Page 2 of Married By Twelfth Night
I beg you to take my generous offer and marry forthwith. Your estate and future depend upon it. Because I know how deeply your affection lies toward your mother and sister, I trust these funds will be used for their welfare as well. Instead of setting aside monies for their benefit, I leave their caretaking completely in your capable hands.
Do not forget your deadline! God be with us both in these coming weeks.
If he had felt sick upon learning of the financial state of Belside after his father’s death, this letter made him feel far worse. The solution to all his problems dangled before him, but it was just beyond his reach. He could not think of a single woman of his acquaintance who fit this . . . this absurd fantasy that Aunt had created for him. But no other solution in the last fifteen months had presented itself to him, despite the long hours of meeting with his own solicitor and the banks, as well as seeking counsel from friends. He had never taken life very seriously before, and the gap in his education and in running and sustaining an estate was vast.
But no ready answer had come. He’d already shut up a whole wing of the house so they would not have to warm it for the winter, but he knew it would not be enough. Aunt’s will could be his saving grace.
He rubbed a hand over his jaw. How was a man to meet a woman local to his home and so particularly skilled? Mr. Green, a family friend from Wetherfield, always held a ball on the first of December, heralding in the winter season. It was a week away and the soonest event he could think of. He didn’t always attend, but this year, he would not miss it. It would be the perfect opportunity to find a wife.
And if there was no opportunity, he would have to make one.
Aunt Edith had issued one challenge he could not turn down.
Chapter 2
December 1814
Wetherfield, Derbyshire
It was impossible tohide from a man in a ballroom. Grace had tried and failed. Unsuccessfully, she had circled the interior perimeter, weaving around chattering acquaintances and friends, barely one step ahead of Mr. Dobson. Not even the bust Mr. Green had commissioned of himself, and its accompanying pedestal, had the dimensions to conceal a person.
Looking over her shoulder, her satin-gloved hands tightened into fists. He was nearly upon her. The only foreseeable solution was to flee the room entirely. Clenching the skirt of her gown, she maneuvered around a table holding a dazzling winter bouquet and reached the door to the corridor. Ready to bolt through it, Grace made the mistake of turning her head and catching her mother’s eye. Mama, wearing her favorite pearls, gave a decisive shake of her head followed by a steely glare. It wasn’t fair. Mama wanted Grace to be caught. She didn’t care by whom, so long as the captor was decently respectable and wedding vows followed. Grace was far more particular.
But heed her mother, she must.
The only way Grace was getting a Season in London with her aunt was through good behavior.
Taking a reluctant step back into the fray of twirling skirts and roaming couples, Grace found herself face-to-face withhim. Mr. Dobson. Her relentless pursuer. His dark hair was slicked back with pomade and his grin clownish. His gaze raked her up and down as if he had cornered a coveted prize.
“Miss Steele,” he wheezed, winded from the chase.
Her whole body sighed. “Yes, Mr. Dobson?”
“We were talking about the future . . . our future, when you disappeared from my side.”
She couldn’t have given him a more blatant hint about how she felt about any future that included the both of them. “The ballroom is hardly the place for such a discussion, sir.”
“Sir?” Mr. Dobson smoothed back the hair just above his ear, as if any hair dared escape the thick paste freezing it into place. “Call me Rufus.”
She would die first. “That would hardly be appropriate, Mr. Dobson. As to our future, you must not have heard me when I said I was not interested in a relationship with you.”
“Interest is hardly a prerequisite. Your father and mine are old family friends. It’s expected of us.”
An ugly fear settled on her shoulders. Who was expecting it? This was the first she had ever heard about it. Was that why her mother had quelled her escape with one of her icy parental stares?
Mr. Dobson tiptoed closer. The action was ridiculous. He was ridiculous. If he said the word marriage, she wouldn’t recover, but she knew the word hovered on his slimy mouth. But he wouldn’tstop there. No, he would ask her father for her hand, and Papa would remember his good friend and have no reason to turn him down.
“I cannot continue this discussion, Mr. Dobson.” She stepped back, desperately searching the crowded room for someone to rescue her. “Excuse me.”
That’s when she saw it, her unwitting savior: Richard Graham. He looked the part of a hero without any effort of his own. Her eyes quickly took his measure with the smallest amount of begrudging admiration. One hand rested on his narrow hips as he gave a rich laugh, evoking the same gleeful emotion to his circle of friends. His long legs competed with his broad shoulders like a game where both finished triumphant. His thick brown hair, always a little tousled, lent his superior appearance a bit of ruggedness.
Everyone fawned over him, but she refused to do so. It grieved her that it had to be him. But desperate times called for drinking the bitter dregs of humility. Richard would aid her. He was good-tempered, and she had practically grown up in his house alongside his younger sister, Bridget. But she took a great risk in giving him an allowance to tease her. She preferred to have the upper hand, and it pained her to give him any fodder to use against her.
“Excuse me, Mr. Dobson. I see my partner for the next set.” Grace didn’t mince her steps in retreat but marched boldly to Richard’s side. A foot from her target, she wavered for a single breath. This was Richard. The same man who had neglected his sister after the loss of his father. The thought still rankled her and made her want to kick him instead of greet him like a lady.
Mr. Dobson’s penetrating gaze on her back chased away any hesitancy. The kicking could be postponed. There was hardly enough room for a person between Richard and his companions, but her petite size worked in her favor. Placing herself firmly beside him, shestopped herself just shy of slipping her hand into the crook of his arm. She had to make a point, but she wasn’t that desperate.
Was it too much to ask that he simply ignore her? She had given him plenty of reason to do so with her behavior toward him over the years. All he had to do was let her hide under his protection. A simple, extremely minor, favor.
