Married By Twelfth Night (Regency Christmas Brides)

3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Richard hadn’t time for games, but the clock ticked steadily in his mind since he’d arrived at the ball and suddenly slowed when he’d pulled Grace outside. The rush of chilly winter air had opened his eyes. He didn’t have to solve his problems alone. Grace could help him. Vexing but, oh, so intelligent Grace. When she wasn’t out to skewer him with her words, she could be rather brilliant.

No one else could have convinced his mother to leave her bed and try Bath for her health. If she didn’t despise him so, he might have thought of her sooner.

When they reentered the glowing ballroom, warmth radiated from the grand fireplace on the far end combined with the sheer number of Wetherfield’s finest. Richard kept Grace’s arm in his and moved along the wall swathed with glimmering candlelight and dancing shadows from the sparkling chandeliers.

He glanced at his silent companion, who was far too busy searching for Mr. Dobson to heed him. He slowed before reaching his friends. Could he stomach more trivial conversation and gossip? No, he didn’t believe he could. He stopped abruptly, a good distance from them, content to wait alone with Grace in preparation for the next set. Oblivious to his own mental dilemmas, she dropped his arm and worried her hands together .

He attempted to put her out of her misery. “He’s on your right behind the woman with the green turban.”

Grace’s head whipped in the direction he indicated, and she stilled. “He hasn’t seen us yet.”

“He’s searching for you. He must have seen us come back inside.” Mr. Dobson wasn’t tall, but he craned his neck every which way.

“This dance cannot end and ours begin soon enough,” she muttered, her lips pulling into a tight line. His eyes naturally traced her face to her pert little nose. She had always reminded him of a little pixie—naturally pretty and far too clever for her own good. Her brown hair was neatly pulled back in a soft but practical style. She never had loose tendrils by her face; no, she was too sensible to let her hair obscure her smart greenish-blue eyes. They were the stage of her face where everything was dreamed up and executed. One could watch it happen like an expertly crafted play, usually with plenty of wit, and if it included him, a hint of artifice.

Grace was Bridget’s dearest friend, and thankfully, she treated his sister far better than she treated him. For that reason, he had tried dutifully to ignore her through the years. Unless, of course, one of her schemes made doing so impossible. This time though, the tables were turned, and she had played right into his hands.

“Gracie . . .” he began, not certain of the best way to approach the subject. “Let’s start a game while we wait. You seem in need of distraction.”

“Game?” Her brows lifted, and he suddenly had her full attention. That had been much too easy. But Grace had always had a knack for games, and it was only in the playing of such games that they were able to make a temporary truce and get along.

He nodded. “A riddle. I know how fond you are of those.” Before university, they had exchanged several riddles, but he had worked hard to stump her—going as far as to create a list of rhyming words ten pages long. His motive was vastly opposite this time. He needed her to solve the riddle and solve it quickly.

“Go ahead,” she prompted. “Let’s hear it.”

Richard nodded toward the dancers. “I will list a few qualities and you tell me who in this room matches my description.”

Her eyes sharpened—like a turbulent sea beginning to settle. He could never tell if her eyes were more green or blue since both shades were swirled together, but right now they were decidedly blue.

Excellent. Grace would tell him exactly which woman in this room would be his future bride.

He added a few rhyming words to Aunt’s list of requirements:

Unattached and well-read, with music I share;

Mild in my looks, with a keen, thoughtful air.

Who am I?

Grace grinned. “Simple. Mrs. Kemp.”

His own mouth dipped into a frown. “Mrs. Kemp? The widow, Mrs. Kemp?”

She nodded. “No one fits the description better.”

He scratched the fine scruff on his jaw. Was he prepared to wed a buxom woman ten years his senior with a brood of seven children? Could he do it to save Belside Manor? He shook his head. “She isn’t exactly who I had in mind.”

“There aren’t many others who fit your qualifications with perfect accuracy. Miss Ryder wouldn’t know the difference between Aristotle and Byron, but she sings like a lark. Miss Delworth is quite her opposite. Let me think. I do love a good riddle.”

At least someone here did. He hadn’t thought of a single candidate who would fit Aunt’s incredibly specific list. “Keep thinking, Gracie. If anyone can discover the answer, it is you.” And if she couldn’t, he and his home were doomed.

Mr. Dobson spotted them at that moment. Richard shifted closer to Gracie, hoping to give an air of possessiveness to deter his flight of pursuit. As soon as he did it, he wondered at his motivation. He had agreed to a dance and no more. They weren’t exactly friends, he and Grace Steele, but he wouldn’t call them enemies either. Somewhere in between would be the clear diagnosis of whatever they suffered from when in each other’s company. But even as he thought through his reasoning, he could not deny his desire to protect her. Mr. Dobson wasn’t a despicable man, but he had very little sense. And as such, there was not a man more disqualified to court Gracie.

Just as the violins played the final notes of a quadrille, a moment before Mr. Dobson reached them, Grace snapped her fingers. “I have it! I don’t know how I didn’t see it before.”

Richard didn’t wait to hear her answer. A simple country dance was announced, and the music began again. He wasted no time in tucking Grace’s arm in his and whisking her toward the couples lining up for the next set. Glancing back, he saw Mr. Dobson’s glare of annoyance. He sent a smug smile of satisfaction over his shoulder at him, drawing Grace closer.

A moment later, they reached the end of the line, and he released her and stepped across from her.

“Well?” she spoke. “Don’t you want to hear my answer to your riddle?”

He hesitated for the briefest moment, preparing himself for the worst. “Yes, I do.”

“My sister.”

His brow furrowed. “Your sister?” he repeated .

She nodded. “Ruth would rather be in the library than any other room in the house, and she is very dedicated to the pianoforte.”

He bowed to her when the music cued him to, and she dipped into a curtsy. He didn’t have a chance to continue the discussion about Grace’s older sister Ruth once the dance began, but he hadn’t needed to. He knew her from years of sharing neighboring estates. Perhaps claiming to know her was a bit of a stretch. She was shy, painfully so. Aunt had required this mystery woman to possess a softer, gentler nature, which seemed to be Ruth exactly.

As far as the rest of the list, Ruth matched there as well. She was rather plain in comparison to Grace, but not in a way that repelled him. And there was no reason to worry about the vicinity of her residence. Their families were more likely to see too much of them than too little.

The Steeles had always been family friends, and a marriage between them, while never pursued in conversation or thought, would not be wholly shocking. The Steeles would probably be delighted with the arrangement and would benefit from the slightly raised social connection. Which led him to wonder about Ruth’s dowry. It shouldn’t be too hard to learn with all his trips to Callis Hall. Mr. Steele had been tutoring him on a few of the many business aspects behind running an estate.

Grace gave a breathless grin as she whirled around, and he felt his own lips pull at the corner. It amused him to see her enjoying their dance. Would Ruth enjoy it too? She was musical, after all. He tried to visualize her dancing but realized he had never asked Ruth to dance before and did not recall seeing her on the dance floor either.

Surely, she would look as much a picture as her sister.

Yes, Miss Ruth Steele would do. He had done it. Or rather, Grace had done it. He had found the woman he would marry.