Page 7 of The Mistletoe Countess
Please, help this choice be the right one for Havensbrooke…and for me.He’d prayed for months. Pleaded. Offered his entire self for the remaking of his inheritance. Only God could work things to the good at this point. But couldn’t he at the least pray for his own heart too, even if he couldn’t be guided by it?
“I believe I shall enjoy my bit of American charm, Freddie. Indeed, this place is remarkable.”
Frederick slid a look to the doorway where Stephen Blake leaned against the frame, pale hair tousled in typical disarray and lackadaisical grin set in place, though the expression never fooled Frederick. Blake had the unnerving ability to keep a steady head while playing the part of a leisurely gentleman. If only Frederick held such expert skill.
But there was little to be done for Blake, and no better friend in all the world. Frederick’s home had always been one of gravity and expectation, but Blake’s existence provided an almost necessary levity.
Always had.
“Remarkable indeed,” came Frederick’s slow reply. Yet the word seemed a flimsy descriptor for the opulent country estate. The drive in from the train depot featured pristine landscaping and manicured lawns, all framed by a sea of purplish-blue mountains. Then the house? An Italian revivalist villa of white marble and updated features: en suite lavatories, electricity, even a lift!
He focused back on his cousin, his gaze dropping to Blake’s bandaged hand. “How are you?”
Blake shrugged a shoulder, his grin taking a turn. “A mere flesh wound.”
Frederick shook his head and held to the levity of Blake’s response. If it hadn’t been for Blake, the car in the village would have hit Frederick head on, and Blake had already been nursing a hand wound from the disaster at the docks. A hollowed-out feeling reverberated in his stomach. No! Let the accidents keep Blake on edge. Frederick had enough to busy his mind.
“Thank you for being here, Blake.”
“It’s good to keep an extra set of eyes about.” Blake held to his smile, but his gaze sobered with an unspoken camaraderie. “I’m happy to provide them.”
Frederick attempted to ignore the steely weight Blake’s words set on his chest, but they took up residence anyway. “You should endeavor to enjoy yourself while you’re here, instead of worrying over a few accidents.”
“Accidents?” He raised a brow and waved away Frederick’s excuse. “You’re here to become a married man, and I’m here to see that the new Earl of Astley lives a great many years yet. You don’t have to agree with my concerns or methods, but I’ll not be dissuaded.” Blake’s smile vanished. “I didn’t like how your brother’s death was handled, and I’m not about to take a lazy approach to his successor taking up a mantle under which the previous two earls died unexpectedly. Something doesn’t sit right about all youraccidents.”He spat the word. “And until I feel satisfied, I won’t settle.”
Frederick twitched at the mention of his brother’s and father’s deaths, but he refused to be teased into another argument about it. “I fear spending time with your detective-cousin has sent you looking for invisible fiends, Blake.”
His cousin shoved his hands in his pockets and turned to the nearby window, promptly ignoring Frederick.
Frederick joined his cousin at the window. An afternoon fog cloaked the distant mountains in a ghostly shroud. “I shouldn’t have been so hasty to sign the contract.”
Blake released a slow sigh before turning. “Cold feet or…worse?”
Frederick thrust a hand through his hair, replaying various scenes from his time with Lillias Ferguson over the past two days. “After all that happened with Celia, perhaps I’m too cautious, too concerned about the slightest change of interest or turn of attention.” He groaned and dropped down into the nearest chair. “I…I cannot bring such disgrace on my family again, Blake.”
“Freddie, you fell in love with a social-climbing predator. You can’t take the blame for Celia’s depravity.”
“But my response didn’t help.”
“If you’re speaking of your mother, stop there. You know as well as I that her happiness and goodwill are as predictable as my sister’s fashion sense.”
“I shouldn’t have challenged her in front of a crowded room.”
Blake winced, and Frederick sunk back into the chair, sighing, his memory fresh from the sting of shame and betrayal. “Miss Ferguson is nothing like Celia, Freddie. Mark my words. She hasn’t the malicious air.”
“Perhaps not malicious, but some of the comments Miss Grace shared about her sister inadvertently suggest…unpredictable.”
“And you don’t think the youngest Ferguson is prone to exaggeration?”
“Indeed.” Frederick almost grinned. “Which is why I didn’t take much heed, but after my interactions with Lillias today, I’m beginning to wonder how untouched my future bride’s heart is.”
“What do you mean?”
“Today, as we engaged in a more personal and private conversation, she seemed to become friendlier. Before I left her, I took her hand and placed a rather intimate kiss to her wrist, and there was no response. No intake of breath. No shock at the touch. Not even a recoil, but quite indifferent.” Frederick ran a hand down his face. “As if…”
“She had experienced such liberties before.”
“I’m not naive enough to expect love, Blake.” Frederick shook his head. “She wants the social catapult, and I need the financial salvation. At best, I hope for camaraderie, and at worst, benevolent indifference. But anything more?” He rubbed at his chest as the ache ground deeper. “It is a commodity I cannot afford, even if I wish it.”
