Page 35 of Married By Twelfth Night
Grace nodded, grateful that they had reconciled.
Bridget nudged her. “So, can you forgive him too? He loves you.”
Grace choked on her next breath and coughed into her sleeve. “Love . . . love is a strong word, Bridget. You cannot throw it about so casually.”
Bridget grinned. “I am in perfect earnest. I’ve been watching you two for weeks. Sparks have always flown between you when you sparred words, but I do believe they have finally ignited.”
“Good heavens. Sparks? Honestly, Bridget. You have read too many romances of late.” They had made progress in their friendship, but that hardly was the makings of a romance.
“I know my brother better than anyone, Grace. He is smitten!”
She reviewed his compliment about looking well in an apron the day he had visited with his treasures. What if he hadn’t been teasing? And then she remembered the look when their eyes had met and their near position.
She needed a fan. The fire behind the grate seemed suffocatingly warm. “It is an act, Bridget,” she hurried to say. “I wanted to tell you, but I didn’t know how.”
Bridget’s brown eyes lowered. “I don’t believe it.”
“It’s true. He is interested in Ruth. He’s pretending to court me to get to my sister. I’m sorry I did not say anything sooner, but I was trying to protect his feelings.”
She waited for Bridget’s anger to come, but instead a laugh poured out of her mouth. “And you believed him? I thought you were too intelligent to fall for such a silly falsehood. You cannot pretend what I see when Richard looks at you. Nor, might I add, how you look in return.”
“Is it hot in here to you?” Her face felt flushed. “I’m starting to feel ill. Should I open up a window?”
“It’s the perfect temperature,” Bridget said. “But I can understand if I am pushing too much. If it will make you happy, I will go along with your idea that Richard is interested in Ruth. And we shall see who is right in the end.”
Grace’s sigh reached her toes. “Thank you, Bridget. I do not want you to get attached to the idea that your brother and I . . . that we . . .”
“That we . . . what?” Richard asked from the doorway.
She glanced up and met his amused smirk. It set her heart pattering in her chest like a little cupid dancing there. “That we have plans to kill each other,” she said quickly.
He gave an exaggerated frown, leaning into the doorframe like a brooding fictional hero posing for a portrait that women would worship for centuries to come. “I thought we were friends, Gracie May. I could never willingly hurt you, and I know you care too much to wound me.”
His emphasis on her caring rattled her. Did he know? Had he sensed her hidden weakness?
She scowled as she had done for years every time he had sent her his disarming smile. “Is it even possible to hurt such an inflated ego?”
He pretended to think the question over, even stroking his chin as he did. “No, I don’t believe it is.”
“Then, I suppose since I am ill-equipped with knowledge or skills to fight, and my words do little to affect you, you are safe . . . for now.”
“Ah, you intrigue me. It is almost as if you mentioned me and your future in the same sentence. How endearing that you imagine remaining in my company when you clearly pretend otherwise.”
She snorted.
Bridget laughed into a pillow. “You two are terrible. What am I supposed to do with you both?” She clapped her hands. “I know. I’vehad a hankering to make a craft. It’ll be ever so much fun, and there will be no time for petty arguments.”
Grace opened her mouth to object, but Richard beat her to it.
“As much as I adore crafts,” Richard said, heavy with sarcasm, “I really have more pressing business. I do hope you have a lovely time.” He started to retreat when Bridget called after him.
“You can’t say no, Richard. You owe me more of your time.”
His shoulders fell and he turned back around. “Now?”
“Yes, now.”
“But a craft, really?”
