Married By Twelfth Night (Regency Christmas Brides)

4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Grace’s maid, Katie, shoved another pin into Grace’s boring brown coiffure, trying to force the stubbornly straight hair to stay where she wanted it to. She gave Katie a look of apology just as Mama entered her bedchamber with the same exuberance as her fourteen-year-old brother, Tobias. Through the mirror she could see Mama smiled a little too bright, and her eyes were much too awake after the late night.

Something wasn’t quite right. “What is it, Mama?”

“Nothing. Nothing at all. Can’t a mother come and tell her daughter good morning?”

She gave a partial shrug so not to mess with the careful sculpting of her hair. “If she never enters my room at such an hour and does so suddenly, it cannot be without suspicion.” Mama’s affronted expression made her laugh. “I’m teasing. Mostly. Tell me what makes you so cheerful.”

Mama came to her side so they did not have to talk through the mirror. “I want to know everything that happened last night. I couldn’t ask last night with your father in the carriage.”

Papa thought Mama too excitable about topics of courtship, while she was convinced that if not for her efforts and persuading, her two daughters would volunteer for a life of spinsterhood. If Mama, in her anxiety to see them married off, insisted Grace accept Mr. Dobson’s attention, she would consider running away to her aunt’s in London. Her eyes flicked to the letter on her desk with Aunt’s invitation to join her after the holidays—an invitation she had to cleverly extricate—and remembered how Mama had soundly rejected the idea. She wanted Grace to stay with Ruth, and even though Grace was younger, Mama desired her to be a companion to her sister until one of them married. Which could be a very, very long time.

Only the best behavior would persuade Mama to change her mind.

With resignation, Grace asked the question, “What about last night?” She tucked an unruly wisp of hair into her bun and braced herself for Mama’s answer.

Mama tsked. “Don’t play coy with me. I saw it all.”

“Then what could I possibly say to satisfy you?”

Mama folded her arms tightly across her small chest. They were both of similar build, and she wondered if she would someday stare crossly at her own daughter that way, like the whole of her person brimmed with annoyance. “I’m speaking about Mr. Graham.”

“Richard?” she frowned. “What do you want to know about him ?”

“For the last time. He is not a boy. He must be referred to as Mr. Graham .”

She hadn’t intended to slip his given name, especially while she was doing her best to earn Mama’s favor. “Yes, Mama,” she said obediently. What would Mama have said if Grace had accidentally called him Richie?

“Mr. Graham,” Mama began, “paid you marked attention last night. I was not the only one to notice. Mrs. Meecham saw it too.”

She squinted trying to remember how she had given this impression. She had tried to send a message with Richard’s presence to Mr. Dobson and him alone. But she had been extremely careful with her words to his friends. What could her mother be worried about? What had Mrs. Meecham seen too?

She replayed the night in her mind and her eyes slowly widened. The balcony. The tight way she’d gripped his arm. The way he’d pulled her close as they walked toward the dancers. She gripped her dressing table. Good heavens. Anyone could have misconstrued the whole thing.

“It was nothing,” she said quickly.

Too quickly.

Mama’s brow lifted. “There is no understanding between you two?”

“Understanding? He danced with me for one set. How did your mind jump to an understanding? Really, Mama. You know how I abhor the man. You are too hasty.” She didn’t hate him exactly, but it was harder to put to words the constant state of annoyance his presence brought to her. The only real understanding she had with Richard was the one created in their youth. It was her job to humble him and his to tease her mercilessly. Nothing more, nothing less.

Mama shrugged one shoulder. “Am I being hasty? Or are you hiding something? You are at Belside often enough to change your opinion of the man.”

“There is nothing to hide. You are attempting to create a love match out of one insignificant dance. Richard—”

“Mr. Graham.” This time there was no censure in her voice, only curiosity.

“Mr. Graham,” she corrected, “barely tolerates me. He, no doubt, favored me with his company out of duty to his sister.”

Mama shook her head. “A man doesn’t do such favors for sisters that are not even in attendance. ”

Need Mama remind her of the sore topic? Her dearest friend Bridget was not out in Society yet but at no fault of her own. It had been delayed after her father’s death and now because of her mother’s health. Bridget was permitted to attend dinner parties on occasion, but her mother had insisted against any balls until she could be her chaperone and guide.

Grace and Bridget were only two years apart in age, but Grace had had three years of Society already. Moments like last night made it feel like three years too many. Before she could defend herself again to Mama, a second maid knocked.

“Mr. Dobson is here to pay a call on Miss Grace,” the maid said.

She pressed her eyes shut. Why? Why was this happening to her?

“Splendid,” Mama said, slapping her hands against her thighs.

That one word made Grace pry her eyes back open. “Splendid?”

“Yes. If there is no understanding with Mr. Graham, perhaps you can secure one with Mr. Dobson.”

Grace balked, twisting in her chair. “What about Ruth? Why are you not in her bedchamber this morning? Let’s send her down to see Mr. Dobson.” She didn’t want Ruth to suffer either, but she was older. Wasn’t it her responsibility?

“You know Ruth is shy.”

Another reason Grace had to stay by her very capable sister’s side. “She does not like company, but she is not so very shy.”

Mama shook her head, moving to the door. “I depend on you to marry well to bring attention to your sister.”

Her? Marry well? What a laughable joke. She hadn’t been ready to marry in years past and had managed to chase away any decent suitors. She had realized the error of her ways too late, and she knew she would have to seek a husband outside of Wetherfield if such a union should ever come into existence. She sighed. “And an alliance with Mr. Dobson is your definition of marrying well?”

“Grace Steele, I won’t have you speak of that nice man like that. He is from a trusted family. He only needs a good wife to make him shine.”

Grace thought of his slicked back hair and grumbled, “He shines well enough on his own.”

“That’s the spirit.” Mama set her hand on the door frame. “Hurry and put on your slippers and meet us in the drawing room. I will distract him until you’re ready. Katie, when you are finished with the hair, find Ruth and instruct her to join us.”

What Grace wouldn’t give in the moment to trade places with her brother Tobias. He was so lucky to be born a man with more say in his future. Like any smart adolescent, he was likely hiding in some corner of the house so Mama could give all her nagging attention to his older sisters.

Grace hurried to finish her toilette but only so she could have the visit over with all the sooner. She intended to visit Bridget and relay all the miserable details. No one would sympathize more.

Sunlight poured through the windows a few minutes later, greeting Grace as she entered the drawing room. With all the added sunshine, the room had not quite warmed despite the crackling fire behind the grate. It was a dire shame the cold temperatures outside had not kept Mr. Dobson at home.

Mr. Dobson stood in front of one of the two rose-pink sofas in the room and dipped into a rushed bow.

Grace curtsied, with considerably less enthusiasm. She avoided Mr. Dobson’s gaze and moved to Mama’s side on the opposite sofa. This was all her fault. If she had learned the skills of flirtation, or rather, been less herself and more someone more refined, she might have had better options than the man in front of her.

“Did you enjoy the ball last night, Miss Steele?” Mr. Dobson sat, his posture rigid like a statue.

“It was tolerable.”

Mama elbowed her.

She forced a pleasant tone and some semblance of a smile. “And you, Mr. Dobson?”

“Our dance was my favorite of the night.” The sudden gleam of his eyes matched the sheen of his slicked-back hair.

She kept her smile frozen in place for Mama’s sake, but inwardly, she squirmed and shivered. This conversation was getting out of hand already, and the tea things hadn’t even arrived.

Ruth made a timely appearance with a book in front of her face.

“Ruth? Dear?” Mama said. “We have company.”

Ruth lowered her book so her eyes could be seen. She looked like a caught mouse.

Mama frowned at her evident surprise. “Did Katie not tell you we were waiting for you?”

Katie came up behind Ruth, panting. “There you are, miss.”

“Never mind, Katie. She is here now. That will be all.”

Katie departed and Mama motioned for Ruth to take the open seat next to Mr. Dobson. Ruth did so but kept her book up in front of her face like a shield between them. Grace instantly felt sorry for her—for both Ruth and Mr. Dobson. And a little jealous she didn’t have a book too.

Mama made a hand motion signaling for Ruth to lower the book. She did, but with a great deal of reluctance. “Ruth, dear, tell Mr. Dobson about what you’ve been reading. I am sure he would be happy to hear it. ”

“I would?” Mr. Dobson cleared his throat. “I would.”

Well, done, Mr. Dobson. Grace bit back her laugh.

Mr. Reed, who had never seemed a more dutiful butler than in that moment, stepped in the doorway. His timely appearance hid her slipping smile.

“What is it, Mr. Reed?” Mama asked.

“Mr. Graham is here, Mrs. Steele.”

Mama’s eyes lit like a candle. “Truly? How wonderful.” She reached over and squeezed Grace’s hands. If Mr. Dobson had not been here, she expected Mama might have squealed with sheer delight.

Grace tried not to roll her eyes. He was likely coming to see Papa. That was the only reason he ever came to Callis Hall.

Everyone stood and heralded Mr. Graham’s arrival.

“Good morning,” Mr. Graham said cheerfully. “I hope I am not interrupting.”

“Not at all, Mr. Graham,” Mama said, trumping him in enthusiasm. “Move over, Grace, and make room.”

Grace didn’t move. “You are not here for my father?” she asked, giving Richard his opening to escape.

He shook his head, his eyes a tad mischievous. “Not at all. I had hoped to visit with the Misses Steeles, and I am pleased to see you are receiving guests.”

Something wasn’t right. Graham never visited with her or her sister. He only ever came to talk about estate business with Papa or whatever else it was men discussed. Despite the suspicions that were no doubt written on her face, Grace scooped up the excess of her flowy skirt and scooted down a cushion toward Mama.

Mr. Graham strode toward the open seat. He flipped up the back of his jacket as he sat, his great legs crossing toward her, and his arm going up to rest on the back of the sofa. Grace had the sudden urge to remind him that this was not his home, and he shouldn’t act like it was.

Even if she acted like his home was hers on occasion.

It wasn’t the same though. She had always been that way at Belside, but he was generally not around enough to care.

No one spoke for a moment. Mr. Dobson grew annoyed, Ruth bored, and Mama gleeful. Grace leaned over and whispered to Richard, “Why are you here?”

He leaned in too. “For pleasure.”

She cast her gaze to the ceiling, not believing him for a moment.

“Miss Steele,” Richard addressed Ruth. “With the sun shining and the last of our good days quickly waning for the year, I wonder if you would accompany me on a walk about the garden.”

Ruth said nothing. Her eyes, on the other hand, said plenty. They went wide as a terrified rabbit, ready to flee for its life.

What was Richard playing at? Why did he want to walk with Ruth? It made absolutely no sense. He had never shown her the slightest interest in all these years.

“Ruth, dear,” Mama prodded. “Mr. Graham asked you a question.” Her brows rose multiple times and her head motioned to Mr. Graham.

Grace resisted covering her eyes with her hand, but just barely.

“I . . . I . . .” Ruth stammered, her cheeks blazing red.

“Yes!” Mama declared. “Yes, she will walk with you. Dear, send a maid to fetch your warmest cloak.”

Ruth practically jumped to her feet. Her book dropped and skidded across the rug. She scrambled to retrieve it and tripped on her dress as she straightened. Her face resembled both the green and pink hues in their Axminster rug. Ruth whimpered and rushed from the room .

“I should like to walk too,” Mr. Dobson said, his face full of resolve, and his small chest puffing out. “Miss Steele? Would you join me?”

“No, thank y—”

An elbow flew into her rib from Mama. Grace was tempted to pass it on to Richard for his splendid idea. She had managed well enough the night before, but she didn’t generally like wandering the garden in freezing temperatures.

“Yes, Mr. Dobson.” Her words came out in a long sigh. “I will return in a moment.”

Grace stood with more elegance than Ruth, but the glare she speared Richard with to communicate that this was all his fault likely ruined any decorum her exit held. Instead of sending a maid to fetch their cloaks, she and Ruth both collected their own. There was no hurry for either of them to return. Grace walked as slowly as possible, stalling the inevitable while simultaneously planning how to escape Mr. Dobson. That phrase was beginning to be the theme of her life: escape Mr. Dobson. Should she extend their walk to a ridiculous length until he was both frozen and insanely bored? If only she wouldn’t be plagued with the same fate.

Should she pretend to be ill? She was starting to feel the beginnings of a headache. But that wouldn’t send Mr. Dobson away for good. She needed an absolute end to his attentions. This couldn’t continue!

The four of them soon gathered at the front door, ready to begin their expedition. Ruth stepped behind Grace as the door swung open, as if the outside world would devour her. Grace knew otherwise. Ruth loved walking their grounds, just not with company. She felt strangely protective of her older sister and stepped more fully in front of her while she could. Ruth was a genuine person, kindhearted and sympathetic. But she had no confidence in herself and feared Society’s disapproval. They were opposite in that way. Grace didn’t want to displease Society, but she did not fear them. They were too flawed for her to esteem their judgments were any better than her own.

Richard led the group through the door and down the wide steps to a gravel path that ran in front of the house and circled around it. The sun was beaming, and despite the bite of cold on her cheeks, it was more tolerable than Grace expected. Mr. Dobson moved to her side. The width of the path did not allow for three people to stand side by side, forcing Ruth to step forward to join Richard.

Grace wanted to reach out and squeeze her hand, but Ruth would not have welcomed it. Her sister did have some pride, and Grace would respect it. She almost wished someone would squeeze her hand though, for her task was just as formidable as Ruth’s.

Mr. Dobson let the first couple lead until there was a respectable distance between them and Grace could no longer hear the conversation ahead of them—which had been one-sided anyway, with Richard doing all the conversing. Mr. Dobson did a fair share of talking of his own but not prying speech from her like Richard was doing. Mr. Dobson spoke only of himself and his accomplishments, which included his vast collection of buttons, the detailed map he had drawn of his own garden, and the poetry he had written about his mother.

She was actually jealous of Ruth. Richard was a man of sense, no matter if he had neglected his sister in her time of need. But what could they be speaking about?

She had the next hour to wonder.

Which was not an easy feat. No number of ornamental evergreens glistening with the morning frost, or the seamless gray sky, or the excited chirping of the goldfinch in the bare treetops that lined the back garden could fully distract her from Mr. Dobson’s personal oratory. He had little inflection in his voice, which she could not blame him for, as he was likely born that way. But she could blame him for his wandering hands. He kept trying to reach for her own, which she swatted away time and again.

“Mr. Dobson, it is not appropriate for you to hold my hand when we are not even engaged.” She had said this twice already, in the firmest of voices, but Mr. Dobson had selective hearing.

“This can be remedied, Miss Steele.” The pleasure in his voice was only noticeable because he said it louder, with more surety. “Marrying you is my family’s greatest wish. I consider myself a dutiful son, and I always do as Mother tells me.”

That sentence hit like a nail in the matrimonial coffin she would soon be buried in, and her anxiety mounted. Mr. Dobson would never listen to a word she said. Unless, of course, his mother approved it. If Grace did not have a plan to thwart the man by dinner, she would fast her meals until she did. This had to end! Each interaction terrified her more than the last. She would not be surprised if he made an appointment to speak with her father within the week. What had she done wrong in her life to deserve this?

“Not to mention, Miss Steele,” Mr. Dobson said, “The tip of your nose reminds me of a little button. You must know my partiality toward a likeness as that. It is a sign from heaven.”

Or devilish bad luck. Why couldn’t Richard have come to see her instead of Ruth? She could amuse the man for an hour before sending him back to his miserable existence where he was the most important person in his own world. Perhaps that was a tad exaggerated. For the first time, she regretted haranguing him through the years. Even if it had been a most enjoyable sport. Anything was better than Mr. Dobson.