Page 43 of The Mistletoe Countess
A round of laughter and a few relieved sighs greeted his response and stole some of the tension from the air. Grace shot him a look, but to her credit, she didn’t voice whatever percolated in that head of hers. He’d have to remember to give extra praise to God for small favors. He could almost guess the turn of her thoughts, but he’d not allow his mind to go there. It made no sense. The car was old, plain and simple. Scandal-free.
Yet Blake’s doubts crowded in, firming with more certainty.Another “accident”?
“Do you know what happened to cause the car to go all willy-nilly, ya lordship?” This from Arthur Lawrence, the blacksmith’s youngest.
“Artie,” his mother scolded, but Frederick tossed the lad a reassuring smile. These were good people. People his brother should have nurtured instead of ostracized. It had taken months for Frederick to garner greet-ings from the town folks when he walked the streets of Astlynn Commons after his brother’s death. So many things had been broken in his absence.
“I don’t know, and that’s the truth,” Patton defended from his place at Mr. Lorde’s side. “I’d serviced the car this morning myself, and everything proved in top-notch order for his lordship’s arrival.”
Grace studied his profile with such intensity, it almost burned, but he’d not indulge her. Not in front of half the town.
As they passed by the crowd, Frederick couldn’t help notice how the townspeople stared at his wife. He wasn’t certain what they’d expected in the new Lady Astley, but a sopping wet, ginger-headed, smiling swimmer wasn’t likely on the list. He squeezed her close and followed the Quincys through a door at the side of their shop into a small sitting area.
“If you’ll be so good as to wait here by the fire, I’ll fetch some tea.” Mrs. Quincy disappeared through another door.
“And I’ll take Mr. Patton upstairs to have a lie down till the doc can see him,” Mr. Quincy added. “John should be over with his car in no time, sir.”
“Thank you, Tom.” Frederick ushered Grace closer to the fire.
Her skirts left a water trail across the stone floor.
The room fell silent except for the crackling of the fire. Grace’s wet hair curled in disorganized ringlets around her face, and her purple lips trembled, but otherwise she seemed much too composed for a woman who’d just survived a car accident in the river. Perhaps she was in shock, but his shock was beginning to wear off, replaced by a deeper awareness that she could have died.
And it would have been his fault. His stomach pinched with sudden nausea. He took the blanket and used it as a towel to rub against her arms, garnering her attention. “Are you certain you’re well?”
“Other than ruining this lovely gown and shaking like a leaf, I am.” She pushed her hair from her face. “You have no idea how many times I’ve mentally planned to survive a mishap such as this.” Her smile brightened. “Of course I hadn’t factored you into my plan. You were a wonderful surprise.”
Frederick shifted closer to her, keeping his voice low for fear of eaves-droppers wondering at his wife’s mental health. Shock, certainly. “Are you saying you’ve envisioned driving off a bridge into a river?”
“Your lips are blue.” She took a corner of the blanket around his shoulders and dabbed at his mouth. “Clearly, you’ve never ridden with Father. It was necessary to sort out ways to survive a great many possibilities when he was at the wheel of an autocar.” With a sigh, she released the blanket and leaned closer to the fire “At least we can’t blame Anthony Dixon for this mishap, can we?”
Had he heard correctly? “Anthony Dixon?”
“He may have sliced your saddle strap, but he certainly didn’t follow us all the way to England to sabotage your car.” She tapped her chin and stared into the fire as if she hadn’t just shocked him senseless. “This must be someone much more sinister.”
“Anthony Dixon sliced my saddle strap at Whitlock?”
She turned back to him, drops of water slipping from her hair and making a trail down her face. “Why are you acting so surprised? Didn’t I tell you?”
“I think I would have remembered something as significant as almost dying at the hands of my former fiancée’s lover.” Even saying it aloud sounded so convoluted he had to replay the sentence in his mind to confirm he’d gotten it right. “How could you not have told me?”
She turned to face him, her brow pinched as ifhewas at fault. “I had planned to when I confessed everything about Lillias, but I was so distracted by the fact that you refused to accept my very polite marriage proposal, I must have forgotten.”
“You must have forgotten?” His volume rose louder than he’d intended.
“It’s an honest mistake, especially when a woman’s been jilted.”
He ran a hand through his wet hair and narrowed his eyes as his wife. “Did you know all along and keep it from me?”
“I only learned it just before Lillias and Anthony ran off together. And it was a fit of jealousy, Frederick. He never intended to kill you, only maim you a little to prolong his time with my sister whom he had been in love with for years.”
“Maim me a little?” Did she hear herself?
“He was immediately remorseful and tried to dispatch the saddle but didn’t have time without being caught.”
“You…you hid this from me.” He pointed his finger toward her, stepping closer. “How could you—”
“You have no right to point an accusing finger at me, Frederick Percy.” The fact she’d used his full name brought his argument to a complete stop. “You have someone trying to kill you, and it’s not Mr. Dixon, a fact you conveniently excluded from previous conversations with yourbride.”
