Page 51 of Married By Twelfth Night
“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.
