Married By Twelfth Night (Regency Christmas Brides)

21. Chapter 21

Chapter 21

Aunt Edith clutched Richard’s arm with a surprisingly tight grip for an aged, sick woman. “There is nothing I like worse than a scandal, Richard.”

“They’re nasty things, aren’t they?” He patted her hand while simultaneously leading her to her seat at the table. He had to remain calm if he were to convince his aunt, but the truth was, he had been found in a very compromising position.

“Don’t placate me. I wasn’t born yesterday. I don’t like that Miss Steele . She has a mischievous look about the eyes.” Aunt Edith waved her hand in front of her face for emphasis.

She wasn’t wrong about that look. Richard knew it well. “If you give her a chance, I promise you will wonder how you ever got on without her.” His lips pulled up on one side as Grace walked into the room arm in arm with Bridget. She had certainly grown on him over the last month. Indeed, he wouldn’t mind knowing her even better.

He had thought he had been dreaming when he had opened his eyes from his nap, and if Aunt Edith had walked in a moment later, he would have kissed her. All his hope for Belside would have been lost.

He would have been made to marry Grace to save her reputation.

He was almost disappointed it hadn’t come to that. He wouldn’t have minded kissing Grace again or facing the consequence of his choices. What did that say about him? That he was selfish? Wasn’t that what Grace hated about him? Maybe he hadn’t changed at all.

Once they were all seated, the first course was served. Silence hovered about the table. He tried not to look at Grace so his aunt would not make a fuss, but he discreetly stole a glance at her to see how she was faring.

She seemed to sense his gaze, and she looked up at him. Her appearance was altered—more color in her cheeks and soft curls framing her face—but it was her worried eyes that concerned him.

His aunt could be difficult to deal with. How he longed to reassure her and beg her not to fret about what had happened, but he couldn’t console her just yet. Doing the next best thing, he communicated the only way he could think to do and winked at her.

The lines of her face softened and the smallest smile played on her lips. To his surprise, she reassured him and winked back.

Aunt inhaled sharply. “What is this? Only light-skirts wink at a man. And at the dinner table, no less. I am quite appalled.”

Bridget snorted, causing her to choke on her food. She coughed a few times into her napkin.

Richard tried not to laugh, and the only thing that kept him from doing so was seeing the horror on Grace’s face. He had never seen her so thoroughly embarrassed.

“Miss Steele never winks,” he said quickly. “She must have something in her eye. Does she not deserve our sympathy?”

“Is that true, Miss Steele?” Aunt skewered her with a look that could turn a creature to stone.

A forced smile crossed Grace’s mouth and she answered glibly. “I must have been overcome with this delightful Christmas fare and stared too long without blinking. ”

Aunt’s frown deepened. “The Christmas fare, so you say? Perhaps you were staring too long and hard at my nephew.”

It was Grace’s turn to choke. Her sharp inhale led to a cough, which was silenced by a long drink of water. Richard jumped in to save her. “Miss Steele reminds me frequently that I am not as handsome as I think I am. I assure you, she would not stare overlong at me.”

Aunt raised a suspicious brow, but his words seemed to do the trick. Grace avoided looking at him through the rest of the second course. His hand fiddled with his fork, not certain what to do. His eyes passed frequently to his aunt, who seemed to eat everything in sight and devoured a whole leg of Christmas goose. She gleamed with continued hunger when the dessert was served with all the pomp and fuss of a celebratory meal: Christmas tourte a la Chatelaine filled with plums, cherries, and currants, with a glazed crust topped with toasted almonds.

“Aunt, can you tell me about your illness?” Richard hedged.

“It isn’t proper dinner conversation,” she said, dabbing her lips with her napkin. “But it’s cancer of the stomach. A wretched disease that gives me such pains in my side and fluttering through my middle. The doctors tell me I do not have much time left.”

Richard blinked several times, a little worried about his aunt’s mental state. “Should you be eating so much then?”

“Do you wish to deprive me of what could be my last meal?” She tsked her tongue. “It hurts no matter what I consume, so I don’t intend to look like a withered tree in my casket.”

“I am sorry to hear you’ve been suffering,” Grace said carefully.

“I had no idea,” Bridget added. “And you traveled all this way.”

Aunt dipped her hand in her finger glass beside her plate. “When a person is driven with purpose, life’s obstacles are more of a hindrance than a barricade. ”

Richard could not believe it. She had come all this way just to ensure he married before she died. What other purpose could she be speaking of?

After everyone had finished their dessert, Richard forwent his port and retired to the sitting room with the ladies. His mind was all but consumed with the puzzle concerning his future. The pieces did not fit together. Not Ruth. Not Aunt’s will. Not saving Belside. But Grace . . . she was a piece he had not let himself try yet. He had a feeling that if he did, she would slide together next to him with perfect ease.

He took a seat next to his aunt and searched her countenance for signs of fatigue. “Are you certain you would not like to lie down after your journey?”

“Nonsense. I have plenty of energy for a little entertainment.”

Entertainment? Richard grimaced. After a Christmas feast, everyone was generally too full to do much more than visit. As for him, his mind was full of an abundance of thoughts and worries.

“What about a game?” Grace asked. “I could think of a few that Lady Edith might enjoy.”

“No, I detest games,” Aunt said, curling her lip in disgust. “When I come to Belside, I expect music. Bridget, why don’t you play for us?”

Bridget sent Grace an apologetic glance and disappeared behind the pianoforte. If Grace would look at him, he might send her one equally sorry, but she was still avoiding his gaze. Bridget’s fingers effortlessly played “While Shepherds Watched Their Flocks at Night,” reminding Richard of how impressive her talent was. He didn’t always notice such things about his sister.

Aunt Edith pointed to Grace next. “Now it’s your turn, Miss Steele. What will you play?”

Richard stilled, waiting to see how Grace would react .

Grace’s smile immediately set him at ease. Bless that woman for being made of thicker stuff than most. “I do not play, Lady Edith.”

Aunt Edith frowned. “Then you can sing while Bridget plays.”

“I do not think your ears would appreciate my poor abilities. However, I do blend well enough in a group. Shall we sing a carol together? ‘Hark the Herald Angels Sing’?”

“An excellent idea.” Richard stood before his aunt could object like she had to the suggestion of games. “Come, Aunt. I know how well you sing. You must join us.” He set out his arm for her to take.

Aunt heaved a sigh. “If we must.”

They gathered around the piano, with Bridget poised at the keys. He discreetly stepped between Grace and his aunt, hoping he could act as a barrier in more ways than one.

As the music began, they all began singing. His aunt had a rich alto voice, but it was hard to hear over the excited way Grace belted out the music. For such a small little pixie, she had a remarkable set of lungs. And she was right. She couldn’t sing.

She couldn’t blend either.

When Grace looked at him in the middle of “Hark the Herald Angels Sing,” her broad grin made him laugh. She was thoroughly enjoying herself, despite the abysmal treatment she had received from his aunt. He didn’t care if she couldn’t carry a tune, he loved her.

He loved her.

The thought made him smile all the wider. He didn’t know much about love, but if there was a defining emotion, this had to be it—a simultaneous increase of happiness, along with a settling peace. And more than anything, a tug he could barely resist toward the beautiful woman at his side.

This was how he wanted to celebrate all his Christmases. When Aunt tried to sit out the second song, he insisted they sing another. He didn’t push for a third, knowing she was likely worn to pieces, but he wished he could have. There was something special about singing the songs about Christ, and even more when surrounded by his family and Grace. He wished Mother had been there to have been a part of it. She would have loved it.

After the singing, they had a tedious conversation where Aunt pelted Grace with questions about philosophy and the great poets. Grace was not uneducated, and her comments were smart and witty, but they were not bookish enough to please his aunt. After every comment she made, Aunt Edith would give him a disapproving glance.

When the evening was drawing to a close, Aunt Edith complained of her stomach ailing her and insisted he take her to bed while Bridget saw their guest to the door. After seeing Aunt had everything she needed in her bedchamber, he returned downstairs, surprised to discover Bridget and Grace still in the entrance hall. Upon seeing him, Bridget made an excuse and left them alone. He had a feeling Aunt would suddenly descend on them from upstairs and set off a second cry of alarm.

“I thought I might have missed saying goodnight,” he said to Grace.

She smiled. “Bridget’s apologies were long-winded. I think she was hoping you would return before I left.”

“I’m glad she kept you here. My aunt can be . . . a lot. But you weathered the evening like a brave soldier. I was impressed you did not desert us. Please tell me you weren’t rattled too much.”

“A little,” she admitted. “But mostly because I know what her visit must mean for you.”

“It could mean everything.” He shrugged. “But I would rather talk about something less foreboding. You, for example. I was remiss in telling you how lovely you look tonight.”

In the dim light, her cheeks were already a rosy hue, but her eyes rounded. “I do try a little harder on Christmas.”

“Oh? Here I was hoping you were trying for me.”

She laughed, but he swore she looked a tad guilty. “Is that what you think?” She quickly wrapped her cloak over her shoulders and tucked her gloved hands beneath the folds. “It’s late, and I am sure my carriage is ready. Thank you for letting me join your Christmas dinner.”

He nodded, stepping forward to cut off her escape. “Thank you for visiting my dreams.”

Her eyes drew all the wider and her mouth fell open. “I was just . . . you were just . . .”

He chuckled, loving the way she reacted to him. “I know, Gracie. No harm done.”

She clamped her mouth shut only to open it again a moment later. “There is something I need to speak to you about.”

He inched closer. “I need to speak to you too.”

She nibbled her bottom lip. “When?”

He tried not to stare at it. When was a good question. Aunt would not like him disappearing from her sight when she so rarely visited. But this was important too. “Tomorrow? Shall I call on you?”

“We’ll never get a moment alone.”

“Oh? You want to be alone with me?” He couldn’t resist a smug, thoroughly satisfied smile.

She threw her gaze to the ceiling. “You’re impossible.”

He gently touched the edge of her cloak by her arm, coming as close as he dared to her. “Impossible does seem to be the reigning word today, but there are only two small letters to remove to make the word possible. Don’t you have any faith in me?”

Her smile slowly returned, her voice serious. “More than I used to.”

He savored the words. “That’s progress already. ”

She didn’t look away, and it nearly killed him that he had to send her home at all. Finally, she lowered her gaze to the floor. “Will you be coming to propose to Ruth? I should like to prepare myself.”

Ruth? He had momentarily forgotten about Grace’s sister or that she would be there when he came. His smile drooped. “No. Not tomorrow.” He wanted to tell her that he would never propose to her sister, but the words would not come.

She nodded, and the lines by her eyes softened as if she understood what he could not say. “Goodnight, Richie.”

“Goodnight, Gracie.”