Page 80 of The Mistletoe Countess
A gasp pulled Grace’s attention to…Jane, was it? “But what about the ghost?”
“The ghost?” Grace repeated.
“Hush, girl. Don’t talk nonsense,” Mrs. Powell reprimanded.
Nonsense? A ghost? Grace stepped toward Jane. “What makes you think there’s a ghost?”
“’Cause I heard it wailin’.” The girl’s eyes grew wide as saucers. “I’ve heard it wailin’ more than once. Ever since Lord Edward died.”
“Pay her no mind, Lady Astley.” Brandon cleared his throat. “You know how imaginations can become excited.”
“Oh definitely. I live there all the time.” She turned her attention back to poor Jane. “Did the wail sound like a woman or a man?”
“Begging your pardon, my lady, but you’re only encouraging her.”
“Brandon, if we’re going to have a ghost in the house, we should learn more about it. From what I’ve read, more knowledge is better than less.”
He stared at Grace a full five seconds before speaking. “You’re not saying you believe her?”
“I’m saying that if something is wailing like a ghost in our house, don’t you think we ought to investigate?”
Brandon’s shoulders sank a few inches, but Grace wasn’t sure why. It seemed perfectly logical. How else would they get to the bottom of a possible haunting without embarking on a ghost hunt? Tonight.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Mr. Mason Parks bore age poorly. Frederick remembered the man—his brother’s closest friend—as a tall, intimidating sort of fellow, pale hair and dark eyes marking a striking contrast within an angled face. But the man greeted Frederick with shoulders bent and face less defined. The blond hair had taken on a silvery hue, and shadows clung to his eyes to match a past Frederick knew the man regretted—a broken family and financial decline. Only in his thirties, his misfortunes made him look double his age.
Financial strain pinched at a man’s core and led to all sorts of desperation. Yet God in His ultimate act of humor and mercy salvaged Frederick’s desperation by usurping his initial plans and giving him grace—in every sense of the word.
They exchanged a few pleasantries before Parks moved closer to the point.
“I was surprised you’ve returned from your honeymoon already,” Mr. Parks sat behind his desk, hands braided before him.
Another sting of regret pierced Frederick at not giving Grace something she deserved. “I couldn’t afford the additional time away from Havensbrooke, as yet.”
Mr. Parks tilted his head and studied Frederick. “Is it as bad as all that?”
Understanding passed in silence.
“So your telegram said you wished to discuss your brother?” He hung his head. “Nasty business that. Too young.”
“I’ve recently received some information which caused a few questions to be raised. I thought you might provide insight.”
“I’ll do what I can, Frederick, but my time is limited, you understand.” He spoke too sharply for the request.
“Of course.” A sudden wariness rose into Frederick’s stomach. “Do you recall the last time you spoke with my brother?”
Mr. Parks rubbed his chin, gaze pointed to the ceiling. “He was in town a few weeks before he died, if I remember, attending a party. Yes, the Clarks. We spoke then.”
“Did he seem…” Frederick struggled for the right words. “Healthy at that point?”
“Perfectly so.”
“I understand you came to Havensbrooke the week he died.”
“Ah yes.” Parks shifted in his seat and tugged a handkerchief from his coat pocket. “He wanted my opinion on some estate business.”
“Such as a change in the will, perhaps?” No reason prolonging the inevitable.
