Page 62 of Married By Twelfth Night
“She will not like you interfering,” he cautioned.
“She interfered first, did she not?”
Richard and Bridget shared an amused look. Grace had been very wise to encourage Mother to leave. She had returned with her old spirit back.
“Just remember, she is a very sick woman, and please be kind,” he begged.
“We all love Aunt Edith,” Mother said. “But sick or not, I cannot be easy until I share with her my feelings.”
He had on his greatcoat and the women their cloaks, and they were nearly to the front door when someone knocked on the other side.
“Who could that be?” Bridget asked.
Not bothering to wait for a footman or his butler to answer it, he opened it himself. “Grace?”
She stared wide-eyed at him from beneath her bonnet. “I . . . uh . . . Bridget forgot her glove.”
She extended her hand to him with the glove inside it.
He grinned, so incredibly happy to see her, even if she hadn’t come for him. Maybe it was her canary-yellow pelisse, but she was as radiant as the sun. “Why do you not give it to her yourself?” He clasped his hand around her extended one and pulled her toward him.
She stumbled forward, which gave him the excuse to put his arm around her back too. She went as rigid as a fence post. A cold fence post in need of warming, and he was all too happy to volunteer.
Once she was through the door, she gasped. “Mrs. Graham, you’re home!”
Mrs. Graham grinned like Richard hadn’t seen her grin since before Father’s death.
“Dearest Grace. My dear, dear, girl. How happy I am to see you.”
Richard reluctantly released Grace long enough for his mother to take a turn embracing her.
“Your cheeks are rosy again,” Grace said, her own smile appearing. “You returned to us with the spritely look that would put the young debutantes to shame.”
Mother cupped her hand around Grace’s chin. “Your flattery is full of shameful lies, but I won’t make you take them back.”
They all laughed—Richard’s more of wonder than humor.
“What is it you said about a glove?” Bridget asked.
“Oh, yes. You forgot yours last night.” Grace held out the glove to Bridget.
Bridget accepted it and held it up. “But this is not mine.”
“Is it not?” Grace frowned. “My mother was certain it was yours.”
“Odd,” Bridget fingered the lace on the end. “Does not your mother have a pair like this?”
Grace snatched it back and examined it closer. “That deceitful woman! I was distracted and did not look at it properly.”
Mother laughed. “You mean, wise woman. Bridget and I will wait in the carriage. I think you two have a few things to say to each other.”
Grace’s gaze flew to his, and her eyes welled with panic.
“You are absolutely right, Mother. We do have a few things to speak about.”
Mother and Bridget shared a conspiratorial look and linked arms, waltzing from the house.
“Take all the time you need,” Bridget giggled, blowing them both a kiss. She never was one for subtlety.
