June 23, 1914

 

Perfect husbands were rare, except perhaps in fiction, but Grace Percy, Countess of Astley, had married the real-life equivalent, she was certain.

 

“I still cannot believe this surprise, Frederick!” Grace’s shock had continued all the way from the harbor, where her dear husband had announced that they’d arrived in America instead of England. “I thought the terrain looked different than England, but I never suspected we’d go anywhere else except your beloved Havensbrooke.”

 

“Our beloved Havensbrooke, I hope?” he corrected, turning from his place in the front seat of the hired touring, next to a rather somber driver.

 

Her smile immediately responded. At nearly seven months married, Grace still found her thoughts paused on occasion at the idea of his English estate being her home. But how could she help it? They’d only lived in the estate a few months before they’d taken off on their honeymoon tour. But oh, what a delightful introduction to her new home, complete with a murder mystery and a ghost hunt.

 

She sighed. Married life certainly kept proving to be wonderfully exciting.

She sent him another grin before tipping her head out the window just enough to take in the familiar lane leading to her father’s house. “How did you even know where to go? Harrington is such a small place outside of Richmond, and I know I’ve never given you exact directions.”

 

His low chuckle warmed the already heated June air, skittering a familiar welcome of tickles up her bare neck. “I’ve written my own letters to your father, darling.” His voice, so smooth and English, carried such delicious tenderness that Grace turned to find him shooting a wink to their adopted daughter, Zahra.

 

Zahra’s lips tipped. She rarely showed great affection, but who could blame her? After losing her family and living on the streets of Cairo, the little girl still had plenty of healing to do. So every smile came extra special.

 

Poor Miss Cox, the young English maid Frederick had hired in Italy to accompany them through the remainder of their trip, blushed at Frederick’s wink and smile. After all the overt affection Grace lathered on her darling husband, it was a wonder Miss Cox hadn’t gotten used to it yet, but perhaps the trouble lay more in how very handsome her husband was.

 

Grace thought about that idea for a moment. She supposed if she wasn’t married to this wonderful man, she’d find herself a little awestruck too.

 

Truth be told, he was so handsome, he might fit the description of a dime-novel villain, but she was very glad fiction didn’t get it right on that score either.

 

“Besides, it may be a while before we can travel again.” He continued, turning back to face the front of the car. “I know it’s a few months earlier than we’d originally planned, but it seemed a waste not to take advantage of being at sea. And I know you’d love to see your family.”

 

Grace would have kissed his cheek if she hadn’t been sitting in the back seat of the touring with Zahra between her and Miss Cox. “You are the most wonderful man.” She turned to Zahra and Miss Cox. “Don’t you think so?”

 

Miss Cox’s eyes widened, and she quickly looked away, but Zahra’s grin stretched enough to show off her teeth. The simple white dress she wore brought out the depths of those endless gray-green eyes. Grace still couldn’t stop smiling at the very idea that the little girl belonged to her and Frederick now.

 

“He has all his hair and teeth.” Zahra nodded, the tiniest twinkle in her eyes alerted Grace that the little girl might be finding her humor. “That is a help.”

 

Frederick’s laugh burst out. “Indeed it is, Zahra. And I’m glad to still possess both of them.”

 

Grace studied his thick dark hair for a second longer, her fingers twitching to push through his locks, but the very idea could send

poor Miss Cox through the car window. Grace drew in a deep breath to keep her show of admiration to a more appropriate public display and leaned toward Zahra. “The gardens at Rutledge House are lovely, Zahra. They were my mother’s gardens, and I’d often spend time with her there. Hopefully, when we return to our dear Havensbrooke”—she emphasized, sending her dear husband a look to ensure her noted her correction—“you and I and, perhaps even Lily, can work to restore those gardens together. Then we can make our own special place too. Gardens are very creative places in stories as well as in real life.”