Married By Twelfth Night (Regency Christmas Brides)

20. Chapter 20

Chapter 20

Grace should have been with her family for Christmas dinner, but as soon as she had mentioned Bridget’s invitation to Mama, she had practically been thrown out the door. After, of course, she had been subjected to Mama’s particular fussing over her hair and dress. She even bore a hint of rouge on her cheeks and a lip salve colored with saffron. She felt almost as decorated as the houses for the holiday.

“What do we do about a chaperone?” Mama worried, while she studied Grace’s reflection at her dressing table.

Grace wrinkled her nose. “Chaperone? At Belside? I have never required one before.”

“Yes, but that was before Mr. Graham began courting you.”

“I wouldn’t call it courting,” she argued. “We have barely established a friendship.” Her feelings said otherwise, but there was nothing official for Mama to be concerned about. It was Belside they were speaking about. Her second home!

“Nonetheless,” Mama began again. “If you were to become engaged to Mr. Graham, I wouldn’t want anyone to discover you had visited there these last weeks without a chaperone.”

Engaged. The word suddenly carried tangible weight.

“I cannot miss Christmas dinner with Mr. Steele, but I do want you to go.” Mama snapped her fingers. “I shall send Ruth with you.”

“Ruth?” It wasn’t the worst option, but would her sister’s presence remind Richard of his previous desire to marry her? She pushed the concern from her mind. All she required was a moment alone to share her feelings with Richard. Then come what may.

Ruth went along with the plan, and soon the carriage was pulling them both in front of Belside. Cloaked in a night’s winter scene that nearly stole her breath away, the manor stood in frosted glory. Despite the biting temperature, there was nothing cold about the picture in front of her. Lines of snow on the eaves and smoke curling from the chimneys made the large edifice appear cozy and inviting.

“Oh, dear.” Ruth set her gloved hand on her head. “I daresay my headache has worsened.”

“What headache?” Grace shifted her gaze and squinted in the dark to see her sister clearer.

“The one I had before we left, which now feels like the pulse of a beast. I apologize, but I must return home to bed.”

“I won’t ask about that analogy, but of course, you must return home. It was silly to come here for Christmas dinner at all.”

“Nonsense,” Ruth said. “You must stay. We cannot both return home.”

“You are my chaperone, remember?” Grace stuck the finger of her glove between her teeth. It would not take long to speak to Richard. She did not have to stay for dinner. “I wonder if you could return home and then send the carriage back for me. I will stay long enough to make my apologies, and then return home again.”

Ruth lowered her hand. “If that is what you wish. I am sorry to ruin your evening.”

“Not at all.” She wished her sister better and climbed down from the carriage. By the time she reached the doorstep, the conveyance departed behind her, and there was no turning back. She knocked and waited, shivering and constantly flipping obnoxious curls away from her face.

What would she say to Richard? How did she confess her feelings to a man she had spent years criticizing?

“I hadn’t meant for it to happen . . .” She shook her head. No, that sounded like an apology. That was not what she wanted. “It wasn’t your appearance, so don’t let this feed your vanity.” Good heavens. Did she plan to chase him away too? She desired to be direct and concise. Flustered, she shouted into the wind the confession she wished to make. “Just kiss me again, will you?”

The door swung open as she belted the words. The butler’s eyes widened.

She winced. “Those were, er, lines to a play.” She ducked inside, wishing she could toss out the tree in the corner and use the empty flower pot to cover her flaming cheeks.

If only life was so convenient.

“Where might I find Miss Graham?” Her voice squeaked out the words.

The butler accepted her cloak. “Miss Graham is changing for dinner and said to wait for her in the drawing room.”

“Excellent,” she muttered. She hurried past him, her hand casually shielding her eyes from his. She rubbed her icy hands together, chastising herself with every step toward the drawing room. Once inside, she moved straight to the warm fire crackling behind the grate. Not five feet from the fire, her feet suddenly stopped. There was Richard prostrate on the sofa and fast asleep.

Was he ill?

She forgot all about the chill she’d taken outside and hurried to his side.

“Richard? ”

His eyes did not so much as flutter open and his entire form held eerily still. She hastily removed one glove and reached to set her hand on his forehead to see if he had succumbed to a fever. An inch from his skin she hesitated. Her pulse began to pound in her chest. If she woke him, she would have to tell him her secret.

But that was why she was here, wasn’t it?

Was she ready?

She shook her head. If he were ill, he needed assistance. That is what mattered at the moment. As slowly and carefully as she dared, she set a few fingers against his skin. Warmth radiated there, but not the powerful heat of a fever. Her shoulders dropped and relief soared through her. She had never known Richard to sleep during the day, but at least he was healthy.

She lightly brushed his forehead as she removed her hand and let it drop to her side. Now what? She studied his handsome face, trying to decide if she should run back home or wake him and get it over with.

Tilting her head, she admired the lines of his cheekbone down to his jaw. Maybe it was his appearance that started her feelings for him. He was so very nice to look at. Glancing over her shoulder to assure Bridget was not yet there, she lowered herself to her knees for a better look. Why not? This might be her only chance to do so. If he rejected her and married her sister, she would probably try to never look at him again . . . ever. How else would she be able to control her increasing attraction to him?

She would just admire him for a moment and then she would wake him and . . . and . . . her train of thought waned as her eyes wandered to his mouth. She found herself leaning toward him. What if she kissed him while he slept? Just in case that could never happen again too. With her glove in her fist, she set her hand carefully on his shoulder and dipped her head .

She was mere inches away when Richard’s eyes cracked open.

“Gracie?” he whispered.

Her limbs became paralyzed with shock, and she couldn’t answer him.

His brows lowered. “Am I dreaming?”

“Yes,” she blurted, on impulse.

“Good.” His arm came up around her back, and she couldn’t breathe. And then with a gentle pull, he drew her closer.

A loud thud sounded from behind them, the door hitting the wall. “What in the name of all that is good and holy is happening here?” The exclamation behind them set Richard leaping off the sofa. Grace jumped in fright too, but not so elegantly, and her head hit Richard’s chest. He caught her arm and stepped on her toe. After a moment, they managed to stand side by side, chests heaving, while they stared at who had caught them in a most compromising position.

The older woman had straight, imposing shoulders beneath her purple muslin gown. Her gray hair sat perfectly coiffed atop her head as if a single hair did not risk the woman’s ire by being out of place. But most notable of all was her very scandalized expression.

“Aunt Edith,” Richard gaped. “What are you doing here?”

“Saving the family name, apparently.” She tapped a cane on the ground for emphasis. Grace could not tell if she required the cane or if it was an affectation she used to intimidate people.

“It’s not what you think,” Richard said, holding up his hands.

Grace nodded her agreement because she hadn’t quite found her voice yet. Nothing had happened, but she had been about to let Richard kiss her if he so desired. She wasn’t about to admit to such a thing though.

“Oh?” his aunt said, pursing her wrinkled lips. “Is that why you have a woman’s glove across your chest? ”

Grace’s head flung to see, and sure enough, her glove was draped across Richard as if stamping him with her touch.

He quickly removed it and handed it back to her. It was hers and there was no hiding the fact, so she reluctantly accepted it.

It was her turn to say something. “Forgive me, I found Mr. Graham asleep on the sofa when I arrived, and I was ascertaining if he was ill.”

“He looks robust and healthy to me.” His aunt’s snippy voice sent a dart of shame at her chest.

“Yes, he does, doesn’t he?” she sighed heavily. Too healthy, if you asked her.

“Aunt, this is Miss Grace Steele. Miss Steele, my great-aunt, Lady Edith Walker.”

After Grace dipped a curtsy, Richard abandoned her. He strode to his aunt’s side. “Now that you know it was a complete misunderstanding, you must sit down and rest.” He took her arm and led her into the room.

Lady Edith sniffed. “I suppose I should. I am dying, you know.”

Grace could not believe her blunt manners, but Richard took them in stride.

“Which is why I am utterly surprised to find you have traveled all this way,” he said.

“I am making the rounds and saying my good-byes.” Effortlessly taking her seat as if she had never been sick a day in her life, Lady Edith swung her gaze to meet Grace’s. Lifting her cane, she pointed it at her. “Is this the woman you have engaged yourself to?”

Grace squirmed in her chair.

Richard cleared his throat before answering. “No, I am not engaged at present.”

His aunt made a high-pitched noise. “Not engaged? Did you read my letter?”

“Both of them, yes.”

Grace’s eyes went back and forth between the two of them, wishing she was anywhere else in the world, but also completely fascinated by the unnerving conversation.

“And have you even found a woman of my liking?”

Of her liking? What was that supposed to mean?

Richard shot Grace a glance. “I have, but might we speak of this in the morning? Dinner should be ready soon, and as you can see, we have a guest present.”

Lady Edith gave an elegant snort of derision. Grace did not know how she managed it, but she did. “Guest?” she said. “Is that what you call this heathen girl?”

Grace scowled and squeezed her hands in her lap to keep from shooting a biting remark. “I cannot stay. My chaperone had a headache and returned already. I came inside to make my apologies and wish the family goodnight before returning myself.”

Lady Edith drew a fan from her reticule and began beating the air by her face. “No chaperone? This story grows worse by the second.”

Richard’s voice grew tight. “Miss Steele is our closest neighbor and a dear friend to both Bridget and myself. She has my highest respect. Despite what you saw, I must plead with you to see the innocence in it.”

His firm words softened Grace’s anger considerably. In fact, they melted her very soul. His highest respect? Her?

“Aunt Edith!” Bridget called from the door. “What on earth are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be home in bed?” She rushed into the room to her aunt’s side and kissed her cheek.

“Yes, yes. Sit down, Bridget. Your energy tires me out.”

Bridget rushed to Grace’s side and took a seat beside her.

“Where have you been?” Grace asked through her clenched teeth .

“Giving you time to confess,” she whispered back.

Grace squeezed Bridget’s hand to communicate her feelings on that regard. The woman who had the potential to save Belside from financial ruin was sitting across from her, and Grace had made the worst possible first impression. Richard’s aunt would never let him marry her in exchange for money.

“Miss Steele,” Richard said, clearing his throat. “Now that my aunt is here, certainly you can dine with us without any concern of propriety.”

Leaving seemed the smartest course of action, but Richard’s eyes begged her to stay. She hesitated, but when Bridget nodded furiously at her, she relented. If they both wanted her here, certainly she could bear their aunt’s derision for one night. “I suppose I can send a quick note to Callis Hall to inform my parents of the change of circumstance.”

Richard gave a nod that seemed laced with meaning. Relief? Gratitude? She could not say what.

Dinner was announced and Richard led his aunt out of the room. Bridget held Grace back. “What happened? My aunt is glaring daggers at you.”

Richard did not so much as glance back at her. “I might have ruined everything.”

Bridget linked arms with her. “That sounds dramatic, especially coming from you. Just fix it like you always do.”

Could she redeem herself? What sort of mad plan could she enact over dinner to undo the last hour? Her mind went blank. If she was going to do something, the time was now. But no ready solution presented itself. Was her cleverness dried up? Is that what love did to a person?