Page 19 of Married By Twelfth Night
“Enough,” Bridget said, coming into the room. “It has been decided and neither of you can talk me out of it.
Richard cleared his throat. “Miss Steele might not be supportive, but your brother will not disappoint you.” He grinned a little at Gracie’s wicked glare. “I think it has been too long since we have had the Steeles over for dinner.”
“Yes!” Bridget squealed and clapped.
“Saturday night. What do you say, Miss Steele? You cannot disappoint us.”
“Oh?” she said. “You won’t be able to bear it?”
He set a hand to his heart. “I will be thoroughly crushed.”
She fought her smile, which he decided then and there was his favorite look of hers. It was this battle between her resisting reacting to him and him getting to her. One day he would get to her fully and prove that he was more of a man than she thought him to be. With that realization, she would willingly smile at him without a single trace of artifice. Such a moment would be incredibly satisfying.
Until then, he would be forced to depend on his charm—the only blasted skill he seemed to possess. First, woo Grace, and then woo Ruth. But he would also seek an alternative route in case he failed. He would ask his solicitor to search for an investment opportunity with a quick turnaround. While this was as unlikely as earning Aunt’s money with his marriage, he would exhaust every avenue.
Chapter 8
Grace nodded absently whileMr. Dobson prattled on and on about buttons. From the corner of the room, Ruth plunked at the pianoforte as if the tune were as bored as the conversation. Grace’s thoughts wandered to Bridget’s note. It had been sent over just before Mr. Dobson arrived and had included menu options for their joint family dinner at the end of the week. Sweet Bridget. She couldn’t stop talking about the event.
Grace believed it was Richard’s voluntary participation that had Bridget so ecstatic. With just the Steeles invited, it was hardly worth getting excited about. Her brother, on the other hand, had neglected her entirely too much this past year, and the poor thing was starved for his attention.
Mr. Dobson’s voice lifted a single notch, catching her attention. “The Spaniards used to hide potent and dangerous substances in their buttons to smuggle them across the seas.”
Now that was quite an interesting fact. But Mr. Dobson quickly returned to noting the differences within his personal button collection, and she drifted back to thinking about Bridget. Had she deceived her dearest friend by not explaining the real reason behind the dinner party? But how could she disappoint her? Not to mention, telling Bridget about her brother’s plans of courtship would make it incrediblydifficult to leave out the part about her estate being in trouble. It was better not to say anything until she had to.
“Yes,” she said with a nod to Mr. Dobson, but she was really talking and nodding to herself.
Speaking of resolutions to herself, she intended to see some results from her and Richard’s bargain. It had beenthreedays since their game of tiles, and Grace hadn’t seen any sign of the odious man. Which meant she had been forced to suffer through two separate visits from Mr. Dobson.
This second one was trying her patience to an unholy degree.
Thinking of the first was slightly easier. Though thoughts of Richard courting her at all made her scowl deeply at the carpet. His words would be all honey and sweetness but full of empty meaning. They’d confuse her and try to shake her resolve against him. She had to be strong, for even the impenetrable walls of Jericho were brought down by words.
“Miss Steele, are you listening?”
She pulled her gaze up from the floor, smoothing her expression. Admittedly, she had not heard every word, but she could easily repeat the history of the button, should anyone inquire. She could also relay how many buttons Mr. Dobson was in possession of. Three-hundred forty-six, to be precise. He had acquired six new buttons just this week. “Mr. Dobson, even if I tried not to listen, how could I prevent it?” She said it as sweetly as she could, and sure enough, he entirely missed her point, his droning picking up right where he left off.
How perfectly . . . annoying.
Richard. Richard. Richard. She ground out his name in her head. Was he planning on courting her, or had he decided that he would have better luck praying somewhere for a miracle? Either way, she would curse his name before she heard another sentence about buttons.
The drawing room door filled with a dark shadow, and she looked up. “Richard!” She leaped to her feet. She hadn’t meant to shout his name—especially not his given one—but she had been repeating it in her head at the very moment she saw him.
“Happy to see me?” He grinned at her.
She punctuated each word of her response. “You have no idea.”
He laughed, gave a short bow, and strolled into the room as if it was his house. “Mr. Dobson, old boy. Good to see you.”
“What a greeting. I’m only twenty-six,” Mr. Dobson said. “What estimation do you use for naming ages?”
Richard’s smile faltered. “Old is relative. I meant it as a term of familiarity. Speaking of familiarity, I see you have been spending too much time at the Steeles again.”
Mr. Dobson’s face soured. “I believe I have as much right as you do to be here.”
“I wouldn’t be so confident.” Richard nodded to Ruth, whose fingers had stilled on the piano. “Don’t let me stop you, Miss Steele. Your music is exceptional.”
Ruth pulled a soft melody from the keys as her response. How did Richard have such an effect on people? It also begged the point that Grace should have practiced her music more. She could be the one hiding behind the ivory keys instead of sitting next to Mr. Dobson.
