Married By Twelfth Night (Regency Christmas Brides)

15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

Richard’s mouth formed a grim line as he studied the papers in his hand, the numbers burning holes behind his eyes.

“They won’t change no matter how long you stare at them.”

Richard looked up at Mr. Bowers, his new solicitor. He had thin brown hair, sharp but compassionate eyes, and an unpretentious but tidy suit of clothes. Richard had hired him after Father’s death. Father’s solicitor was old enough to be a gnarled tree in a different century, and his memory issues had caused a number of drastic problems for the estate. Mr. Bowers had done his best with what they had left, but their latest investment had not produced the desired results fast enough.

“I know,” Richard said, dropping the papers onto his desk. Mentally, he listed a few improvements the estate needed. A tenant home required a new roof come spring, much of their farming equipment was outdated, and the manor house was in constant need of upkeep. He rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger, whispering a silent plea to the heavens for help.

“You’ll have to let the house or sell,” Mr. Bowers said.

“Closing off the west wing doesn’t seem to have helped anything?” He knew the answer, but he had to ask anyway. What if they closed off everything but two bedchambers and the drawing room ?

“It cut back on a few costs, but they were pennies compared to what you need.”

Richard felt a knot of anxiety growing in his chest. “We could reduce the staff to a skeletal crew.” He had been against this before, wanting to keep his mother and sister in comfort, but he was willing to do anything before he’d sell or rent it out.

“It might buy you more time.”

Time. He was just as short in it as he was in funds. He did not have to look at the calendar to know that he had only two weeks until his deadline with his aunt. Fourteen measly days to convince Ruth to marry him. He’d already missed the opportunity to post the banns and have them read the three weeks before the wedding. While he had a special license, it did not guarantee a bride to go with it.

Everything was getting out of hand. He’d been hopeful before, but it felt ill-placed now. It was growing harder to pretend cheerfulness around Bridget and to not succumb to the worry building inside him.

Richard scratched at his jaw, thinking over his options. “I will keep the staff on over the holidays. Let’s meet again directly after, and I will have a decision for you.”

“Very well, Mr. Graham.” Mr. Bowers reached for his satchel. “I hope you will consider letting it go. I know that this house and land are filled with your family’s history, but a few years in a small cottage could be just the solution to grow your investments and pay down debt.”

“A few years?”

“Ten . . . twelve at most.”

Richard hadn’t the energy to cry, but he planned to use these blasted papers to wipe up his tears when he did. They represented all he was about to lose.

“I have a lot to think about. Thank you for your time, Mr. Bowers.”

“Good day, sir.”

Richard saw him out and stared at the closed door for some time, lost in his thoughts. A trill of laughter sounded from somewhere in the house, and it pulled him from his woolgathering.

Grace was here.

The thought lightened his mood. It shouldn’t have, but more and more this past month, she had been the only person capable of distracting him from the pressure of his situation.

She seemed convinced that he could win Ruth over, and her surety had been an anchor to his drifting will power. The day before yesterday, they had collected Ruth and gone to town to purchase all sorts of festive ribbons. He had been tight with Bridget’s pin money, but she had asked for so little this last year that he had indulged her. It had been a relief to see the store had advertised a sale in their window, cutting down the overall expenditure.

When had he ever worried about the cost of ribbons?

He hadn’t even realized he’d been walking until he drew close to the drawing room door. He wanted to see Grace. Needed to see her.

His hand hovered on the handle. Was he falling in love with her? He yanked away from the offending brass. Admittedly, he’d been more attracted to her than ever, and she was never far from his thoughts . . . but that was because of the added time they were in each other’s company.

He couldn’t love Grace.

It would ruin everything.

The knot in his chest grew to the size of an orange, pressing on his lungs and making his breathing shallow. He opened the door, and his eyes immediately snagged on Grace’s profile. Her sweet little pixie nose and bright intelligent eyes, and the curve of her pink mouth as she lifted her teacup to her lips. Oxygen filled his chest at the mere sight of her.

He ignored what it meant, pushing into the room.

“Richard!” Bridget cried when she noticed him. Her bright smile lifted his thoughts too. She would forgive him if they lost Belside, he knew that now, but she shouldn’t have to. “Your timing is impeccable. Ruth thinks she knows of a place we can find mistletoe.”

He hadn’t even noticed Ruth, sitting just beyond Bridget.

“Oh?”

Ruth nodded, her mannerisms subdued next to her sister’s. “There is an apple orchard behind our estate. It belongs to Mr. Callingworth. He lets me walk there when I have a mind to. I noticed some mistletoe growing in the trees on my last walk. We will need a servant to help fetch it.”

Ruth’s voice was quiet but steady and still so unfamiliar to him after all these years as her neighbor. But she was warming to him, that he could tell.

“A fine idea, Miss Steele,” he acknowledged. “Our gardener, Mr. Peters, loves a challenge. I will ask him if he is available. Should I have the carriage readied?” A bit of cold, fresh air sounded like just the thing to snap him from his mood.

“Oh, yes,” Bridget said. “We cannot continue on our project without our mistletoe.”

He left the room long enough to send a servant to ready the carriage and ask for Mr. Peters’s assistance. When he returned, the women stood to gather their cloaks.

“This mistletoe business sounds like more treasure hunting,” Grace said to him, coming around the sofa toward him, while Ruth and Bridget continued to discuss their plans. “No one is allowed to stop me if I decide to climb one of these trees to fetch the berries myself. ”

He smirked. “No one could stop you from doing anything should you have a mind to. Even if we tried.”

She made a face. “Certainly not you. If you tell me no, then I will only be more determined.”

“And if I say yes?”

“Hmm, good question. Then I will probably still do it.”

He shook his head. She was already distracting him, and he was so thankful for it. “Then you want me to agree with you on everything?”

“That would make my life easier.”

He wanted to agree with her then and there, forever. All she had to do was ask something of him, and he would be a fool enough to do it. He held the drawing room door open a little wider, allowing her to pass through it. “What about in reverse? Would you make my life easier and agree with me on everything too?”

“Maybe on a few things, since I can be generous, but not everything.” He did not know if it was intentional or not, but in that moment, she looked back at Ruth and frowned.

Was she starting to believe that Ruth would never marry him? It wasn’t the sort of news he needed at the moment.

When Grace met his gaze again, her frown was gone and she produced a small smile. “What’s wrong, Richie? You seem out of sorts.”

He hadn’t expected her question. “Me?”

“Yes, you."

“I know I can be very disagreeable where you’re concerned, but I have been trying harder lately. I did promise to listen too, remember?”

She eyed him, taking his measure in an exaggerated fashion. “You have been marginally better. I’ve noticed.”

He grinned. “Have you?”

“Yes.” She dropped her pretense and clasped her hands together in front of her skirt. “You smile more readily. ”

“I do?”

She nodded. “I believe you’ve improved in other areas too.”

“How so?”

“You seem to care more about what’s happening around you.”

“I hope so. You know, you’ve changed too.”

“Me?”

He reached up and tapped her cheek. “You blush more.”

Her face burned the moment the words left his mouth. “I . . . I do?” She covered her cheeks with her hands.

Without thinking, he set his hands on her wrists and pulled her hands down. “Don’t. I like your blush.”

He watched her slow swallow. “Why?”

He reluctantly released her. “It’s pretty.”

He might have to marry her sister one day, but this seemed like something important he needed to say.

She stared at him, disbelieving. “If you’re trying to get out of confiding in me, it’s working.”

He grinned. “If you’re trying to cheer me up, it’s working.”

She laughed. “I don’t even know what’s bothering you.”

He looked over her head at Bridget to assure she was still occupied. “But you noticed, and you genuinely cared to ask about it. In truth, it’s nothing new. I had a lovely meeting with my solicitor with more grave news about Belside.”

“Oh, Richard. I’m so sorry. What can I do to help? There has to be something.”

He reached up and touched her elbow. “You are helping. We’ve made progress, haven’t we?”

She sighed. “Have we?”

“Mr. Dobson is out of the picture and,” he lowered his voice, “Ruth actually speaks to me now. ”

“But your timeline?”

He sighed. He should have proposed by now and posted the bans. “I know.”

Bridget and Ruth came up behind them. “What are you two talking about?” Bridget asked. “Grace looks like she is going to cry.”

“Who me?” Grace produced a shaky laugh. “I daresay you imagined it. Let’s fetch our cloaks and start our treasure hunt.”

They proceeded from the room, Grace ushering the women through the door. She looked back at him over her shoulder and whispered. “It will all work out. I know it.”

The problem felt too big to fix, but he found himself trusting her once again. He believed Grace capable of anything. And having her on his side this time felt like wind lifting his heavy sails and propelling him toward home.