Page 25 of Married By Twelfth Night
Mama looked positively gleeful. “Hand me your sewing things, girls. Here, put them in this basket.” She waved her hand to Mr. Reed. “We’re ready now. Send him right in.” She dropped her gaze to Grace. “Be on your best behavior and maybe this understanding we desire will come sooner than later.”
They all stood as Richard entered the room. In his arms was a colorful bouquet of flowers. He must have sent for them from the hothouses a town over. Their loveliness exceeded any she had seen. His bow was like a flourish—masculine but with finesse. Drat that perfect man. He straightened and grinned, most particularly at her.
“Good morning, ladies. I have brought flowers for your table. I trust you had an excellent weekend?”
And he was far too happy for her taste. Had he not an inkling of what he had walked into?
“A very good weekend, Mr. Graham,” Mama said. “You must sit and take tea with us.” She pointed at the cushion beside Grace.
“I would like nothing better, but I have my phaeton hitched up outside. I remembered how much Miss Grace enjoys the conveyance. I thought I would offer to take her on a short excursion around our two estates before I return home. I have my groom with me and hot bricks and blankets.”
Ruth smiled. “You have thought of the exact ways to please my sister.” She stood and took the flowers from Richard. “I will see these find a proper place of honor.”
Yes, Ruthsmiled. At Richard. And she had spoken more than a dozen words. This was progress. If Ruth burying Grace in a bed of expectation could be seen as progress.
Grace didn’t want to go on a carriage ride, even if she did love being in the open seats of a phaeton. If she accepted, it would be interpreted as an act of courtship—which would be a product of her own insane idea. If she declined, she would delay a chance to explain to Richard about the horrid turn of events that had come from their scheming. Either way, she was doomed.
She forced her mouth to move. “I shall fetch my cloak and mittens.”
Not ten minutes later, dressed as warmly as was fashionably acceptable, she walked with Richard from the house to the long drive. His phaeton gleamed in the winter sun—the black a stark contrast to the muted browns of the grass and leafless trees beyond it. Small clumps of snow spotted the rest of the grounds.
When they reached the phaeton, Richard spoke first. “I had hoped to come yesterday, but I have tasked my solicitor with combing the countryside for investment opportunities with a quick turnaround. I traveled again yesterday to look into it. Sadly, it was as terrible as theone I learned about last week.” He glanced at her once and then a second time. “You’re rather quiet today.”
Grace produced a single nod. “I’m thinking.”
“Oh?” he said. “Should I be wary of some future ploy?”
She pulled at her mittens. “Not yet.”
“Good, then dare I ask the subject of your thoughts?”
She gave a single shrug. She wouldn’t mention how excited she was to smell the perfumes of each bloom he had brought. Thankfully, she had enough thoughts whirling through her mind to think of another to mention. “I am thinking of how you rid me of Mr. Dobson.”
“I told you. I bribed him.”
“But how?” He hadn’t any money to spare.
He gave a crooked smile. “I gave him buttons.”
That was not what she expected him to say. “Buttons?”
“Yes. There is a chest of gowns in my attic. Grandmother left behind several polonaise-style dresses with silk buttons. I simply had them removed and sent them over to him.”
She gasped. “You ruined those beautiful gowns? It would have been better if you would have dueled him.”
He laughed, loud and rich. “I will remember that next time.” He stepped closer to the conveyance, but she stayed frozen in place.
“Did you say anything else to him?”
He frowned, his gaze drifting off as if he were thinking. “I am sure I did, but I cannot recall the exact words. I rode to Birmingham the very next morning and my weekend was just as busy. I think I said something to the effect that we were passionately in love and that he didn’t stand a chance.”
Grace’s mouth dropped open. How did he so easily say those words, “passionately in love,” without flinching. Good heavens. This was worse than what Bridget had overheard. “Richard—”
Before she could finish her sound verbal lashing, he set his hands on her waist and swooped her up into the air. Her arms flung to his shoulders as he transferred her like one would a feather to her seat high in the phaeton.
She released him to catch her breath, which came out shaky and unsettled. One would think he had embraced her by the way her heart stuttered in her chest. She quickly slid across the velvet seat to allow space between them. Richard climbed inside, and oblivious to her efforts to distance herself, he proceeded to cover her lap with a dense fur blanket. His motions were gentle and thorough, as he assured that not an inch of her lower half was exposed to the chilly air.
He was being much too kind.
