Married By Twelfth Night (Regency Christmas Brides)

8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Grace nodded absently while Mr. Dobson prattled on and on about buttons. From the corner of the room, Ruth plunked at the pianoforte as if the tune were as bored as the conversation. Grace’s thoughts wandered to Bridget’s note. It had been sent over just before Mr. Dobson arrived and had included menu options for their joint family dinner at the end of the week. Sweet Bridget. She couldn’t stop talking about the event.

Grace believed it was Richard’s voluntary participation that had Bridget so ecstatic. With just the Steeles invited, it was hardly worth getting excited about. Her brother, on the other hand, had neglected her entirely too much this past year, and the poor thing was starved for his attention.

Mr. Dobson’s voice lifted a single notch, catching her attention. “The Spaniards used to hide potent and dangerous substances in their buttons to smuggle them across the seas.”

Now that was quite an interesting fact. But Mr. Dobson quickly returned to noting the differences within his personal button collection, and she drifted back to thinking about Bridget. Had she deceived her dearest friend by not explaining the real reason behind the dinner party? But how could she disappoint her? Not to mention, telling Bridget about her brother’s plans of courtship would make it incredibly difficult to leave out the part about her estate being in trouble. It was better not to say anything until she had to.

“Yes,” she said with a nod to Mr. Dobson, but she was really talking and nodding to herself.

Speaking of resolutions to herself, she intended to see some results from her and Richard’s bargain. It had been three days since their game of tiles, and Grace hadn’t seen any sign of the odious man. Which meant she had been forced to suffer through two separate visits from Mr. Dobson.

This second one was trying her patience to an unholy degree.

Thinking of the first was slightly easier. Though thoughts of Richard courting her at all made her scowl deeply at the carpet. His words would be all honey and sweetness but full of empty meaning. They’d confuse her and try to shake her resolve against him. She had to be strong, for even the impenetrable walls of Jericho were brought down by words.

“Miss Steele, are you listening?”

She pulled her gaze up from the floor, smoothing her expression. Admittedly, she had not heard every word, but she could easily repeat the history of the button, should anyone inquire. She could also relay how many buttons Mr. Dobson was in possession of. Three-hundred forty-six, to be precise. He had acquired six new buttons just this week. “Mr. Dobson, even if I tried not to listen, how could I prevent it?” She said it as sweetly as she could, and sure enough, he entirely missed her point, his droning picking up right where he left off.

How perfectly . . . annoying.

Richard. Richard. Richard. She ground out his name in her head. Was he planning on courting her, or had he decided that he would have better luck praying somewhere for a miracle? Either way, she would curse his name before she heard another sentence about buttons .

The drawing room door filled with a dark shadow, and she looked up. “Richard!” She leaped to her feet. She hadn’t meant to shout his name—especially not his given one—but she had been repeating it in her head at the very moment she saw him.

“Happy to see me?” He grinned at her.

She punctuated each word of her response. “You have no idea.”

He laughed, gave a short bow, and strolled into the room as if it was his house. “Mr. Dobson, old boy. Good to see you.”

“What a greeting. I’m only twenty-six,” Mr. Dobson said. “What estimation do you use for naming ages?”

Richard’s smile faltered. “Old is relative. I meant it as a term of familiarity. Speaking of familiarity, I see you have been spending too much time at the Steeles again.”

Mr. Dobson’s face soured. “I believe I have as much right as you do to be here.”

“I wouldn’t be so confident.” Richard nodded to Ruth, whose fingers had stilled on the piano. “Don’t let me stop you, Miss Steele. Your music is exceptional.”

Ruth pulled a soft melody from the keys as her response. How did Richard have such an effect on people? It also begged the point that Grace should have practiced her music more. She could be the one hiding behind the ivory keys instead of sitting next to Mr. Dobson.

“Will you sit, Mr. Graham?” Grace asked. With the slightest nudge of her head, she motioned to the half cushion of space between her and Mr. Dobson.

Richard was no small man, and his brow slowly lifted.

She understood his concern, but it was hardly the time to consider his comfort. What about hers? He owed her after their time ice-skating. Hadn’t she done her part well enough? She motioned again to the spot beside her, her eyes widening this time for emphasis .

He flashed a smile that nearly masked his hesitation. “Uh, I think I will sit, thank you. He came directly toward them. “Excuse me.” And then without preamble, he tried to sit exactly where she wanted him—where he could block out Mr. Dobson from her view. His effort was worthy, although perhaps she had misjudged his abilities. He practically sat on one of her legs, and by the sound of Mr. Dobson’s voice, he had done the same to his.

“Oof!” she groaned, shoving the large man. Worse than the burning in her leg from the sudden unsolicited touch, he smelled like he’d just walked off Mount Olympus carrying the musk of the gods with him. Heaven help her.

Mr. Dobson must have shifted because Richard moved over, giving her room to breathe normal air again. Her cheeks remained flushed with heat, and she discreetly batted her hand to cool them. Where was her fan when she needed it?

“This is comfortable.” Richard’s tone was absent of sarcasm, but his words were anything but.

“Hardly,” Mr. Dobson grumbled.

Grace smoothed her dress, attempting to recover her composure, and then looked sideways at Richard. “You’re late.”

“Am I?”

She nodded, noting for the first time the fatigue lines around his eyes. Had he not been sleeping well? “Very late. By three days.”

He coughed into his hand, doing a terrible job at hiding his amusement. “Miss Steele, it is a privilege to have you count the passage of time until you see me again. I deeply apologize for my prolonged absence from your side. It was a great sacrifice to keep myself away.”

She smiled prettily at him. “I do appreciate your apology, but my forgiveness is not so easily won. I do hope you will endeavor to make up for your lapse in judgment.” She looked pointedly past him to Mr. Dobson.

Richard turned to the man, which clearly took some effort to avoid their knees hitting and mostly consisted of a slight movement of his head and shoulders. “Is it just me or does courting a woman take more effort with each passing generation?”

“I am not old enough to know,” Mr. Dobson said.

“Ah, perhaps it is my astute wisdom with such cases as these,” he said. “But it is no matter. I am helpless when Miss Steele asks anything of me.”

Her brow rose. “Oh? I shall endeavor to remember that.”

“Surely you speak of Miss Ruth Steele,” Mr. Dobson said, his voice growing thin.

Richard scratched the back of his head. “Ah, I can see how you might have been mistaken. Were it not uncouth to discuss such personal details of preference with the ladies present, I would endeavor to explain.”

Mr. Dobson’s frustration seemed to be climbing at the same rate as his breeches. Grace blinked twice and leaned forward slightly. He was gripping the fabric at the knees and . . . yes, the buttons on the bottom of his breeches just above his boots were missing. They were probably the six new ones added to his collection.

“By all means,” Mr. Dobson said, sticking his chin in the air. “Let us step into the corridor where we can have privacy.”

“Now?” Richard asked.

Mr. Dobson gave a firm nod. “I see no reason to delay the discussion of preference, as my own should be made known to you forthwith.”

Richard looked at her for help, but she pretended not to notice. But what was the phrase? He had made his bed and must lie in it? Yes, that was the one. Let him lie down, forthwith. And preferably before she started laughing.

“Very well.” Richard stood and Mr. Dobson followed. She watched them leave the room before she sat back and sighed with satisfaction. Finally, Richard was proving his worth.

“Grace,” Ruth hedged. “What in heaven’s name is going on?”

Grace hadn’t even noticed the music stop again. “I . . . don’t know what you could mean.”

“Grace,” she hissed. “Are those two men fighting over you?”

“I certainly hope so.”

Ruth groaned. “What if there is a duel?”

Grace squinted at the door. “Do you think we could be so fortunate?”

Ruth hit a low chord on the piano, her response unmistakable.

“Do not upset yourself. I doubt it will come to that.” Grace waited for the gentlemen to return, but the minutes ticked by without them. Ruth’s music turned into a jumble of tunes, a new one beginning before the last had ended.

Grace dusted off her hands and climbed out of her seat. Waiting had made her hungry, and she wanted to skip down to the kitchens and find something more satisfying than tea.

“Grace! You cannot leave me here alone. What if they come back?”

“I don’t think they will at this point. But do not fret. Whatever has happened, I trust Richard.”

Ruth’s brow rose in the perfect mimic of Mama’s. “You mean Mr. Graham ?”

“Not you too. Mr. Graham was Richard’s father. He will have to be just Richard.”

Ruth hurried from the pianoforte to her side. “Then is he courting you? ”

It sounded so impossible to even pretend an answer. “Maybe,” she managed.

Ruth worried her lip. “Did he ask me on a walk the other day to be close to you?”

Grace found herself blinking rapidly again. “I—I cannot say.”

Ruth heaved a sigh. “I am deeply relieved. I feared he might be interested in me. That would have been a true devastation, for I haven’t the faintest attachment to him in return. There cannot be a worse pair, I assure you. Can you imagine? Me, married to a socialite?” She shivered.

Oh, dear. This was a problem. “At the very least he is handsome,” Grace hedged.

Ruth grimaced. “If you do not mind his narrow jaw.”

Grace balked. “Narrow? Romeo himself could not have had a finer jaw.”

“That is your opinion, sister. His face is too expressive. And his voice carries.”

Grace couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “He is confident .”

Ruth shook her head. “I call it loud.”

Grace huffed. He was nothing of the sort. Why was Ruth finding fault with the best parts of him?

“I must prefer the brooding, serious type. So, you see, you are a much better fit for him than I.” Ruth gave Grace a knowing look and vacated the room, leaving her alone to stare after her.

What? Her sister was wrong. Grace wasn’t a better fit. Richard was fun to banter with and even more fun to rile, but this was just a game. It didn’t matter how good he smelled or that he kept coming to her rescue—first at the ball, then with Tobias, and now with Mr. Dobson—none of that mattered. She still despised how conceited he was. And even if he was trying to salvage things with Bridget, it was too little too late.

This was silly. There was nothing to talk herself out of. Besides, Richard wanted Ruth . She rubbed the back of her neck. She had merely been trying to point out that he did have some good qualities amongst the bad ones. But Ruth had been so against him that it would be exceptionally hard to convince her to care for him. Indeed, it might be easier to convince Richard to find someone else altogether.

Dropping her hand to her side, she straightened. If Richard could remove Mr. Dobson, then it was her duty to persuade Ruth.

Fair was fair.