Page 37 of Married By Twelfth Night
“I know,” Richard said, dropping the papers onto his desk. Mentally, he listed a few improvements the estate needed. A tenant home required a new roof come spring, much of their farming equipment was outdated, and the manor house was in constant need of upkeep. He rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger, whispering a silent plea to the heavens for help.
“You’ll have to let the house or sell,” Mr. Bowers said.
“Closing off the west wing doesn’t seem to have helped anything?” He knew the answer, but he had to ask anyway. What if they closed off everything but two bedchambers and the drawing room?
“It cut back on a few costs, but they were pennies compared to what you need.”
Richard felt a knot of anxiety growing in his chest. “We could reduce the staff to a skeletal crew.” He had been against this before, wanting to keep his mother and sister in comfort, but he was willing to do anything before he’d sell or rent it out.
“It might buy you more time.”
Time. He was just as short in it as he was in funds. He did not have to look at the calendar to know that he had only two weeks until his deadline with his aunt. Fourteen measly days to convince Ruth to marry him. He’d already missed the opportunity to post the banns and have them read the three weeks before the wedding. While he had a special license, it did not guarantee a bride to go with it.
Everything was getting out of hand. He’d been hopeful before, but it felt ill-placed now. It was growing harder to pretend cheerfulness around Bridget and to not succumb to the worry building inside him.
Richard scratched at his jaw, thinking over his options. “I will keep the staff on over the holidays. Let’s meet again directly after, and I will have a decision for you.”
“Very well, Mr. Graham.” Mr. Bowers reached for his satchel. “I hope you will consider letting it go. I know that this house and land are filled with your family’s history, but a few years in a small cottage could be just the solution to grow your investments and pay down debt.”
“A few years?”
“Ten . . . twelve at most.”
Richard hadn’t the energy to cry, but he planned to use these blasted papers to wipe up his tears when he did. They represented all he was about to lose.
“I have a lot to think about. Thank you for yourtime, Mr. Bowers.”
“Good day, sir.”
Richard saw him out and stared at the closed door for some time, lost in his thoughts. A trill of laughter sounded from somewhere in the house, and it pulled him from his woolgathering.
Grace was here.
The thought lightened his mood. It shouldn’t have, but more and more this past month, she had been the only person capable of distracting him from the pressure of his situation.
She seemed convinced that he could win Ruth over, and her surety had been an anchor to his drifting will power. The day before yesterday, they had collected Ruth and gone to town to purchase all sorts of festive ribbons. He had been tight with Bridget’s pin money, but she had asked for so little this last year that he had indulged her. It had been a relief to see the store had advertised a sale in their window, cutting down the overall expenditure.
When had he ever worried about the cost of ribbons?
He hadn’t even realized he’d been walking until he drew close to the drawing room door. He wanted to see Grace. Needed to see her.
His hand hovered on the handle. Was he falling in love with her? He yanked away from the offending brass. Admittedly, he’d been more attracted to her than ever, and she was never far from his thoughts . . . but that was because of the added time they were in each other’s company.
He couldn’t love Grace.
It would ruin everything.
The knot in his chest grew to the size of an orange, pressing on his lungs and making his breathing shallow. He opened the door, and his eyes immediately snagged on Grace’s profile. Her sweet little pixie nose and bright intelligent eyes, and the curve of her pink mouth as shelifted her teacup to her lips. Oxygen filled his chest at the mere sight of her.
He ignored what it meant, pushing into the room.
“Richard!” Bridget cried when she noticed him. Her bright smile lifted his thoughts too. She would forgive him if they lost Belside, he knew that now, but she shouldn’t have to. “Your timing is impeccable. Ruth thinks she knows of a place we can find mistletoe.”
He hadn’t even noticed Ruth, sitting just beyond Bridget.
“Oh?”
Ruth nodded, her mannerisms subdued next to her sister’s. “There is an apple orchard behind our estate. It belongs to Mr. Callingworth. He lets me walk there when I have a mind to. I noticed some mistletoe growing in the trees on my last walk. We will need a servant to help fetch it.”
