Page 6 of Married By Twelfth Night
Chapter 4
Grace’s maid, Katie, shovedanother pin into Grace’s boring brown coiffure, trying to force the stubbornly straight hair to stay where she wanted it to. She gave Katie a look of apology just as Mama entered her bedchamber with the same exuberance as her fourteen-year-old brother, Tobias. Through the mirror she could see Mama smiled a little too bright, and her eyes were much too awake after the late night.
Something wasn’t quite right. “What is it, Mama?”
“Nothing. Nothing at all. Can’t a mother come and tell her daughter good morning?”
She gave a partial shrug so not to mess with the careful sculpting of her hair. “If she never enters my room at such an hour and does so suddenly, it cannot be without suspicion.” Mama’s affronted expression made her laugh. “I’m teasing. Mostly. Tell me what makes you so cheerful.”
Mama came to her side so they did not have to talk through the mirror. “I want to know everything that happened last night. I couldn’t ask last night with your father in the carriage.”
Papa thought Mama too excitable about topics of courtship, while she was convinced that if not for her efforts and persuading, her two daughters would volunteer for a life of spinsterhood. If Mama, in her anxiety to see them married off, insisted Grace accept Mr. Dobson’sattention, she would consider running away to her aunt’s in London. Her eyes flicked to the letter on her desk with Aunt’s invitation to join her after the holidays—an invitation she had to cleverly extricate—and remembered how Mama had soundly rejected the idea. She wanted Grace to stay with Ruth, and even though Grace was younger, Mama desired her to be a companion to her sister until one of them married. Which could be a very, very long time.
Only the best behavior would persuade Mama to change her mind.
With resignation, Grace asked the question, “What about last night?” She tucked an unruly wisp of hair into her bun and braced herself for Mama’s answer.
Mama tsked. “Don’t play coy with me. I saw it all.”
“Then what could I possibly say to satisfy you?”
Mama folded her arms tightly across her small chest. They were both of similar build, and she wondered if she would someday stare crossly at her own daughter that way, like the whole of her person brimmed with annoyance. “I’m speaking about Mr. Graham.”
“Richard?” she frowned. “What do you want to know abouthim?”
“For the last time. He is not a boy. He must be referred to asMr. Graham.”
She hadn’t intended to slip his given name, especially while she was doing her best to earn Mama’s favor. “Yes, Mama,” she said obediently. What would Mama have said if Grace had accidentally called him Richie?
“Mr. Graham,” Mama began, “paid you marked attention last night. I was not the only one to notice. Mrs. Meecham saw it too.”
She squinted trying to remember how she had given this impression. She had tried to send a message with Richard’s presence to Mr. Dobson and him alone. But she had been extremely careful with herwords to his friends. What could her mother be worried about? What had Mrs. Meecham seen too?
She replayed the night in her mind and her eyes slowly widened. The balcony. The tight way she’d gripped his arm. The way he’d pulled her close as they walked toward the dancers. She gripped her dressing table. Good heavens. Anyone could have misconstrued the whole thing.
“It was nothing,” she said quickly.
Too quickly.
Mama’s brow lifted. “There is no understanding between you two?”
“Understanding? He danced with me for one set. How did your mind jump to an understanding? Really, Mama. You know how I abhor the man. You are too hasty.” She didn’t hate him exactly, but it was harder to put to words the constant state of annoyance his presence brought to her. The only real understanding she had with Richard was the one created in their youth. It was her job to humble him and his to tease her mercilessly. Nothing more, nothing less.
Mama shrugged one shoulder. “Am I being hasty? Or are you hiding something? You are at Belside often enough to change your opinion of the man.”
“There is nothing to hide. You are attempting to create a love match out of one insignificant dance. Richard—”
“Mr. Graham.” This time there was no censure in her voice, only curiosity.
“Mr. Graham,” she corrected, “barely tolerates me. He, no doubt, favored me with his company out of duty to his sister.”
Mama shook her head. “A man doesn’t do such favors for sisters that are not even in attendance.”
Need Mama remind her of the sore topic? Her dearest friend Bridget was not out in Society yet but at no fault of her own. It had been delayed after her father’s death and now because of her mother’s health. Bridget was permitted to attend dinner parties on occasion, but her mother had insisted against any balls until she could be her chaperone and guide.
Grace and Bridget were only two years apart in age, but Grace had had three years of Society already. Moments like last night made it feel like three years too many. Before she could defend herself again to Mama, a second maid knocked.
“Mr. Dobson is here to pay a call on Miss Grace,” the maid said.
