Page 1 of The Mistletoe Countess
Chapter One
November 25, 1913
Willow, Virginia
Every fairy tale needed an appropriate castle.
Gracelynn Ferguson gripped the Model T’s window frame and leaned forward, breath caught in a suppressed gasp. An unexpectedly warm November breeze brushed against her heated cheeks, inciting a thrill of anticipation. As if two black curtains rolled back on a stage, a pair of ornate iron gates stood on either side of the drive, welcoming the car forward.
Grace angled farther, waiting for the great unveiling and holding her hat in place against the wind.
One turn around a hedgerow of braided vines showcased this hidden gem of the Blue Ridge Mountains. The palace of the Shenandoah.
Whitlock.
Framed by blue-tipped mountains and rolling green hills, the Italian-style mansion stood as an edifice of white marble and colonnades, with two dazzling towers at each corner gleaming in the late morning sunlight. Yes, it was indeed very castle-like and the perfect place for her sister and the Earl of Astley to begin their lifelong romance.
“Good heavens, Grace, sit back before the servants see you hanging your head out the window like a dog.” Lillias’s reprimand sliced into Grace’s whimsical admiration, but Grace shrugged off her sister’s rebuke with a deep breath of…pine.
Ah, country life suited her sensibilities much more than their stuffy Richmond town house. And Whitlock? Her favorite place in all the world, with a labyrinth of familiar passageways and spaces to explore or hide in from stuff-shirted wedding guests, as the case may be.
“Really, Grace. The wind is loosening your hair from its pins.” Her sister’s voice pinched tight. “I’ll not have my future husband embarrassed at the sight of you showing up in such a state.”
“No one will notice me when you’re near.” Grace pushed her loose strands from her face and twisted her neck to appreciate how Whitlock’s snowy towers contrasted against the azure sky. The towers served as excellent hiding spots too.
“They’ll certainly notice if a ginger-headed wildling enters the house instead of the refined young lady you aresupposedto be.” Lillias’s volume hovered on the edge of unladylike. “And Mr. and Mrs. Whitlock were so kind to offer their home for the house party. Would you wish to embarrass them too?”
Grace pulled her head inside so quickly she almost hit her cloche hat on the frame. The last thing she’d ever wish was to bring pain to Whitlock’s magnanimous master and mistress. Though she couldn’t quite understand how her unruly hairstyle would shame the Whitlocks. If anything tempted trouble, it was her scandalous red hair, whatever its coiffure.
“Grace.” Her father’s deep voice melted into the conversation, a soft familiar rumble. “It’s a mercy that you’re not the one marrying an English earl, or the poor man would have a job on his hands.”
Her grin perked at her father’s gentle teasing. “Which is why I’m particularly glad my sister bears the burden of marrying for circumstance, so that I can engage myself to some insignificant farmer and live in obscurity with my garden, books, and passel of rambunctious children.”
“Oh, good heavens,” Lillias pressed her fingers into her forehead and shrank back into the black leather seat. “You say the most ridiculous things.”
“Besides, I don’t plan to think of marriage until I’m forced to by circumstances, will, or heart.”
“Our Grace has too many adventures to be had with her Sherlock Holmes, I’d say?”
Grace sighed at her father’s mention of the detective and his thrilling escapades. “Indeed, Father dear, I prefer my current, delightful predic-ament of being wholly unattached—except to my fictional heroes, of course. It’s a perfect occupation for watching Lillias’s romantic story unfold without having to delve into it myself.”
“This is a business transaction, Grace. Don’t try to romanticize it.” Her sister groaned. “And please refrain from your book discussions when Lord Astley is present, won’t you? Half of the time I can’t tell which people are real and which are fictional.”
Lillias looked positively exhausted, and with thoughts of her impending marriage being a business transaction, no wonder. Grace marveled at her sister’s ability to keep her emotions so well-controlled—and with training from the hawk-nosed tutor Father had hired to prepare Lillias for life in the British aristocracy, it made sense—but the past few weeks, her sister’s well-honed control had appeared a bit more frayed than usual. “I’ll only speak of all your many attributes to ensure Lord Astley falls in love with you before the week’s end so this business transaction will prove more about hearts than money and titles.”
“You read too many books, Grace.” Lillias sighed, her pale eyes suddenly older than they ought to be. “Love isn’t necessary. Money is.”
Grace’s entire soul revolted against the idea. “But I’m certain it’s helpful, particularly related to marriage.”
“How little you understand the world.”
“You could seek one and gain both,” Father added, his eyes velvety with memory of their mother—a woman of substantial means in her own right before their father, with his new money, wooed her into mat-rimony…and then love.
But marrying someone you didn’t find the least bit fascinating? Grace shrugged off the incomprehensible possibility. “Even though you only met Lord Astley’s mother on your last trip to London, it doesn’t mean your groom isn’t going to give you his heart as soon as he sees you. Who wouldn’t? He’ll hardly be able to wait a week to make you his bride.”
“Don’t marry me off so quickly, Sister dear.” Lillias’s sharp look stilled Grace’s smile. “Be sure, I intend to make wise use of thefullweek I still have as Lillias Ferguson, and despite his dowager mother’s many accolades of her son and initiation of this entire arrangement, we are still strangers.” She offered a weak laugh, a distraction, if Grace knew her sister at all. “Besides, I wouldn’t wish to leave my family too soon, you understand.”
A twinge of something indefinable pricked Grace’s mind, and she gave her sister another lingering stare, studying the shifting of her gaze, the dip in her brow. Grace turned her attention back to the house. If Lillias did express more “high emotions,” as her father called them, who could blame her? Marrying a complete stranger for a title? Any thoughtful woman should flinch at the very idea!
