Married By Twelfth Night (Regency Christmas Brides)

25. Chapter 25

Chapter 25

“This morning has been a complete and utter disaster.” Bridget folded her arms across her chest and glared at him from the bottom of the staircase.

He caught the faint noise of Aunt Edith’s carriage rumbling out of their drive on her way to York to visit his cousin Rose. He wished her better luck than he had had. “Aunt Edith is convinced Ruth is perfect for me.”

“Like I said, it’s a disaster.”

He agreed, but nothing he said now would comfort either of them. They had both tried to sway her to accept Grace. They had at least made progress in helping her to believe Grace was not a heathen. Dinner with her family had helped with that. He sighed. But one evening with Ruth and her music and Aunt had been smitten by her completely. Aunt’s final parting had included a warning to marry Ruth or lose the money.

Bridget spun on her heel and marched up the stairs to her bedchamber. He wished to behave the same way, but it wouldn’t change their situation. It had been silly to rely on Aunt anyway. No matter how hard he tried, nothing could entice him to rush to the altar with Grace’s sister.

Concerns for his mother sent him to his office to review the investment proposition from his solicitor again. He pored over numbers for hours, weighing different scenarios and cost-to-benefit considerations as a single miscalculation might spell ruin for his family. Could he risk everything he had? Would Grace still have him if he failed?

As the morning turned to early afternoon, he stood to stretch his legs, making his way to the drawing room. The house felt incredibly empty and quiet. Maybe Grace would come to visit and—

He broke off the trail of his thoughts. No Grace wouldn’t come. Not today. Not for a while probably. And surely not when he was home.

Bridget sat on the sofa and turned away from him as he entered the room. Was she still angry with him? She had every right to be. He was failing in every direction he looked.

Richard went straight to the fireplace and rested his forearms on the mantle, letting it bear his weight as he leaned heavily against it. Bridget sniffed behind him, pouring salt into his wounded heart. He hated it when she cried.

The room was quiet for a time. His sister, no doubt, silently cursed his failures while he ruminated over the same thing. The curling flames licked the logs beneath the hearth. It might as well have been his budding hopes and dreams for the future being burned to a crisp. He missed Grace already, and he had been parted from her for less than a day. She would know how to comfort Bridget. Her presence would comfort him too. Grinding his teeth together, he prayed for fortitude.

“I’ve always wanted to call Grace my sister.” Bridget’s words were hardly more than a whisper, but they effectively broke the silence between them and froze him in place. “I was willing to give up my position as her best friend, knowing you would stand in that prominent place after you wed—indeed, I have seen you already sliding into that role these past weeks.” He listened intently to her slowly spun words, each one weighted and heavy. “She’s already family to me, Richard, and she means more to me than this old house.”

He pushed away from the mantel and turned to face her. “In truth?”

She lifted her eyes to meet his, wiping at her wet cheeks. “Believe me when I say, I want you to be happy. Marry whomever you choose, but you know who I would pick for you.”

Sudden emotion clawed at his throat, and he tried to swallow it down. “Dare I choose the same woman who would murder me in my bed should I vex her?”

A small smile touched her mouth. “The very same.”

A soft chuckle escaped. “We Grahams have good taste.”

“The very best.”

He clasped his hands behind his back and dropped his gaze to the blue Axminster carpet at his feet. “I appreciate having you on my side, but if it was just about you or me, I wouldn’t be standing here right now. I would forget the state of our finances and be on Grace’s doorstep begging for her hand. I love her, Bridget. I love her so much that if I cannot discover a solution, I might go mad.” He was breathing hard. He met Bridget’s wide, sorrowful eyes. “But nothing is so simple. What about your future? Your happiness wears on my conscience. And what about Mother?”

A voice cleared from the doorway. “What about your mother?”

Richard’s head jerked to find his mother, standing with her arms crossed. “Mother? You’re home early!”

Bridget jumped to her feet, but Mother held up a hand to stop her.

Several inches shorter than Bridget, Mother stood with her chin lifted, which made her appear somehow taller than usual. Indeed, she seemed more sure of herself than she had been since Father’s death. Her cheeks had color in them again, and her brown eyes, while still lined with fatigue, were brighter and clearer than before.

While he wanted to rejoice in her improved appearance, he was stuck on one thought. How much had she overheard? And would it send her health spiraling backward should she know the whole truth?

Mother smoothed her puce traveling gown as she entered the room, stopping at the edge of the sofa. “I wanted to be with my children for Twelfth Night. It seems my arrival is timely. What is this about the state of our finances, and when exactly did you fall in love with Grace?”

Richard’s mouth dropped open. His eyes darted to Bridget’s, which were equally concerned. There would be no scheming their way out of this one. “Mother, I believe you had better sit down.”

“I have been sitting for hours in a carriage and prefer to stand.”

“Very well.” Richard began by explaining how the previous solicitor and Father had not managed the estate funds well and his failed attempts to rectify it on his own. Then he shared about Aunt’s will and her stipulations for him to inherit. He left out the part about courting Grace to acquire Ruth’s acceptance but finished with how he had fallen in love with Grace this past month and how Aunt was convinced against her.

Mother swayed a bit and extended a hand to steady herself on the sofa.

With several large strides, he reached her side and took her arm. Bridget placed herself on her other side.

“I am well,” Mother assured. “I need a moment alone and a little tea is all.”

“Of course,” Richard said. “Let me take you to your bedchamber.”

She shook her head. “The chaise lounge in the library will do.”

He sent a worried frown over her head at Bridget, who shrugged helplessly. Flanking her side, they led Mother to the library and left her to rest with a blanket on her lap and a warm fire behind the grate. He could only hope a little refreshment would ease her shock, but such a wish seemed foolish.

What had he done? Should he have proposed to Ruth? He dug his hands in his hair the moment he was free from the library. Where were all the Christmas miracles that promised an abundance of love, happy homes, and healthy families?

Certainly not anywhere near him.