Page 56 of The Mistletoe Countess
He was her only friend in England. And his mother wielded words like knives. How had he failed his wife so obviously?
“Lady Astley.” Blake bowed over her gloved hand with exaggerated flair, encouraging the addition of a brief sparkle in her eyes to the smile on her face.
“I see you found my husband.”
“Indeed.” Blake flashed Frederick a glance from his periphery. “The poor fellow looked lost without you.”
A rush of rose blushed her cheeks in a most fetching way but faded just as quickly. Frederick’s stomach panged in discomfort.
“Dinner is waiting for us,” Grace offered, chin high, gesturing toward the hall.
Blake extended his arm, sending a wink Frederick’s way. “Freddie, you won’t mind if I escort your lovely bride into dinner, will you?”
Frederick offered a begrudging nod and followed behind the pair into the dining room, where Mother already had taken her place.
At once, Grace’s demeanor shifted. Her smile faded, and her conversation diminished to basic answers. She even made some noncommittal reply to Blake’s question regarding her recent literary exploits. His mother kept the dialogue turned away from Grace as much as possible, sending subtle stings in the process.
Heat surged into Frederick’s face. He’d been such a fool!
He’d underestimated his mother’s influence. Whatever she’d said or done to steal Grace’s smile, he’d allowed by his absence at such a crucial time in their relationship. He was supposed to protect his wife, even from his mother, but within a paltry two days of their arrival in Derbyshire, he’d nearly gotten Grace killed in an automobile accidentandallowed his wife to endure alone the verbal attacks of his embittered mother.God, help me make amends!
And prove he could be the husband his wife needed.
Grace had chosen a simple, dark blue gown for her first visit to the parish of Astlynn Commons. She really couldn’t top the river incident as far as memorable introductions, no matter what fashion mishap she made, so at least she faced lowered expectations. Besides, Lillias had always said Grace looked heavenly in dark blue, so why not match the place and the compliment? Surely, she couldn’t fail withheavenlyat church. The gown boasted an empire waist with delicate embroidery over the elbow-length sleeves. A close-fitting, cream-colored hat embellished with matching blue ribbons topped the ensemble.
Lady Moriah had impaled Grace with more criticism during lunch the previous day, and some of the advice in theLadies of Refinementpam-phlet left Grace convinced she’d never reach the heights of “refinement” expected for a true lady. Certainly if she failed at being a lady, she’d never win Frederick’s heart.
She stared at her reflection. Her lips tipped downward in a sad little pout, her eyes almost…fragile. Lillias had been right. Grace hadn’t known the harshness and loneliness of the world outside her books and fairy tales. What loneliness Cinderella must have known in a world so bereft of the ones who loved her.
Heated tears warmed her eyes. Was this what the rest of her life would be? Isolation? Expending energy to suppress herself and pretend to be someone else? Even if her dashing husband slept beside her at night, he disappeared during the day, leaving her to the gaping emptiness of Havensbrooke and the verbal poison of his mother.
Oh, what must Frederick’s childhood have been like to live with such a woman!
Grace had spent a good half hour talking quite fervently with the Almighty that morning.
Lillias always considered Grace’s animated and friendly prayers sacri-legious, but if the King of heaven adamantly referred to her as not only His child but also His friend, why keep to pious formality? And she desperately needed a friend.
God hadn’t created her for plastic smiles and shallow relationships. She closed her eyes tight. This couldnotbe her future.
She shook her head and dared her reflection to wilt. Heroines were not weak creatures. They captured their own futures. Forced fate’s hand.
What of Jo March, Shakespeare’s Beatrice, Jane Eyre?
Grace stood taller, her soul drawing from her reserves. She refused to allow Moriah Percy’s antagonistic disposition to steal any more hours or tears.
“You look lovely, my lady.” Ellie stood behind her as she stared into the full-length mirror. “There’s nothing to disapprove of in either your manner or appearance.”
Grace’s gaze shot to her shock of red hair, made all the more so by the hue of the gown. Oh well, there was no hiding it. And if God gave her this astounding color, He must have known she could wear it well—or at the very least, respectably.
With or without Frederick’s attention, Grace had to find a way to live well where God had placed her. For her own heart, if nothing else.
Let the dowager countess do her worst.
Chapter Seventeen
Sunlight filtered through leafy oaks among the quiet graves on either side of the cobblestone path to St. James. Frederick cast an apologetic look back to Grace as he escorted his mother ahead up the path to the church. The walkway only accommodated pairs. In Frederick’s defense, Grace had suggested he help his mother since she wobbled precariously against her cane when she stood for long. But the shift only pinned the truth deeper that Grace lived outside their world, their story.
The chasm of an ocean between England and home tripled in size, but Grace shook off the melancholy. If David in the Psalms had to remind himself of the truth when his heart trembled with fear, Grace could do no less.“Why art thou cast down, O my soul? and why art thou disquieted in me? hope thou in God: for I shall yet praise him for the help of his countenance.”
