Page 2 of The Mistletoe Countess
But something else pearled beneath the surface of her sister’s mood-iness. Or else Grace’s imagination had taken another indulgent turn. Of course Lillias had always wanted a grand and glorious life, so perhaps it would be worth the cost to her. She’d never been the sort to jettison an audience of admirers. Grace almost cringed. An audience of admirers? How positively dreadful!
“I’m certain you’ll find Lord Astley quite agreeable, Lillias.” Father tapped the cane he held between his knees. “Distinguished man. Most distinguished. A proper gentleman with an excellent understanding of landscapes.” Grace caught her chuckle in her gloved hand. Landscapes. The very pinnacle of romance. Her smile paused. Romance and marriage proved such daunting prospects in reality, but hidden within the pages of her beloved books, their appeal sparkled with magic and mystery. She sighed up at the familiar mansion, her attention drifting to the floor-to-ceiling windows of the library on the far left of the house.
Books were so much safer.
Their car rolled to a stop in front of a portico, where a few servants waited to greet them in their usual style. Ivy strung across the front, and red bows dotted at perfect intervals to create a lovely contrast against the bleached stone. Christmas at Whitlock! A house built by a besotted husband in honor of his beloved wife. Truly, how could Lillias and Lord Astley not fall in love at such a romantic house during such a romantic time of year?
With the customary welcome and care of Mrs. Evangeline Whitlock herself, Grace and Lillias were shown to their rooms. And as usual, the estate mistress placed Grace in the bedroom closest to the back library stairway—easy access to thousands of books and wonderfully far from the rest of the house. Grace had barely removed her cape before her feet turned in the direction of her heart.
“Don’t even think about it, Grace.” Lillias snatched Grace by the arm. “I saw your face when Mrs. Whitlock mentioned the most recent additions to the library. We meet Lord Astley in less than three hours, and I’ll not have you missing it all because of some book.”
But what a book!Fire in Stubble!Grace’s face warmed to the memory. Oh, roguish Michael… “If you’d read the book you’d understand.”
Lillias’s eyes wilted closed. “No I would not, because I recognize books for what they are. Pretty words, paper, and binding.” Lillias really shouldn’t refer to books in such a dismissive way, and Grace would have said so if she’d thought it would have made a difference. Grace tossed a lingering look to the secret stairway and released a sigh. Social engagements interfered with the most delightful bookish discoveries.
“I need you with me.”
The sudden quaver in the timbre of Lillias’s voice pulled Grace’s attention away from the coveted library doorway and into her sister’s pale gaze. Something uncommonly vulnerable flashed in those eyes, tugging Grace a step closer. “You don’t have to go through with this, Lillias. Are you so desperate for a title?”
Lillias opened her mouth as if to speak but snapped her lips closed, her expression stilling to placid. “I’ve become accustomed to a certain lifestyle and expectations. This marriage provides both and will only succeed in bringing our family into the best circles.”
“Can’t you wait? Spend a few more weeks getting to know your future husband?”
“No.” Lillias’s attention shifted away, and she dropped her hold on Grace’s arm. “There’s no need to wait.”
An undercurrent of something uncertain rippled through Grace. She touched Lillias’s cheek until her sister met her gaze. “He will fall in love with you, Lillias. I am sure of it. What man could do less?”
“I’m not concerned abouthisheart.” Lillias pulled away and walked toward the door, her whisper so soft Grace wasn’t certain she heard clearly. “Not his.”
The riffling of book pages hushed through the silent library, pulling Grace from the delights ofJane Eyre.She hadn’t been able to locateFire in Stubble,so she’d settled for a beloved favorite, determined to get in a few pages before the social tornado began. Had someone else eluded the cacophony of arriving guests too? Not that there was a scheduled event yet. Everyone planned to gather for the party and then dinner, but still, the expectation of mingling hovered in the air like Great-Aunt Eloise’s potent perfume.
Grace shuddered and pulled the book into her chest, peering over the balcony to the library’s lower level in search of another stealthy rebel. Not one burgundy seat stood occupied. A sound creaked from behind her in the direction of the guest bedrooms through the secret stairs.
Grace bit her bottom lip and froze—waiting—until the sound dissipated.
Oh, if Lillias found out she was in the library instead of taking a bath, she’d never hear the end of it. But who wouldn’t delay bubbles for a conversation featuring the dastardly Mr. Rochester?
With quiet steps, she tucked her book beneath her arm and hur-ried down the winding staircase toward the secluded window seat of the Mahogany Room—and ran directly into the chest of someone ascending. A strong someone, whose arms wrapped around her to keep her from tipping over the stair railing in an indecorous heap of blue velvet and Irish lace. The faintest hints of leather and amber teased her senses deeper into the sturdy embrace to ensure proper identification of the aromas.Yes, decidedly amber.She smiled her appreciation. Such a delightful scent.
“Pardon me.”
English?
Grace looked up from her cocooned place within the man’s arms and met a pair of eyes so dark they reminded her of chocolate. The bronze hues of his skin gave off a toffee glow. Oh heavens! A man who reminded her of chocolate-covered English toffee. Wouldn’t Lillias adore him! She loved toffee!
“You’re English!”
He tilted his head, examining her with a most intense stare. “I am.”
“I’m so sorry. Not that you’re English, of course. But that I nearly derailed you off the stairs.” She shifted back a little to get a better look at him. “You see, I was reading up on the balcony and thought I heard someone.” She gestured toward him. “And you must be that someone. How delightful to meet you.”
A quizzical look crossed his features. “And you are?”
“Oh, of course. Introductions.” Grace righted herself—as much as the tiny stairs allowed—and offered her hand. “Miss Ferguson.” “You’reMiss Ferguson?” His dark brows rose almost to his hairline, and Grace realized her mistake with a laugh.
“No, I’m notthatMiss Ferguson. I’m her younger sister, Grace.”
His expression softened a little, and he backed down the stairs, taking her hand until her feet settled firmly on the floor. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Grace Ferguson.”
