Page 27 of The Mistletoe Countess
“I won’t change my mind, if that’s what you’re worried about.” Her brow tilted in challenge, her sapphire gaze following him as he moved toward the door. “Another one of my many vices, Lord Astley, but I’ve found reason for it to be a virtue as well. I’m terribly good at solving problems, and this”—she waved a hand between them—“doesn’t have to become one.”
He stared at her, unable to muster a reply. His need for justice warred with his desire for compassion. She’d never been a part of the plan, nor did she deserve such a fate. But Havensbrooke had to come first. The decision clawed a raw ache through his middle.
There really was no choice.
Frederick found Blake in one of the three spots his cousin had occupied since arriving at Whitlock. The bowling alley. Blake’s life was looking more and more appealing with each passing catastrophe. Perhaps they could switch places as easily as Grace had with her sister.
He groaned and slowed his pace as he entered the long corridor, the clash of ball and pins welcoming him. No, it couldn’t have been an easy decision for her. What woman would wish for another woman’s intended?
Blake took in the news with nothing more than a quizzical brow, even as Frederick divulged the entire affair to his friend, complete with the possible scandal in the papers when the bride’s name changed.
“I really think you ought to add a bowling alley to your improvements of Havensbrooke, Freddie. A jolly good way to spend a rainy day, if you ask me.”
Frederick pinched the bridge of his nose and released a long-suffering sigh. “Blake, have you heard one word I’ve said? My former fiancée has eloped with the father of her unborn child, and her younger and much less experienced sister has offered to take her place as the Countess of Astley.” Frederick shoved a hand through his hair and paced from the scoreboard on the wall to the window on the opposite side. “When I told Lillias Ferguson to enjoy the remnants of her freedom, I had no idea she’d take my well wishes so liberally.”
“Pass that ball, will you?” Blake gestured toward the bowling ball the servant brought forward, without one hint of concern. “It was certainly a poor choice on her part, though she didn’t quite seem your type.”
“What? Monogamous?” Frederick grabbed the heavy white ball and shoved it into Blake’s stomach. “How can you take all of this so lightly? Everything has changed.”
“Your circumstances, despite the shock, have not altered all that much.” He rolled another ball toward the pins and took down all but one. “You will still gain a dowry and a bride.”
“A child bride.”
“As far as I can see, she has all the alluring female accoutrements of her sister.” His grin quirked with his infernal shrug. “In what way a child?”
“Her…her exuberance and authenticity.” Frederick groaned. “Her joy.”
Blake leveled him with a frown. “It is a sad commentary, Freddie, that you only relate joy with the behavior of a child. Understandable from your parents’ atrocious actions toward you, but sad all the same. I do not believe Miss Grace has suffered a similar childhood, which would likely be a benefit for you and your offspring.”
Frederick’s shoulders wilted with a groan. “A benefit?”
“Her exuberance, as you call it, makes her appear more youthful than she is, and the fact she was your former bride’s younger sister secured that mental assertion, but a woman with such generosity and selflessness cannot be all bad.” Blake’s forehead creased. “And should I remind you that your sister was eighteen when she married?”
“My sister is an English woman raised in an earl’s house. She grew up knowing the conventions and expectations. And that’s beside the point. There are a million things Grace Ferguson doesn’t begin to understand about being a countess.”
“Is the woman smart? From my limited conversations with her, she appears intelligent. An amateur sleuth, as I recall.”
Frederick growled as he rolled the ball down the lane and missed the entire lot of pins, Grace’s repartee from only a half hour before still ringing with clarity and wit. “Yes, she is.”
“Kind? Agreeable? Which, to my mind, are more important than knowing what dish to order for a dinner party.” Blake made a solid strike. Frederick was starting to think the game was trying to make as much of a point as his cousin.
“She certainly appears so, though my judgment may—”
“Weren’t there similar interests the two of you shared? Reading? Riding?”
“That is not the point.”
“I don’t understand your argument.” Blake waved a palm in the air, as if the decision was simple. “If she is so young, then you have time to shape her into the lady you think she needs to be. I’m certain your mother will be more than willing to take her in hand.”
Frederick cringed at the very idea of placing Grace at the mercy of his mother.
“No, wait, you’re right. I like Miss Ferguson too much to send her into a home with your tyrant mother and the unsolved mystery of your brother’s death lingering over the house like a cloud.”
“Edward’s death is not a mystery. The doctor said—”
“Come now, Freddie.” Blake shook his head and took another ball. “Edward, the model of health, dies within the house on the very day you arrive back from India?”
“Of a heart attack.”
