Married By Twelfth Night (Regency Christmas Brides)

7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Richard wasn’t used to drinking melted chocolate with shortbread, and especially not in the middle of the day. They’d taken Sunday off skating but had gathered again this morning for a second day of diversion on the ice. Afterward, Grace and Bridget announced their refreshment of choice and dragged them all into the drawing room. Only Mr. and Mrs. Steele had escaped, claiming business at home.

“A simple serving of tea and scones was not good enough for you?” He teased the women warming themselves in front of Belside’s oversized fireplace.

“The ordinary will never suffice for us,” Bridget said. “Besides, there is nothing better than Aunt Edith’s shortbread recipe. It should be famous.”

“I agree, and who would want tea when they can have chocolate?” Grace shook her head like he was mad.

He was about to say himself, but he hadn’t had melted chocolate in some time and could drink it without complaining. Relaxing back in a cushioned elbow chair, he took a sip. The dark liquid warmed his throat and middle. It was less bitter than the last time he had had it. In fact, he rather enjoyed it.

Bridget must have been watching him. “Grace requested it served with extra sugar and cream. What do you think?”

He took another sip. “Is that cinnamon? ”

Grace nodded. “And just a hint of vanilla. Your cook has perfected our family recipe.” She took a sip, tipped back her head, and sighed. “They had better have this in heaven.”

Her over-the-top response was amusing. “I admit it’s the best melted chocolate I’ve ever had.”

A maid came in with a stack of quilts Bridget had asked for. He set his cup down and hurried to take the load. He passed one to Ruth, who avoided his gaze. Next was Bridget, who forgot to thank him. And Grace—when she accepted hers—met his gaze, thanked him, and almost smiled.

He thought about their reactions all the way back to his seat where he picked up his plate. He bit into his toast and chewed on his thoughts. After two different days of skating for a few hours each with the Steele family, Richard wasn’t any closer to knowing Ruth better. Mr. and Mrs. Steele had to have had their suspicions about his intentions, but so far Grace had made it difficult for him to show any real partiality toward her. A few times around the pond on his arm, and then she was glued to Bridget’s side. Perhaps he shouldn’t have balked at inheriting a horse farm like his cousin Alden after all. He was officially failing at courting two different women. He had thought himself charming enough, but he could not even manage a fake courtship. At least Ruth had stayed for refreshment. That had to count for something.

And Grace? She was a complex puzzle with different sides she did not always show to people. But she had encouraged him to put in a little effort, and he wasn’t going to shirk a challenge. There was no better place to start than in the privacy of his own home. That way if he bumbled anything, the rest of society need not witness it.

“How about a game?” he asked, prodding Grace’s attention with the suggestion .

It was his sister who answered for her. “Oh, yes,” Bridget said, her cheeks blooming into a smile. “What do you have in mind?”

“I was thinking of a word game.”

“Tiles?” Tobias asked.

“The very one. I believe we have a set in the box on the mantel.” He moved to retrieve it.

“I think I will walk home,” Ruth announced suddenly.

Grace’s gaze darted from her sister to Richard and back again. “But you adore word games.”

He lifted the box with one hand and turned toward Ruth. “I am most reluctant to have you walk in this cold. Let me prepare my carriage for you. I must insist.”

“Very well.” Ruth settled back in her seat.

He swallowed. “While we wait, perhaps you can join us for one round of tiles?”

Her eyes darted to the door and back to him. “I suppose.”

He handed the game to Tobias to prepare on the tea table while he sent a footman to the stables. When he returned, the faint smell of chocolate still lingered in the air. The others were gathered around the table, Grace and Bridget sitting on the carmine Turkish rug with their blankets on their laps, Ruth perched on the edge of the sofa, and Tobias on his knees. No other group would be able to relax so fully together. But it was more than that. His family was not so comfortable together since Father died. This felt like a glimpse from better days.

“What letter game did we decide on?” He pulled his chair up and positioned himself next to Grace. She eyed him warily, but he only smiled at her and rummaged through the off-white tiles. “Anagrams?”

“Please, no,” Tobias whined. “It is impossible to beat my sisters. Play scramble. If you cannot decipher your word in sixty seconds, you’re out.”

“Very well.” Pulling a few toward him, he selected the letters he needed. While still jumbled, he pushed them toward Tobias.

They all began counting the seconds out loud, but he sorted it with ease. “Done. Skating.”

“He always goes easy on the first round,” Bridget explained. “Don’t get too comfortable.”

He glanced up at her. She remembered? They hadn’t played this since . . . since before Father. A wave of guilt coursed through him. Should he have spent more time with her? It hadn’t been easy seeing to the estate and managing Mother’s emotions. He reassured himself once more that she had Grace. She didn’t need his attention too.

Grace selected the next set of tiles. Bridget studied the letters, tapping her chin with her finger while their counting neared sixty seconds. “Oh! Perfume.”

Grace laughed. “Did the letter P give it away?”

Bridget nodded. “I know how you love a good fragrance.”

Richard’s brow quirked. He hadn’t known this about her. Is that why she always smelled wonderful? Her scent was never overpowering but more like a soft, delicate flower. He was tempted to lean toward her so he might better describe it to himself, but the movement of tiles reminded him to focus on the game before him. He had more important matters to pay attention to than discerning scents.

Bridget took a turn, then Tobias, and finally Ruth. Ruth’s word was simple: music. She did not seem wholly invested in the game. Was it so hard to be away from home? Or was it his company? Or the game?

Soon enough it was Richard’s turn again. Time to add a little spice to this round. With one finger he pulled tile after tile toward him. Once he had a decent pile, he slid them in front of Grace.

She gave him a questioning look.

This was going to be fun .

Her fingers moved the pieces, lining them quickly like little tin soldiers. This was not a challenging word. It was a strategic move. He started off the counting himself. He set his hand on his chin, hovering much too close.

He knew the moment she saw the word. Her eyes widened slightly, and the softest pink began to fill her cheeks. Was . . . was she blushing?

“Adoration?”

She said the word carefully, as if not trusting it. More pink settled on her face. It didn’t look like the flush of anger that their interactions tended to bring out. Had he embarrassed her?

“Interesting choice, brother,” Bridget said slowly.

Tobias snickered. “I’d say. But it’s just a silly game. He cannot really admire her. It’s Grace, after all. She drives men away with her smart words and glares.”

Grace’s blush faded in an instant.

Richard frowned at the lad. “Apologize at once, Tobias. Your sister deserves your respect.”

Tobias’s face turned sheepish. Richard knew the lad looked up to him, and he hoped he’d take his words to heart.

“Sorry, Grace,” Tobias muttered. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

Richard glanced down at Grace, who for once, seemed without a ready response.

She cleared her throat. “You are forgiven.” She jumbled his tiles together as if they had never existed and gathered some of her own. She surprised him by sliding them his way.

He fully expected an insult.

OCIERH

He spotted an R for ridiculous, but there were not enough letters for that and too many to use the C for cad. What other insults might Gracie May fancy ?

Seconds ticked by while he moved the letters around, his fingers stilling on the last tile. “Heroic?” He shifted the last tile into place. Sure enough, that was the word. He swung his eyes to Grace. Her bold gaze met his.

“Why, Miss Steele. How unexpectedly charitable of you,” he said, his voice dropping a little lower than he intended.

She didn’t bat an eyelash. “I do have my moments.”

This was definitely one of them. Her eyes appeared more green than blue in this light, or was it more blue than green? Either way, they looked uncharacteristically lovely.

Her pert pink mouth settled into a challenging smile that no man had yet conquered, but surely dozens had tried. Not him, of course. He knew his boundaries. He swallowed and finally broke the strange connection between them. Perhaps this is why they were better off as sparring partners. Anything else felt unsettling.

Bridget went next. She slid her letters to Grace. Grace had always been quick at this game—or every game for that matter—but she hesitated as she lined up the last few letters. “The word is confused .”

His sister was another smart one, and she had caught the shift he and Grace were attempting to make. She didn’t look angry, thank goodness, but no other emotion settled on her face. He would wager to guess she was still deciding what to make of them.

“I suppose I am next,” Ruth announced. “The carriage should be readied now, so this will be my last turn.” She gathered a few tiles and passed them to Bridget.

Bridget unscrambled the word and bent over it. “Courtship?”

Ruth stood. “Thank you for the skating and refreshments.” She actually met Richard’s eyes when she spoke. “Good day to you all.”

“Wait for me,” Tobias said, pulling himself off the floor. “This game is getting too personal for my taste. ”

“I will see you out,” Bridget gave Richard and Grace a peculiar look and followed the others from the drawing room.

An awkward air settled between him and Grace. He scratched his chin and turned to her. “That went well.”

She covered her mouth but the slight shake of her shoulders gave away her silent laugh.

“What’s so humorous?”

She shook her head. “Nothing.”

“What?”

“The poor souls. They actually believe that you . . . that we . . .” her laugh slipped out. “I’m sorry. It’s unfathomable.”

Why didn’t he think it was funny? Granted, he wasn’t proud of deceiving anyone, least of all his sister and neighbors. But why did she persist in thinking the worst of him? What was so wrong with her liking him? He could see himself liking her. Maybe. If he tried. He shook his head, refusing to finish the thought.

“What is it? You look in poor humor all of the sudden.”

“I’m never in poor humor. I do not get upset easily.”

She leaned against the tea table. “You’re right. If there is something worth admiring about you, it’s probably that. But how do you explain that frown of irritation?”

His forced smile came readily after a year and more of practice and he gave her an indirect response. “You have not taken me up on it before, but if you recall, I have offered plenty of times to list some of my finer attributes for you to acquaint yourself with. I can never understand these frequent occasions where you seem to struggle to grasp my good qualities while everyone else has no trouble in discovering them with ease.”

She tapped her lips in simple mockery. “And yet you fail to understand that in making such a list, you are demonstrating your sense of self-importance that I continually disdain.”

“You two,” Bridget shook her head from the doorway. “The minute I think there is a truce between you, I am proved wrong. That game—never mind the particulars—is proof it is possible. Do try, for my sake. It can be most difficult living with you both.”

“I don’t live here,” Grace said, the same time he said, “She doesn’t live here.”

Bridget huffed. “I suppose not, but Grace is as much a sister to me and is welcome anywhere I am. And my brother, obviously, owns this house, so the two of you need to learn to get along.”

No one had more patience for his and Grace’s bickering than Bridget, but it seemed she had met her limit.

“Bridget,” Grace began.

“I know,” Bridget said, holding up her hand, “you think it impossible. But a sudden idea has come to my head.”

“Go ahead,” Richard prompted.

“We are going to spend more time in each other’s company.”

Instinctively, Richard looked at Grace, whose gaze swung to meet his. How incredibly fortuitous of his sister.

“I agree,” he said, slapping his knee. “I have been focusing far too much on the estate. With the holiday nearly upon us, there is no reason I cannot step back and be with my family.”

“I’m not family,” Grace said from beside him.

He set his forearms on his thighs and leaned toward her, lowering his voice for her to hear. “Yet,” he said.

She pressed her lips together and whispered. “Is it inevitable?”

“Very.” Her much too sea blue eyes widened, and he took a moment to appreciate them. Maybe his children would be lucky enough to inherit their aunt’s features. But if they did, they’d better put a little more softness behind their gazes. He knew exactly what Grace thought of him, and it had nothing to do with flattering thoughts about his own eyes.

“Enough,” Bridget said, coming into the room. “It has been decided and neither of you can talk me out of it.

Richard cleared his throat. “Miss Steele might not be supportive, but your brother will not disappoint you.” He grinned a little at Gracie’s wicked glare. “I think it has been too long since we have had the Steeles over for dinner.”

“Yes!” Bridget squealed and clapped.

“Saturday night. What do you say, Miss Steele? You cannot disappoint us.”

“Oh?” she said. “You won’t be able to bear it?”

He set a hand to his heart. “I will be thoroughly crushed.”

She fought her smile, which he decided then and there was his favorite look of hers. It was this battle between her resisting reacting to him and him getting to her. One day he would get to her fully and prove that he was more of a man than she thought him to be. With that realization, she would willingly smile at him without a single trace of artifice. Such a moment would be incredibly satisfying.

Until then, he would be forced to depend on his charm—the only blasted skill he seemed to possess. First, woo Grace, and then woo Ruth. But he would also seek an alternative route in case he failed. He would ask his solicitor to search for an investment opportunity with a quick turnaround. While this was as unlikely as earning Aunt’s money with his marriage, he would exhaust every avenue.