Page 42 of The Mistletoe Countess
No response.
“Take care of Mr. Patton.” Grace’s voice pitched higher as the water rose to her waist. “I’ll swim to shore.”
“What?” Swim to shore? “I won’t leave you.”
She shot him a look of utter confusion, brow crinkled into questions, her fingers moving to unfasten the buttons on the side of her skirt. “We have no time to argue. I am alert and capable. Mr. Patton is not.”
His gaze followed her busy fingers as her skirt slid away revealing the white ruffles of her petticoat beneath the murky water. “What…what are you doing?”
“I cannot very well swim with that massive piece of cloth attached to my body, can I?” She released the most exasperated breath. “Do you want me to sink like a stone?”
“I wantLady Astleyto keep her clothes on in public,” he seethed through gritted teeth.
“Then I shall make a fully clothed corpse,” she responded with as much venom.
Her words hit him with more force than the chill of the water. “I will not have you emerge from—”
“This is not one of those moments to concern yourself with etiquette, Lord Astley.” The water submerged Grace almost to the chest level, covering any impropriety, but Frederick knew whatwasn’ton her body.
Patton tipped over in the front seat and with barely a sound, sank beneath the water.
“Now is the time to be a hero and rescue poor Mr. Patton from drowning.” She pinned him with a look. “If you don’t, I’ll be forced to try, and then you’ll be left without a wife or a chauffeur.”
Her threat, along with a sudden rush of water up to his chest, propelled him into motion. He crawled out of his window, holding to the side of the car, and tugged the lifeless Mr. Patton out the window, resting the chauffeur’s head against his shoulder. Through the space of the car, Frederick caught a glimpse of a hatless, bobbing ginger head slicing through the water on the other side. He groaned.
She’d removed her shirtwaist too. He shot his gaze heavenward in silent prayer for help…or patience. Maybe both.
With a shove from the side of the car, he turned Patton on his back and swam toward the embankment, the cold water stinging through his body. A crowd had gathered atop the bridge, some still running down the road from town, all ages.
What an introduction of the new Countess of Astley. He pinched his eyes closed, envisioning Grace emerging from the water in nothing but a union suit, casting decorum to the wind and loosening every scathing tongue in Derbyshire. He’d spent months attempting to avoid any possible scandal—and had curbed it somewhat, even with the bride debacle—but now, on his first day back home, he’d opened the gates with a near-death experience and an untamed bride.
As Frederick neared the shore, he searched the crowd for his wife, but she wasn’t there. His breath seized, and he turned back to the river. She wasn’t too far from him, but instead of emerging, she waited at chin level, moving in a peculiarly disjointed way beneath the chilly water, her lips almost blue.
What in heaven’s name was she doing? As soon as his feet hit bottom, he pulled Patton onto the rocky shore and surged back toward the river, but just as he made it waist-deep, there she was, nearing the shore, completely covered in her soaking skirt and shirtwaist, as if she’d never taken them off.
He held out a hand to assist her, and she shot him a saucy grin. “I swam with them in my arms, in case you’re wondering.” She whispered with a wink, “I am a wild thing, but notthatwild. Though”—they reached the edge and she pulled back her skirt to reveal stockingless feet—“I couldn’t carry my boots too, but I doubt anyone will notice with all the excitement.”
He stared at her. The woman was baffling. He had the strange urge to shake her by the shoulders before pulling her against him to ensure she was safe. As he tugged her forward, contemplating his next act, rousing applause sounded from the gathering crowd, followed by a few men running down the embankment to assist them.
Patton moaned, raising his head from his reclined position on the grass. A purple welt shone on his forehead. He focused his gaze on Frederick and blinked, eyes widening. “Sir?”
“Our shop’s just across the bridge, my lord.” Mr. Quincy rushed forward, the shopkeeper’s wife at his side with an armful of blankets. “Won’t you rest there until we can bring a car around?”
“And Jimmy’s gone for the doctor,” Mrs. Quincy added, wrapping a blanket around Grace’s shoulders like the grandmotherly sort she was. “Your ladyship.”
“Thank you so kindly, Mrs.…?”
“Quincy, your ladyship.” The woman stared at Grace as if she wanted to pull her into her arms, which Frederick, knowing the kindly lady as he did, suspected was exactly what Mrs. Quincy was thinking too. “And it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, though I would wish not under such circumstances as these.”
“You are very kind,” Grace added, leaning forward to kiss the woman on the cheek.
After the near-death experience, Frederick chose to completely overlook Grace’s tender breach of decorum. From the look on Mrs. Quincy’s face, the moment would likely be remembered by the Quincy family line for decades to come.
He took Grace by the arm and followed the Quincys while Mr. Lorde, the baker, assisted Patton. Grace shivered against him, her teeth chattering loud enough for him to hear. He tugged her closer to his side, wrapping the blanket more tightly about her.
Frederick sent one of the lads, Thomas, ahead to fetch the carriage with their servants and trunks so that dry clothes could be brought back. The boy dashed off with a nod.
As Frederick and Grace crested the hill and reached the road, the crowd size had doubled, the faces of the familiar folks all pale and worried. Frederick drew in a deep breath and forced a smile. “I think this is proof that Havensbrooke is overdue for a more modern vehicle. Wouldn’t you all agree?”
