Grace skimmed over the writing, pausing on a few sentences.
Do not bully me. I will not be privy to another one of your schemes. Already I covered your first—burn marks blocked the words—death of a good man. I will not provide arsenic or anything else. I will not. There is enough blood on my hands. Threaten as you—burns blocked the remainder of the sentence.
“This is proof of Dr. Ingles’s knowledge.” Grace looked up. “And Detective Miracle interviewed Dr. Ingle this morning, but Frederick and I haven’t had time to discuss his findings since our return from Leavenworth.” She waved the page. “If he refuses to talk, this will force his hand. Frederick will see the good of your giving this to us.”
“Don’t dangle your hope here,” she whispered, turning back to the window. “There is no redemption for me.”
“As long as you draw breath, there is a chance for redemption.” Grace covered the woman’s hand. “Even for you.”
The woman’s gaze faltered.
“Frederick and I saw you in the east wing at night. You must have been sleepwalking.”
Her weary eyes took on caution. “You—you saw me.”
“Grief is a powerful force.”
The woman pressed her fist against her chest and looked away. “I would wake there some nights.”
