Page 54

Frederick barked out a laugh, equal parts relief and disbelief. “What a vision,” he muttered under his breath as Grace and Zahra caught up with him.

“Now you show up?” he called down to Blake, his voice carrying across the vast room.

“Better late than never, old boy.” Blake took one last drag of his cigarette before extinguishing it in a tray with the nonchalance of a man who’d just completed his afternoon tea.

His grin softened into something more serious as Frederick descended the stairs with Grace firmly in tow.

“Mr. Kane, it seems, did a bit of tampering with my car.” He gestured with his chin toward the gardener.

“And ironically enough, locked Mr. Locke in his own cellar, so we were a bit late to the party.”

Ah, the party. Frederick glanced sideways at Grace, his grip on her hand tightening as if anchoring himself to her.

Her hair was a wild tangle of red, her cheeks streaked with soot, and her dress bore unmistakable evidence of their earlier peril.

Yet somehow, she looked radiant—untamed and indomitable. His Grace.

“No matter,” Frederick said, waving a hand toward the stairs. “The dancing wouldn’t have suited you, Blake. Far too refined. And I know you prefer your smoke confined to cigarettes and salmon.”

Blake’s grin tipped even wider, his gaze flipping from Frederick to Grace. His gaze rose to the stair landing, where Tony and Lillias stood, arm-in-arm. “And what about those two?”

“I do believe they’ve turned a new leaf,” Frederick said.

Blake’s lips curled into a frown his eyes didn’t match. “Perhaps I’ll remain here with the scoundrels, then, Freddie. All this near-death sentimentality is a bit too much.”

“Mosslea needs the Blairs among its walls,” Mr. Locke declared, a leathery grin creasing his face as he ground his boot into Kane’s back. The bound man let out a muffled grunt of protest. “It’s not right without a Blair in these walls.”

“But the fire?” Lillias asked as she and Tony descended, her arm still looped protectively through his.

“Clever design, that,” Blake interjected with his signature insouciance, throwing Locke a knowing wink. “The damage is contained. The rest of Mosslea is as solid as ever.”

“You mean, we can still live here?” Lillias asked, looking from Blake to Locke and back again.

“Mosslea’s stood through centuries, Mrs. Dixon,” Locke declared, puffing out his chest.

“And have you seen the size of this place?” Blake gestured expansively. “If one room burns, you’ve still got at least two dozen more to choose from. Truly, the height of luxury.”

Lillias turned to Tony, her smile luminous despite the soot-streaked tear trailing down her cheek. “I think this is a very good place to start over, don’t you?”

Even Tony, the eternal curmudgeon, managed a smile that softened his weathered features. “As long as I have you and Thomas with me, I’ll start over wherever you want, Lillias.” He gave her hand a firm squeeze, his voice low but steady. “The right way this time?”

She nodded, her expression resolute. “The right way.”

Hopefully that resolution would prove true. Staring at one’s own heart and seeing the brokenness within has a tendency to turn a willing man or woman in the right direction. Frederick grinned. And the right kind of love too.

“Well, I’m clearly the odd man out in this parade of sentiment,” Blake drawled, raising a brow as he surveyed the group.

His gaze flicked from Lillias and Tony to Frederick and Grace.

“All this romance is downright suffocating. Your bride alone, Freddie, has enough adoration pouring from her eyes to wilt a man where he stands.” Blake waved toward Lady Blair, who sent him an impressive glare.

“And here I am, always catching the wrong ladies.”

Grace laughed, leaning her head over on Frederick’s shoulder. He squeezed her in a little closer. “Oh, don’t worry, dear Mr. Blake. The right woman will certainly come your way when you least expect her. Just think of how Frederick and I met.”

Blake folded his arms across his chest and gave a dramatic sigh. “I try not to, Lady Astley. My heart can’t take the strain.” He placed a hand over his chest, feigning anguish. “One can only endure so much.”

Frederick smirked, resisting the urge to point out that Blake’s heart was likely the most resilient part of him, considering the number of times it had apparently been shattered by society’s finest. Grace gave a knowing chuckle, and Frederick thought, not for the first time, that Blake had a particular knack for diffusing tension with his sharp wit.

The right woman would appreciate that in him.

Along with so many other fine traits.

The sound of heavy boots on stone drew everyone’s attention to the open front doors as a pair of police officers marched in, their uniforms crisp against the backdrop of Mosslea’s lingering smoke.

They moved with purpose toward the “villains,” as Grace liked to call them, prepared to take Lady Blair and Kane into custody.

Blake exhaled, an exaggerated puff of relief. “Ah, saved from any further romance talk by some of my favorite types of people.”

Frederick caught the subtle flicker of something in Blake’s expression as he turned to address the police.

It was so brief it could have been missed by anyone else, but Frederick knew his cousin too well.

Beneath the easy bravado, there was a flicker of longing, a rare crack in the armor.

It struck Frederick then, a quiet hope blooming in the back of his mind.

Perhaps the right lady for Blake wasn’t so far off, after all.

Mr. Barclay arrived only a few days later, bruised, occasionally forgetful, but still sharp enough to finalize the legal transfer of Mosslea and Angloss into Lillias and Grace’s capable hands.

Grace settled onto the settee in their modest room at Rowan’s Rest, her gaze drifting to the castle silhouetted beyond the window.

Lights winked from the right wing of Mosslea, a declaration of Tony and Lillias’ first evening as its new stewards.

Watching them over the past few days, as Mr. Barclay painstakingly guided both couples through the intricacies of inheritance, was unexpectedly heartening—like reading a last chapter of a beautiful story when one thought all was lost.

Perhaps the two of them were truly starting over.

With their priorities in the proper places.

And Miss Cox? Well, she agreed to an official position as a nanny to little Thomas, delighted to care for a baby rather than sort out fashions, hair styles, and the latest shoe styles.

Grace could relate to the preference with her whole heart.

Now, if only Father could be lured to this side of the Atlantic … Her thoughts trailed wistfully. To have everyone she loved most within a drive or train ride seemed a dream worth chasing.

Frederick’s quiet presence pulled her from her musings.

He closed the door to Zahra’s adjoining room with the softest click, having just read to the little girl.

His footfalls were unhurried as he crossed the room to join her, the firelight gilding the edges of his frame in hues of amber and gold.

He settled beside her, the couch dipping under his weight, and without a word, she leaned her head onto his shoulder.

She would never tire of his strength. His nearness.

And each adventure only deepened her appreciation of finding safety and comfort in those magnificent arms of his.

He took her hand, their fingers tangling with an intimacy born of their love and gratitude. She sighed with her smile.

“Are you certain you’re ready to return to Havensbrooke by the end of the week?” His voice was low, a warmth brushing over her hair.

She squeezed his fingers and nodded against his shoulder. “I think we’ve been gone long enough, don’t you?”

He pressed a kiss to her head, and she could envision his smile. His heart longed for his grand estate and the walls he’d promised to secure. “I don’t want you to feel rushed, darling. Or think that I value your claim to Mosslea any less than mine to Havensbrooke.”

She tilted her face up to him, one brow raised in a teasing tip. “I won’t deny I’ll probably find an excuse to visit Mosslea whenever I can.”

Frederick met her silent request and kissed her.

She sat up, turning toward him, her palm resting against his chest, her gaze roaming over his face. “But Mosslea is not home.” She pressed another kiss to his smile. “And my dear Lord Astley, I do believe it’s time for us to go home.”