Married By Twelfth Night (Regency Christmas Brides)

10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Grace had accomplished what she had set out to do, but never had one of her successes left so many conflicting feelings. It had been three days since the dinner party, and her parents had been impossible to live with. Father kept sending her pleased looks and telling her how proud he was of her. Mama had found ways to slide the topic of weddings into every other conversation. Tuesday morning, she was in a particularly expressive mood. She was sure to mention her opinion of the best wedding dates, where to shop for fine but affordable wedding clothes, and an exhaustive menu of what to serve at wedding breakfasts.

The anxiety in Grace’s middle soared toward her chest until every muscle strung tight. Mama’s discussion of items to add to Grace’s trousseau snapped her barely held patience. Grace set down her teacup with a clatter that seemed to rattle the entire drawing room. Ruth and Mama looked up expectedly at her from their needlework. Grace’s own sewing was a complete mess. Every knot she had made in her embroidery had to be pulled out and fixed.

With no explanation for her shamble of nerves, she hurriedly faced the door. “I . . . I wonder why Mr. Dobson does not come to visit.”

She swallowed back stomach bile. It had come to this. She would rather discuss the safe but dreadfully boring topic of buttons than plan a fictitious wedding to Richard Graham .

“I don’t believe we will see much of Mr. Dobson in the future,” Ruth said, her eyes dancing.

Grace frowned. “What do you mean?” She needed Mr. Dobson. No one else could lull her mind into such emptiness as he did. There was not a chance of any guilt or anxiety outside of ridding herself of him. How had she not appreciated how useful that man had been?

Ruth picked a thread from her gown. “Bridget told me at the party.”

“Told you what?” Mama asked, leaning forward.

Grace instinctively did the same.

“Do you recall last Wednesday when both Mr. Graham and Mr. Dobson visited us?”

“Yes, I remember.”

“Bridget was walking to our house when she stumbled upon them.”

Grace shook her head. “I don’t understand. We never had a visit from her that day.”

“That is because after hearing the men’s private conversation, she returned home so as not to be caught by her brother. You see, Mr. Graham told Mr. Dobson that there was mutual affection between himself and you and that Mr. Dobson ought to cry off before he was wounded by the situation.”

Grace gasped. “He didn’t!”

Ruth grinned. Never had her sister been so happy to discuss gossip before. “It was better than any novel I have ever read. I do believe Mr. Graham is smitten by you.”

“I knew it!” Mama cried, clapping her hands.

“Bridget must have misheard.” Grace shook her head fervently. “Ruth, you must know, I have heard him speak well of you . So, you see, he is confused and does not know his own mind. ”

“Then you must unconfuse him,” Ruth said. “I have told you before; I am not his equal in personality.”

Grace groaned, slouching back into the sofa. She was supposed to be pretending to like the man, but in a little more than a week’s time, they had skipped from courtship to wedding planning. Just yesterday, she had made a detailed list of places to visit in London to help maintain her focus on the prize, but at the moment, not one of those places seemed worth this much trouble.

“Sit up,” Mama said. “This is nothing to pout about. It’s something to celebrate.”

Celebrate? Grace whipped her head up. “Mama, you cannot make any insinuations. There is no understanding between us. All this wedding talk must cease.” She wasn’t about to engage herself to Richard Graham for the name of a favor. That was going too far.

Mr. Reed stuck his head in the door. “Pardon me, but Mr. Graham is here to pay a call.”

Mama looked positively gleeful. “Hand me your sewing things, girls. Here, put them in this basket.” She waved her hand to Mr. Reed. “We’re ready now. Send him right in.” She dropped her gaze to Grace. “Be on your best behavior and maybe this understanding we desire will come sooner than later.”

They all stood as Richard entered the room. In his arms was a colorful bouquet of flowers. He must have sent for them from the hothouses a town over. Their loveliness exceeded any she had seen. His bow was like a flourish—masculine but with finesse. Drat that perfect man. He straightened and grinned, most particularly at her.

“Good morning, ladies. I have brought flowers for your table. I trust you had an excellent weekend?”

And he was far too happy for her taste. Had he not an inkling of what he had walked into ?

“A very good weekend, Mr. Graham,” Mama said. “You must sit and take tea with us.” She pointed at the cushion beside Grace.

“I would like nothing better, but I have my phaeton hitched up outside. I remembered how much Miss Grace enjoys the conveyance. I thought I would offer to take her on a short excursion around our two estates before I return home. I have my groom with me and hot bricks and blankets.”

Ruth smiled. “You have thought of the exact ways to please my sister.” She stood and took the flowers from Richard. “I will see these find a proper place of honor.”

Yes, Ruth smiled . At Richard. And she had spoken more than a dozen words. This was progress. If Ruth burying Grace in a bed of expectation could be seen as progress.

Grace didn’t want to go on a carriage ride, even if she did love being in the open seats of a phaeton. If she accepted, it would be interpreted as an act of courtship—which would be a product of her own insane idea. If she declined, she would delay a chance to explain to Richard about the horrid turn of events that had come from their scheming. Either way, she was doomed.

She forced her mouth to move. “I shall fetch my cloak and mittens.”

Not ten minutes later, dressed as warmly as was fashionably acceptable, she walked with Richard from the house to the long drive. His phaeton gleamed in the winter sun—the black a stark contrast to the muted browns of the grass and leafless trees beyond it. Small clumps of snow spotted the rest of the grounds.

When they reached the phaeton, Richard spoke first. “I had hoped to come yesterday, but I have tasked my solicitor with combing the countryside for investment opportunities with a quick turnaround. I traveled again yesterday to look into it. Sadly, it was as terrible as the one I learned about last week.” He glanced at her once and then a second time. “You’re rather quiet today.”

Grace produced a single nod. “I’m thinking.”

“Oh?” he said. “Should I be wary of some future ploy?”

She pulled at her mittens. “Not yet.”

“Good, then dare I ask the subject of your thoughts?”

She gave a single shrug. She wouldn’t mention how excited she was to smell the perfumes of each bloom he had brought. Thankfully, she had enough thoughts whirling through her mind to think of another to mention. “I am thinking of how you rid me of Mr. Dobson.”

“I told you. I bribed him.”

“But how?” He hadn’t any money to spare.

He gave a crooked smile. “I gave him buttons.”

That was not what she expected him to say. “Buttons?”

“Yes. There is a chest of gowns in my attic. Grandmother left behind several polonaise-style dresses with silk buttons. I simply had them removed and sent them over to him.”

She gasped. “You ruined those beautiful gowns? It would have been better if you would have dueled him.”

He laughed, loud and rich. “I will remember that next time.” He stepped closer to the conveyance, but she stayed frozen in place.

“Did you say anything else to him?”

He frowned, his gaze drifting off as if he were thinking. “I am sure I did, but I cannot recall the exact words. I rode to Birmingham the very next morning and my weekend was just as busy. I think I said something to the effect that we were passionately in love and that he didn’t stand a chance.”

Grace’s mouth dropped open. How did he so easily say those words, “passionately in love,” without flinching. Good heavens. This was worse than what Bridget had overheard. “Richard— ”

Before she could finish her sound verbal lashing, he set his hands on her waist and swooped her up into the air. Her arms flung to his shoulders as he transferred her like one would a feather to her seat high in the phaeton.

She released him to catch her breath, which came out shaky and unsettled. One would think he had embraced her by the way her heart stuttered in her chest. She quickly slid across the velvet seat to allow space between them. Richard climbed inside, and oblivious to her efforts to distance herself, he proceeded to cover her lap with a dense fur blanket. His motions were gentle and thorough, as he assured that not an inch of her lower half was exposed to the chilly air.

He was being much too kind.

“Go ahead, Briggs,” he said to the groom, settling back into his seat. He turned to her, his face much too close to hers. “What was that you were saying earlier?”

He was employing this obnoxious behavior on purpose. He wanted her to react, but she was on to him. “I was about to declare how utterly stupid you are.”

His sigh was more of content than the depressed state she wished to inflict. “Oh, good. You aren’t mad.”

She gave a short laugh, despite herself. “No, just annoyed.”

He chuckled. “No one sees my weaknesses like you do, Gracie May. In fact, I sense you enjoy exploiting them.”

“I do see them quite plainly. Call it a gift.”

He chuckled again. “I cannot imagine why you despise me, but perhaps this is as good a time as any to discover why.”

The last three days had upset her enough to tell him every word of how she’d felt for the entire last year. She opened her mouth to unload her thoughts, but he held up a hand to stop her .

“Uh, uh, uh. Let’s remember that I did rid you of Mr. Dobson as promised. You must do your best to temper your words. I can be sensitive, you know.”

“Ha! You have never taken offense to any of my words.”

“That is because I find your insults so entertaining.” His sly, flirtatious grin set her heart pounding.

She hated when that happened. Hated him for making it happen. If he meant anything by them, she could be flattered, but she knew he intended the opposite. “Besides the fact that you are you , and that in and of itself is terribly obnoxious, my frustration with you has doubled exponentially since your return from Oxford.”

“From Oxford?” His brow puckered. “Does my presence keep you and Bridget from your escapades?”

“No one could manage that,” she said. “It is your utter failure at being a good brother to Bridget during her time of need.”

His jovialness disappeared in one cold instant. “What do you mean?”

Now that she said it, a sliver of guilt nagged at her middle. But she was justified, and shouldn’t feel bad. “I mean that you neglected Bridget, and her suffering has been my own.”

“Is that what she thinks? That I abandoned her?”

The hurt on his face was much stronger than she imagined it would be, and though she expected such a look of contrition would bring her a measure of satisfaction, it didn’t. “It is what we both think.”

He sighed, his gaze facing forward. “I suppose I’ve been consumed with my own grief and worry about the estate. I’ve been so convinced that I could change Belside’s fate—even seeking financial counsel and guidance on the particulars of running an estate from every intelligent man I know. Keeping Belside in the family feels like keeping Father’s memory alive. I’ve hardly been able to consider anything else since his death.”

It was strange seeing Richard—a man she had thought pompous and nearly perfect—be vulnerable. It felt wrong, confusing, and everything in-between.

“I had no idea,” she admitted a little begrudgingly. When she saw him with his friends, had he been trying to seek their advice? Had she misinterpreted the situation?

He adjusted the brim of his hat, pulling it lower. “Telling anyone the specifics would only garner pity, and pity won’t save Belside.”

There was no doubting the honesty and hints of embarrassment in his voice. She wasn’t supposed to feel compassion for him, but his confession had punctured her anger and new emotions were seeping through. “It isn’t right for anyone to suffer alone.”

Not even him.

He studied her briefly, no doubt surprised she cared at all. “What if I deserve to suffer alone?”

The gruffness in his tone alarmed her. “H-how can you say that?”

He shrugged. “I suppose I have my reasons. One of which is my duty to my family. You can add poor brother and son to your list of my failings. I fooled myself into thinking that Bridget would manage well enough with you by her side, just as I imagined Mother’s melancholy to fade after a few months’ time.”

She didn’t want to add to any list. In fact, she wanted to rip the proverbial thing to shreds. All her anger had deflated, and she wanted to comfort him, to assure him that Belside would weather this crisis, that his mother would rally, and that Bridget would manage without him. But they would be false promises. She could ensure nothing. All these months she had harassed him, when underneath his cheerful facade was a stark layer of pain. Why had she not seen it ?

“I tried my best to be there for your mother and sister.” Grace’s voice dropped to a whisper. “But they needed you. They still need you.”

He frowned, heavy brows shadowing his almond eyes. Silence bounced between them like the cadence of the horses. It had been over a year, but sadness visited with every memory of Mr. Graham’s death. A year and a half was not enough to erase the suffering he had unintentionally left in his wake.

Richard heaved a sigh. “Thank you for being honest with me, Gracie. My inadequacies have never been so prominent before, but I still needed to hear it.”

No one was better at highlighting his failings than her, but didn’t he realize how much he had to offer? “They love you, you know. Because of who you already are.”

He sighed. “I wish that were enough.”

“Do you really think it’s not?”

He shrugged. “I suppose I do. There is too much I cannot control—the money, the house. It weighs on me.”

Shame pricked her conscience so deeply she wanted to curl in on herself. “I’m sorry if my . . . my rudeness . . . added to your burdens.”

“Nonsense. Sparring with you is the only entertainment I get these days.” He forced a smile, but she saw through it this time. How often had his smiles been pretend?

“I will try to see that as a compliment.”

“It is, Gracie, I promise. Your father knows a little of our situation, as does my solicitor, and a few friends I have reached out to for financial advice, but they do not know anything about my family. I prefer it that way. But you,” he paused, his gaze studying her own, “you know it all. ”

The moment felt undeniably private, like he had opened a door and invited her in. He could have told any number of women about his problems. They certainly flocked after him when out in Society, but he was telling her instead. She knew it was because of her history with the family, but was there more to it? “Why do I have a feeling that no one really knows it all? Do you have anyone you confide in, Richard?”

“Not candidly like this, no. My friends are generally the fair-weather sort. I don’t know if I have ever needed a confidante before. It feels refreshing to have some of this off my chest. I thank you for listening.”

Daring not to speak for fear of breaking a spell his unguarded words had set on her, she ducked her head. She couldn’t understand it—or him—but he needed a friend, and she suddenly wanted so dearly to be that person. She forced her head to lift again. “You don’t have to keep thanking me. I want to listen.”

“Do you?” He searched her gaze as if looking for more than just the answer to this question, and in doing so, set off a tingle of feeling through her limbs.

She felt sheepish, but she spoke the feelings on her mind anyway. “I know I have not been someone you could call a friend in the past, but I can be relied upon, should you need me.”

“Not just because of the loyalty to my family?”

She thought carefully on her answer. “Perhaps initially, but I believe we can have a friendship of our own.” And surprisingly, she meant it. Bridget would never believe it. She was having trouble believing it. It would take more curbing of her tongue, but she could try.

“I should like that,” he said, “. . . to be friends.”

She held his gaze before dipping a quick nod of agreement.

“Friendship has two ends to it,” he said. “I will listen to your troubles as well. ”

“My troubles are nothing.” She hastily dismissed her problems. They were not comparable to a threat on one’s home.

“No matter the size or breadth, it doesn’t matter to a true friend. Perhaps someday you can tell me why you want to go to London when I know you don’t care a fig about the city itself.”

She opened her mouth to tell him that she did like the city, but caught herself. If she meant what she had said about friendship, she had to trust Richard in return. “I do prefer the countryside. I only want to find a husband.” As soon as the words left her mouth, she regretted them. She was giving him more fodder to tease her about.

He did not laugh, however. Bless him for that. “Do you not think you can find a husband here?” he asked, adjusting the brim of his hat.

She shook her head. “Not unless I accept Mr. Dobson.”

The look of disgust he sent her way nearly made her laugh.

“Listen, Gracie, I won’t tell you all the reasons I think you’re wrong about this husband business, because I do not think we are good enough friends yet for you to believe me. But I will say that I hope you find the happiness you’re searching for. You deserve it.”

His words were always teasing and insincere, but there was not even the smallest hint of sarcasm. She turned her head forward, thinking over his words and noticing the newly falling snow for the first time. The flakes were small, almost imperceptible, but only inches from her nose. How could she not notice something right in front of her?

Like the fact that she and Richard could be friends.

She had always been very aware of him, but somehow after their conversation her senses were heightened. The shift of his arm, the clenching of his jaw, and the way he searched his surroundings and took in every detail. But it was his thoughts she wanted to know better. What else had he endured? Would he keep confiding in her? This was new territory. It should have scared her, but oddly, it did not .

Upon returning to the house and descending the carriage, Richard took her gloved hand in his.

She started to pull back, but he held firm. “Your family is watching.” He bent over her hand, and at the last minute, flipped it over, exposing her wrist. His lips pressed against her bare skin, sending a dizzying tingle up her arm. He slowly lifted his head until his gaze reached hers.

“Until next time, Gracie.”

She could not bring herself to respond, so utterly stunned by his unexpected kiss. He seemed to guess her thoughts and gave an unrepentant grin. After his carriage pulled away, her eyes flicked to the windows to spot her family.

Not a soul was in sight.