Page 53 of The Mistletoe Countess
Frederick had not returned by the time the dinner bell rang, so with great trepidation and a hearty tug at her necklace, she found her way to the grand dining room for her first dinner in Havensbrooke’s dining hall. Thick, ornate wooden molding framed the tall ceilings. Disrepair showed through the faded wallpaper that had turned a ghastly orange, but the eastern wall lined with floor-to-ceiling windows drew the eyes away from the walls and onto the gardens. An excellent use of windows.
Grace took her place a few seats from Lady Moriah, offering Brandon a smile as he pushed in her chair. Quiet shrouded the meal, thick and heavy with lingering disdain from her mother-in-law. Grace enjoyed silence involving libraries and evening strolls, or even the whispered breaths of a handsome man asleep at her side, but this sort of quiet raked over her nerves like talons. She could practicallyfeelthe woman’s disapproval.
Kindness—as her grandfather had always said—was one’s greatest weapon.
“Have you enjoyed your day, Lady Astley?”
The older woman took a sip from her glass before answering. “I’ve had no company, no useful conversation, and nothing worthwhile to read.”
“That sounds like a horrible day.”
“I prefer my solitude, and it’s rare to find something truly enjoyable to read with all the silly dime novels littering the world. Dramatic drivel.”
Grace hid her gasp in her glass, but she thought perhaps Brandon heard it, if the look he sent her before focusing ahead again was any indication. “Perhaps you’ve not been given the right sort. They’re incredibly entertaining and filled with such adventure and—”
“How old are you?”
Grace sat up a little taller. “I’ll be nineteen on Christm—”
“You act much younger.” Her beady eyes pinned her until Grace almost squirmed. “But that is young enough for time and proper instruction to temper your inappropriate enthusiasm.”
“Have I been inappro—”
“You smile too much.”
Grace blinked at the severe interruption. “Smile too much?”
“And too broadly. It’s unnerving and exposes you as silly.”
A laugh tickled at the back of Grace’s throat. “Perhaps I’m happy.”
The woman singed her with a sharp look. “Time will cure that as well.”
The urge to laugh dwindled.
“You are not left to your own devices now, Lady Astley.” She scraped the wordladyfrom her throat. “You have stepped into the shoes of centuries, so you are no longer free to believe in your dime novels and fairy tales. It is time to grow up. You are responsible for securing an heir for this estate and ensuring my son completes his task of saving it. That is all, and it’s time you faced your new reality.”
Her voice nailed the words forward.
Grace refused to lower her gaze. “And where does making him happy fall into your plans?”
“Happiness is as fleeting as paper. It will neither buy a stone for this house or food for this table. The sooner you forget those fanciful ideas and turn your attentions to the purpose for which Frederick married you, the better for Havensbrooke. And Frederick.”
Grace’s breath puffed shallow. “How do you suppose someone came up with the idea for this beautiful home of Havensbrooke?”
The woman blinked. “What do you mean?”
“Or the oil landscapes so proudly displayed in this room. Do you suppose their creations stemmed from a lackluster indifference?”
Grace dared not reach for her glass, because her hands trembled from her attempt to maintain her composure.
“You talk nonsense, ridiculous girl.”
“Imagination, fanciful ideas, joy in the beauty around us inspires creativityandproductivity. Why can’t we have both the beautiful and the practical? The fantastical and the functional? Didn’t God create with both practicalityandpleasure?”
“You’ll be the embarrassment of us all with such drivel.” Lady Moriah’s jaw tightened, and she tossed her serviette to the table. “It is a sad reality that you care more for your daydreams than you do for others’ opinions of your husband and his legacy.”
“That is not true. Of course, I care—”
