Page 5 of The Mistletoe Countess
She studied him, her delicate chin tipping in assent. “I am no architect, but I have studied some of the more modern conveniences and, of course, will delight in hosting your parties.”
“Ourparties.”
Her gaze darted away and back, her smile not quite right. “Yes, of course.”
Oh, this was a disaster. God help him. God help them both.
Another sweep of silence stilted their dialogue. Frederick raked his thoughts for further questions. “Are the gardens at your Rutledge House of similar style as those here at Whitlock?”
“They are much smaller. We haven’t the grounds as Whitlock, of course, but Mother took painstaking care to ensure Rutledge’s beauty, so Father has made it his purpose to maintain them to the highest standard to preserve her memory.”
A tender sentiment. “And do you have a hand in designing them?”
“Heavens, no.” She laughed, shaking her head, her periwinkle gaze meeting his. She did have the most engaging eyes when she smiled. “I enjoy their beauty for as long as it lasts, but attempt to sort them out? That’s for the gardener, don’t you think? Their work and our pleasure, so to speak.”
“Yes, of course.” Despite being second-born, the love for his land forked into his very nature, braiding through his bloodline. He lived for country air and open vistas, dirtying his hands alongside the gardeners at times to feel the earth of Havensbrooke beneath his fingers. He steadied his breath and gave another try. Surely there had to be some interest they shared. “And what do you enjoy, Miss Ferguson?”
Her manner maintained a tempered expectation. There was nothing for which to find fault, yet Frederick, who had no false fancies of romance, had hoped for something…more.
“I’m quite fond of music and dancing.” She tilted her head as a gesture toward their current movements, her expression the most animated he’d witnessed thus far in their acquaintance. “And fashion, of course. I’m rather adept at it.”
Fashion and dancing? Perhaps benevolent indifference was to be their lot in life. “You and my mother will have a great deal to discuss. She was quite the expert in her day.”
The strains from the piano took a more turbulent turn, snagging Frederick’s attention. Grace Ferguson—dark green evening gown spilling around her—sat poring over the keys in a fury, eyes closed, brow clenched in concentration. Frederick tightened his lips against a growing grin. The poor girl had no reserve whatsoever.
“Your sister plays with a great deal of…energy.”
“Energy?” A welcome glow warmed the social veneer of Miss Ferguson’s expression as she followed Frederick’s gaze. “I’m afraid my sister isn’t meant for a life of refinement, and there’s no training her. Father and I have tried without much luck.”
“She appears quite lively of mind and spirit.”
“That is a very kind way to speak of her. She is the most generous-hearted person.” Miss Ferguson’s entire countenance gentled. “Though among our social circles, she’s a disaster.”
“I believe she’s found a way to live above such disappointment.”
Miss Ferguson laughed, a light airy sound, and her entire face bloomed with a beautiful genuineness. Frederick’s chest expanded. Perhaps this relationship only wanted time and understanding.
“She truly is one of the dearest creatures in all the world, but her mind overflows with innumerable ideas and impossible stories. She’s been well protected from the trials of convention, as is evident in her passionate playing for all the world to see. Such…freedom.” As quickly as the brightness appeared, her countenance clouded. “Yet there is something to envy in her lack of concern for others’ opinions or expectations, don’t you think?”
“Pardon?”
She stared toward the piano as if lost in thought. “But she’s young yet.”
“Miss Ferguson?”
“Speaking of my untamed sister.” She blinked back to him, as if rallying from a dream, and smiled too brightly. “I’m certain she would enjoy a dance with you. She’s spoken of little else than becoming better acquainted. Excuse me.”
Without warning, she left his arms and approached the piano. The sudden alteration of her mood from adoring sister to—what was it? mel-ancholy?—unsettled him. As desperate as he was to save Havensbrooke, a worst decision would be to marry a woman who became embittered by her choice or, worse, sought intimate companionship outside their marriage. A knife of memory stabbed against his determination. No, he must avoid another scandal at all cost. Hadn’t he done enough to his family? Yet he had no choice. He’d signed the contract.
Blast his heart! Following the unpredictability of his affections had led to every past calamity of his life. He steadied his expression and chilled his own feelings. He’d mastered his emotions in the past. He’d master them again.
This was a business transaction. Her money. His title. His future happiness couldn’t matter.
Within a few seconds, Lillias ushered a reluctant Grace toward him and returned to the piano, beginning a waltz by Chopin.
As he took Grace into his arms, her ready smile melted the tension from his shoulders. “You play with great…feeling, Miss Grace.”
Her countenance dropped with an exaggerated sigh. “I was hoping I played so wildly they’d ask me to leave the room, but alas, everyone enjoyed dancing too much to find offense.”
