Married By Twelfth Night (Regency Christmas Brides)

5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Richard stared at his aunt’s letter, reviewing the absurdly specific list of qualifications for his wife. “Utterly impossible!”

As soon as he had returned from meeting with Aunt Edith’s solicitor, he had written to see if she would budge on any of the qualifications. Her response had arrived this morning and had irked him to no end.

It is my money, and I can require whatever I see fit. He dropped this new letter into his desk drawer, along with the first, and locked it away. Stashing his key under the picture frame above it, he marched to the window and leaned onto the sill.

Belside’s lands sprawled before him—the pond he fished and swam in the summers, the grove of oak, ash, and beech trees where he’d built a fort with his friends, and the half-circle gravel drive where he’d left and returned a million times. This was home. His home. His entire world.

He massaged his right temple that was beginning to pound. Why had he been so absorbed in his own life before? Could he have helped Father with the estate instead of wasting his time with his friends or poring over useless books at Oxford? Now he was desperately courting a list instead of courting for love.

And how was it going ?

His morning walk with Ruth Steele had been a disaster. She’d said no more than five words altogether. How was he supposed to marry someone who was frightened of him? There was no way he could win her over in six weeks. Correction, five weeks now.

A noise came from down the corridor toward Bridget’s room. Grace must’ve arrived. He imagined her telling his sister about the horrors of the morning. There would be a discussion about him too—about why he had called on Ruth.

Let them speculate. No one in Wetherfield knew about Aunt’s letter and no one ever would. It was better that way. He would burn it at some point to protect his future wife.

His hand lowered to the bridge of his nose, and he pinched it tight. He needed a plan to woo Ruth. A master plan. Like the time Bridget had broken the window on the house when practicing cricket with Grace a few summers back. He had warned them that Father didn’t like girls playing cricket and wasn’t going to be happy about it. When he’d returned from an evening with friends, he’d found the window repaired and had been threatened if he dared say anything about it.

He’d laughed at the threat. A bunch of adolescent girls didn’t scare him. He told them he wouldn’t tattle if they would tell him how they’d managed to fix it without Father knowing. Their plan had been one of many that had made him shake his head in wonder. They had convinced the gardener to take the window from the shed that was the same size and fit it to the house. Then they had paid the gardener for a new window for the shed that they knew Father wouldn’t notice. It had been a brilliant idea.

Brilliant was what he needed right now.

Launching away from the window, he jogged across his room, threw his door open, and marched down the corridor to Bridget’s room. A faint sound of voices traveled through the door. He made a fist and knocked.

Bridget pulled the door open. “Richard?” she asked warily. Her tall, willowy body leaned into the wood frame.

He donned a smile. “I thought I heard my favorite sister.”

“Your only sister, need I remind you. What is it you want?

He shifted his feet. “I wondered if we might go for a walk. You, me, and Gracie.”

The door widened and Grace appeared beside Bridget. Her keen eyes met his. “Don’t you think you’ve been on enough walks today?”

Part of him was regretting this already. Why did he have to ask for help from her again? He swallowed what was left of his pride and shrugged good-naturedly. “Walking invigorates the body and mind.”

Grace lifted a pointed brow. “How often does your brother take walks, Bridget?”

Bridget narrowed her eyes. “Never. He prefers to ride his horse, even if it’s just across the estate.”

“It’s a large estate,” he countered.

“Interesting,” Grace said, studying him. It never seemed like a good thing to have Grace Steele appraise him. Everyone else saw what he wanted them to see, but Grace was the exception. She saw right through him and exposed all his flaws.

His mouth pulled up at one corner. “See anything you like?”

Another girl would have blushed, but she frowned.

It was the exact reaction he had intended but not the reaction he required if he were to get what he had come for. He backpedaled. He needed to stay on her good side if he were to convince her to help him. “I’m turning a new leaf and becoming an expert walker. So, will you join me?”

“I think it’s too cold,” Bridget said. “What do you think, Grace? ”

“I agree, but I think your brother is up to something, and we ought to find out what.”

He tapped the side of his leg. Grace was already sniffing out the truth. She couldn’t help herself. Despite his time away at university, he’d had their youth and the time since his return to cross paths with Grace over and over again. He knew her better than most—the slight narrowing of her eyes and the barely perceptible scrunch of skin between her brows—they were her tells.

“I think you’re right,” Bridget said. “How about a walk to the library, Richard? We can have cook send up some sandwiches. Not quite so invigorating a distance, but will it appease you?”

He lazily folded his arms across his chest. “If this is a rematch of cribbage, then I suppose I’m up for it.” He tried not to spend very much time with Grace. Managing to keep a strong presence in Society was no easy feat under the mounting pressure of his finances, and he didn’t relish the little pixie seeing through his facade and calling him out. But every once in a while, he did attempt to be a good brother.

Cribbage had been his last attempt—though admittedly, it had been several months ago. He’d been so consumed with the affairs of the estate that he could hardly believe so much time had passed. And of course, Grace had been involved that day. She was everywhere Bridget was.

“Overestimating your abilities again?” Grace smirked. “By all means, lead the way.”

Bridget grinned at the prospect of a competition, always a willing spectator to his losing. No one could pull a smile from her as quickly as Grace. They were more inseparable than ever lately. Strolling down the corridor toward the staircase, he stole a glance at their neighbor. Even if she drove him mad, he was eternally grateful to her. Her friendship had been the greatest comfort to his sister, and her comfort was his own. Even Mother cheered up when Grace came by. Sadly, those visits couldn’t last forever, and Mother’s melancholy had only progressed.

A half hour later, they were all sequestered in the library, he and Grace bent over an extended game of cribbage while Bridget wandered off to select a book from the shelf. Finally, they had bored her enough that he would have a moment’s privacy with Grace.

“Grace . . . about that favor you owe me,” he hedged, keeping his voice low.

Her blue-green eyes flicked from her cards up to him. “Yes?”

He hated to do this, but he was desperate. “I’m calling it in.”

She put her elbow on the table and rested her head on her fist. “What do you have in mind?”

His lips twitched. Her casual posture amused him. She hadn’t batted an eyelash, but she would when he told her what he had in mind. He pretended to study his cards before dragging his gaze to hers again. “I want to marry your sister.”

For a moment there was no reaction, and then her brows lowered over those wide, expressive eyes. “My sister? I would never let that angelic creature near you. Is this your attempt at humor, because if so, you are worse at joking than cribbage.”

He had been prepared for her surprise, but he took some offense to her word choice. “It is not a joke. Am I such a brute that I don’t deserve her?”

“No one deserves her. She is too good.”

Grace wasn’t the only clever one. He had methods of convincing her to work with him. “If your sister marries, then the pressure will be off of you. You can leave Wetherfield.”

She straightened, dropping her arm. “How do you know I want to leave Wetherfield? ”

He glanced at Bridget to see if she had heard them, but her arm was propped on a pillow on the sofa and she was safely ensconced in her book. “You mentioned leaving here during our last cribbage game.”

“I did?” She stared for a moment before quickly blinking away her stupor. “I mean, of course, I did. Anywhere is better than being in the same room as you.”

She didn’t mean it. Despite her bluster, he knew she enjoyed their interactions. Criticizing him was her finest source of entertainment. Still, he had to play along. He needed her. “You wound me, Gracie May.”

“That was the point. Someone has to take you down a notch or that big head of yours might float away.”

With his thumb and first finger extended, he framed his chin in his hand. “Have you been admiring my head?”

“Isn’t it enough that the rest of Wetherfield does so?”

He rested his arms on the table and leaned over them. “It’s enough if Ruth does so, and by the end of the holiday.”

Grace’s eyes sparked as if she suddenly saw a map behind his desire to marry and she had to know where it would lead. “You might as well tell me everything, Richard. You know I’ll discover it on my own in the end anyway, and this will save us time.”

He chewed on the inside of his cheek, debating how much to say. Bringing her into his confidence might be the only way to get her aid.

“Can you keep a secret?” He knew she could, or he never would have brought it up. No matter her opinion of him, he could trust her. After all these years, she had never told a soul about the time he’d accidentally set fire to a small section of a wheat field on their estate. She’d seen him showing off with a magnifying glass, singeing the yellow stalks ripe for the harvest. And yet, she had never tattled on him .

“I will not tell,” Grace said. “But knowing your secret does not obligate me to help you.”

She was smart. Too smart. “Very well, I shall tell you, but not even Bridget can know.” He lowered his voice further. “Belside’s estate is in trouble.”

“What?” she hissed.

He quickly put his finger to her mouth, her warm lips startling him. He hadn’t meant to touch her, and it was strangely hard to pull away.

“What’s happened to Belside?”

Her words helped him to focus. “I inherited a nearly bankrupt estate. It needs money to survive. A lot of money.”

She was silent for a long moment. He could see sorrow in her eyes, and if he dared believe it, a trace of fear. “Is that the real reason why you have closed off the west wing?”

“Yes. We cannot afford to have house guests or heat the whole house.”

“I assumed your mother wanted to redecorate the rooms this winter as an excuse not to entertain.”

“I wish that were the reason.”

She chewed on her lower lip. “How will marrying Ruth help with that? She has a decent dowry, but if I’m correct, you need far more than what she can offer.”

“A dowry would help, but you’re right, I need more. My aunt is prepared to help, but only on the condition that I marry by Twelfth Night.” He stopped himself before listing the stipulations. It felt uncouth to mention that he had selected her sister like one would a meal.

“And it must be Ruth?” She had that perplexed look again on her face like she was attempting to puzzle the information together but didn’t quite have all the pieces yet .

“Yes, she is the one I want to marry. For Bridget’s sake, and for Belside Manor, I hope you will return your favor to me and help me court your sister.”

She scoffed. “It seems to me that Richard Graham has never needed any help winning a lady’s favor.”

“Ah, but Ruth might be the one woman in England who is afraid of me.”

She frowned. “And that’s why you want to marry her?”

He shook his head. “Not at all, but I would like her to want to marry me too.”

She played with the peg on the cribbage board. “What would be expected of me?”

“Can you help me get to know her better?”

She folded her arms across her chest, her mind ticking away behind her eyes. He would beg her if he had to. His family couldn’t lose Belside manor. After losing Papa, it would kill them.

“This favor isn’t equal to the one I gave you,” she finally said.

His heart sank.

“But I will make a deal with you.”

Hope soared again. “Anything.”

She smiled. “That’s the same word I said to you at the ball. You might want to hear my plan first.”

Indeed, he did. This was a Grace Steele plan, and it was bound to work. He leaned into the table, eager to hear it.

“You’ll court me instead.”

He sat back. This wasn’t what he’d expected. Court Grace? His family would love it, and he . . . well, Grace was attractive, and with those keen sparking eyes, milky skin, and slender neck, she had no problem keeping his attention. But he tried to think of her as little Gracie May, the name he had come up with for her when he was probably ten, to remind himself that she was like a sister to him and not someone he should be attracted to. Besides, she would hate being married to him, and he would hate that she hated him. He wouldn’t do that to her . . . or himself. Not to mention that she didn’t fit any of his aunt’s qualifications and would defeat his purpose. “Gracie—”

“For a few weeks, Richard. Not forever. It will allow Ruth time for her to feel safe with you, to trust you, and then your feelings will transfer to her instead.”

It was a fair idea, but no, it was not worth it. He shook his head. “People will speak poorly of you. Your reputation would suffer.”

“I can handle a few gossips. It’s not like we would be engaged. Besides, I would be permitted to leave Wetherfield once you’re married to my sister. My aunt has long promised to have me in London, and as you know, I long to go. Mama will finally realize that I have no prospects here and with a tarnished reputation, how can she say no?”

Grace could have plenty of prospects if she desired them. She had impossibly high standards, making herself seemingly unattainable. Perhaps she would be happier in London with a fresh start, but why did the idea of her leaving produce a sinking feeling in his stomach? Had he begun to feel responsible for her? She was not his sister. If she wanted to leave, she should be permitted to do so.

Selfishly, he knew his family would suffer, but so would all of Wetherfield. Grace was part of what made their slice of the countryside what it was. That’s how small towns worked. They were who the people were.

“I don’t know,” he muttered.

She swallowed. “Would it be so hard to pretend to like me?”

The sudden vulnerability clouding her face unnerved him. She was always a wall of confidence, not caring what anyone thought of her. Like fresh air personified next to all the stuffy, pompous idiots in the room. He crafted a response part in truth and part to vex her. “I wouldn’t have to pretend. Who wouldn’t like a little pixie?”

She cast her eyes to the ceiling in exasperation. “I forget, there is no end to your flirtations.”

He did tend to flirt with her when they were together. He had found it the best technique to disarm her and send her squirming. It was the most satisfying sensation.

She folded her arms across her chest. “Just be yourself and we shouldn’t have a problem.”

“Ah, but can you manage to be convincing in your affection for me?” Now this he would happily sign up for.

“I don’t have to pretend anything. I only have to tolerate you enough for Ruth to feel comfortable in your presence.”

He chuckled. “Ah, but what about Mr. Dobson?” He expected that was the real reason behind her willingness to aid him. “If you don’t do a little pretending on your own, he might continue his pursuit and make a mess of everything.” He could see in her eyes the moment his point landed. Mr. Dobson was a singular man and not at all right for the woman across from him. If they were going to strike a deal, they might as well be thorough.

“I despise that man,” she grumbled.

“I know.”

She stole a glance at his sister. “Can I at least tell Bridget that it’s an act?”

“If you do, she will only question why, and then what will you say?”

Her gaze flicked to Bridget again. “I cannot deceive her.”

“I don’t expect you to. Just remember your promise to me.”

She nibbled at the corner of her lip. “I suppose I can think of something. ”

“All while you are convincing the rest of the world that Richard Graham has more merit than you’ve previously believed?”

She grimaced—not a promising start.

He hadn’t much to show for his life up until this point, and she knew that all too well. But he hadn’t known responsibility then. Father hadn’t wanted his involvement. It was different now, and he was determined to never shirk his responsibility again. “Well?” he hedged. “Think of Mr. Dobson.”

“Must I? Oh, so be it,” she huffed. “From this point forward, I am enamored with you, Richard Graham.”

“Enamored?” He liked the sound of that far more than he should have. He wouldn’t hold back either. Grace had it coming for her. He grinned and pushed the abandoned cribbage board aside. “Now this I cannot miss.”