Married By Twelfth Night (Regency Christmas Brides)

2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

December 1814

Wetherfield, Derbyshire

It was impossible to hide from a man in a ballroom. Grace had tried and failed. Unsuccessfully, she had circled the interior perimeter, weaving around chattering acquaintances and friends, barely one step ahead of Mr. Dobson. Not even the bust Mr. Green had commissioned of himself, and its accompanying pedestal, had the dimensions to conceal a person.

Looking over her shoulder, her satin-gloved hands tightened into fists. He was nearly upon her. The only foreseeable solution was to flee the room entirely. Clenching the skirt of her gown, she maneuvered around a table holding a dazzling winter bouquet and reached the door to the corridor. Ready to bolt through it, Grace made the mistake of turning her head and catching her mother’s eye. Mama, wearing her favorite pearls, gave a decisive shake of her head followed by a steely glare. It wasn’t fair. Mama wanted Grace to be caught. She didn’t care by whom, so long as the captor was decently respectable and wedding vows followed. Grace was far more particular .

But heed her mother, she must.

The only way Grace was getting a Season in London with her aunt was through good behavior.

Taking a reluctant step back into the fray of twirling skirts and roaming couples, Grace found herself face-to-face with him . Mr. Dobson. Her relentless pursuer. His dark hair was slicked back with pomade and his grin clownish. His gaze raked her up and down as if he had cornered a coveted prize.

“Miss Steele,” he wheezed, winded from the chase.

Her whole body sighed. “Yes, Mr. Dobson?”

“We were talking about the future . . . our future, when you disappeared from my side.”

She couldn’t have given him a more blatant hint about how she felt about any future that included the both of them. “The ballroom is hardly the place for such a discussion, sir.”

“Sir?” Mr. Dobson smoothed back the hair just above his ear, as if any hair dared escape the thick paste freezing it into place. “Call me Rufus.”

She would die first. “That would hardly be appropriate, Mr. Dobson. As to our future, you must not have heard me when I said I was not interested in a relationship with you.”

“Interest is hardly a prerequisite. Your father and mine are old family friends. It’s expected of us.”

An ugly fear settled on her shoulders. Who was expecting it? This was the first she had ever heard about it. Was that why her mother had quelled her escape with one of her icy parental stares?

Mr. Dobson tiptoed closer. The action was ridiculous. He was ridiculous. If he said the word marriage, she wouldn’t recover, but she knew the word hovered on his slimy mouth. But he wouldn’t stop there. No, he would ask her father for her hand, and Papa would remember his good friend and have no reason to turn him down.

“I cannot continue this discussion, Mr. Dobson.” She stepped back, desperately searching the crowded room for someone to rescue her. “Excuse me.”

That’s when she saw it, her unwitting savior: Richard Graham. He looked the part of a hero without any effort of his own. Her eyes quickly took his measure with the smallest amount of begrudging admiration. One hand rested on his narrow hips as he gave a rich laugh, evoking the same gleeful emotion to his circle of friends. His long legs competed with his broad shoulders like a game where both finished triumphant. His thick brown hair, always a little tousled, lent his superior appearance a bit of ruggedness.

Everyone fawned over him, but she refused to do so. It grieved her that it had to be him. But desperate times called for drinking the bitter dregs of humility. Richard would aid her. He was good-tempered, and she had practically grown up in his house alongside his younger sister, Bridget. But she took a great risk in giving him an allowance to tease her. She preferred to have the upper hand, and it pained her to give him any fodder to use against her.

“Excuse me, Mr. Dobson. I see my partner for the next set.” Grace didn’t mince her steps in retreat but marched boldly to Richard’s side. A foot from her target, she wavered for a single breath. This was Richard. The same man who had neglected his sister after the loss of his father. The thought still rankled her and made her want to kick him instead of greet him like a lady.

Mr. Dobson’s penetrating gaze on her back chased away any hesitancy. The kicking could be postponed. There was hardly enough room for a person between Richard and his companions, but her petite size worked in her favor. Placing herself firmly beside him, she stopped herself just shy of slipping her hand into the crook of his arm. She had to make a point, but she wasn’t that desperate.

Was it too much to ask that he simply ignore her? She had given him plenty of reason to do so with her behavior toward him over the years. All he had to do was let her hide under his protection. A simple, extremely minor, favor.

Not a second later, Richard looked down at her with his fair blue eyes, meeting her gaze square on. So much for ignoring her. At least he had the sense not to look appalled. He did quirk a subtle, curious brow that anyone else would have missed.

“Miss Steele? Such a rare fortune to catch you by my side.” He flashed her his famous, charismatic smile that left women swooning a county over.

That same smile normally made her grimace. No one man should hold the charm of ten. It was selfish and wasted on a single person. She slid a smile across her own mouth, one undoubtedly far less striking. “Mr. Graham, I apologize for keeping you waiting.”

“I was waiting for you?”

Her smile lowered a notch, and she barely kept from glaring at him. “Indeed. You desired to speak to me?”

“Did I?”

She sensed several sets of eyes on her, including Mr. Dobson’s. He had crept closer and now hovered a few feet away. He hadn’t given up. Why wouldn’t he give up?

“You did,” she said, forcing her smile to widen again, only managing to make it twitch. Oh, botheration. Couldn’t the man play along for a single minute? Close friends could share a look and communicate a lifetime, but she and Richard had never been close in that sort of way. In fact, the physical distance between them now was likely the closest to date. He had a suffocating air about him, and she preferred to keep a respectable distance at all times.

When he didn’t respond directly, she added, “Don’t you recall? You said it was of utmost importance.” She thought quickly. She didn’t care to paint herself into a picture where people saw the two of them as a couple, but she did need something convincing. If she wasn’t so flustered by Mr. Dobson, she would have thought of something straightaway. She blurted the first thing she could think of. “Let me remind you. It was something about a request from your mother.”

Richard’s mother’s health hadn’t been the same since his father’s death, and she hardly left her bed. By some miracle, and a great deal of persuading, Mrs. Graham had agreed to visit Bath with a friend in hopes the change of setting and doctors would help. They all hoped partaking of the waters would aid her recovery. Few knew how poorly her spirits had been outside the Grahams, but Grace knew. And Richard knew she knew. The word “mother” was like a secret code, and something flashed across his eyes in response to it.

“Forgive me, I had momentarily forgotten.” He stepped back from his friends. “Excuse us, please.”

She assumed Richard would pull her toward an open section along the back of the room, but he led her toward the French doors bearing fragrant wreaths of wine-colored roses with sprigs of snowdrops, directing her outside the one already open side. A man had never pulled her onto a balcony before, but she let the satisfaction of having Mr. Dobson witness the moment appease any concern niggling her.

Cool night air brushed the width of skin between her gloves and her short-puffed bishop’s sleeves and curled around her neck, refreshing her senses from the heat of the ballroom. Richard stopped away from the few couples lined along the balustrade and leaned against the white marble stone gleaming in the moonlight .

“What are you scheming now, Gracie May?”

That look, along with her childhood nickname, should have made her feel guilty, but she was only grateful for the rescue. She hadn’t had time to make a full-fledged plan, but she had to explain herself. She only needed a minute to think. “Scheming is a strong word, Richie Graham.”

Stating his name, like he had done hers, made her feel like they were on equal footing. She was probably the only one in the world who dared call him such, but he’d never grown out of calling her by her childhood nickname and used it whenever they were out of earshot of others. Turning it around on him seemed justifiably fair.

He chuckled like he saw right through her clever attempt to rattle him. “Whatever it is, you must be desperate if you’re using my mother’s name in one of your nefarious plans.”

“I would never use your mother ill. Her name was employed out of desperation .”

“Gracie, desperate? By all means, tell me everything.” When his amused gaze met hers, she shivered. He misinterpreted her physical reaction and added, “But do keep it brief. We wouldn’t want you to catch cold and keep you from your grand plans.”

“I’m not cold,” she said, truthfully, although it was worth noting that he seemed sincerely concerned about her health. His generosity was the one reason she could never hate him. “I shivered because the necessity of this conversation displeases me. You were the best I could do at the moment.”

His eyes sparked in what could only be further amusement. “How very kind of you to convince me to leave my friends so you could criticize me in private.”

“Keep your voice down, if you please. I meant it as a way of explanation. I need a favor. ”

That word elicited a reaction. Richard folded his arms, emphasizing the broadness of his chest and how perfectly opposite he was to Mr. Dobson’s squirrelly body. “I’m listening.”

Her mind jumped to an easy solution. “I need you to ask me to dance.”

Richard’s mouth quirked as he worked to suppress a laugh. “This is your desperate cause?”

She nodded, not caring to explain that she hadn’t had time to concoct something better and was improvising. Why make herself look worse than she already did?

“I wonder how I am so fortunate to be your partner of choice. Aren’t you the one who told Miss Harrington last fall that I danced like an elephant?”

She chewed her bottom lip. “It was a calculated response made out of my affection for your sister. Miss Harrington had her eyes set on you, and Bridget did not deserve to be strapped with such a foolish sister-in-law for the rest of her life.”

He nodded, but not like he believed her. “Foolish, you say? That reminds me of how I felt when you pinned a note to the back of my jacket with the word ignorant on it.”

She cast her eyes to the inky sky in exasperation. “That was two years ago over a very poor remark you made about the general capabilities of my gender. How was I supposed to know you were on your way to meet with friends?” Must he bring up her every transgression? She would never admit it, but the cool breeze had started to chill her. This was taking much too long to convince him.

His eye narrowed and his mouth curled. “Oh, I think you knew perfectly well what you were doing then and now. You’re always scheming something. I’m not certain this request for a dance is not a trap.”

Perhaps she had known that he was to see his friends that day she’d pinned a note to him, but she was generally good-natured and trustworthy. “Everything I do is not so calculated. You cannot even think of a current example.” His expectant, pointed look forced her to clear her throat and regather her argument. “No harm will come to your person this time, I promise .”

He shifted against the marble. “Ah, but your honesty leaves little to be desired.”

Her hand slid to her hip. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means I have plenty of current examples of your ill will toward me. Where to begin?”

Grace swallowed, glancing at the other couples braving the cold and milling about. “Do you have the time? I think we ought to return inside.”

His words barreled forward, completely dismissive of her own. “Just a few weeks ago, you told Miss Thorne that my reading voice sounded like the snores of a hibernating bear.”

Drat! So he heard about that, had he? “She knew I was close to your sister and asked for a list of your qualities. I said a few redeeming things as well . . . I think.” She straightened. “Would you have me lie?”

He shrugged. “You expect me to be flattered by all this honesty?”

She should have apologized, or even begged, but she had never been very good at either. “Flattered, no, but understanding, yes. It’s you or Mr. Dobson, and can’t I prefer the lesser evil of the two?”

“Mr. Dobson?” His eyes lit up like a fire consuming the yule log. “What a fine catch you have ensnared.”

She winced. The truth was out. He knew her weakness. “I have no desire to couple my name with his, but he is quite determined. He cannot corner me if we are dancing, and the night is almost over. You will not have to stay by my side after the set is finished.” She paused, waiting for him to respond. “So . . . will you do it?”

His eyes glimmered like he was doing a math problem and was pleased with the solution. “And you will owe me what?”

“Anything!” she blurted.

“Ah, I like that sound of that.” The smoldering intensity of his words and expression made her worry she’d promised too much. But this was Mr. Dobson they were speaking about. Avoiding him was worth a great deal of sacrifice.

Dazzling white snowflakes broke their taut gaze. “The first snow,” she whispered. No one would deem her a romantic, but her older sister Ruth once told her that witnessing the first snow with a man was a sign of true love. But since Grace was viewing it with Richard, she took it as a sign of foreboding.

Richard pushed away from the balustrade. “Our cue to return inside. Lead the way, Gracie May.”

There it was. His pet name for her reminded her that she was but a child to him, which was made worse with a rhyme. Still, a real smile slipped free at the corners of her mouth. She would never admit it, but that name that she’d tried desperately to despise was actually her favorite part about Richard Graham. After all the harmless teasing, there was loyalty and unspoken respect between them that meant they would never push too far. She would have to repay the favor at some point, but he wouldn’t ask anything impossible of her. No, he valued her relationship with his sister too much. At least she had that small comfort.