Page 42 of Married By Twelfth Night
When they reached Miss Coleridge’s house, she beamed over her gift. “How thoughtful! Now I can finally trap a man into marrying me.” Her mirth was contagious, and they all laughed and schemed over which man in the neighborhood would be her lucky suitor. Richard had left any party planning to his mother, but he made a note to include Miss Coleridge in their next gathering if they managed to save Belside. She was a delight, and he had a few friends that would appreciate her quick wit and ready smile.
The hours passed quickly as they delivered kissing bough after kissing bough—each a little different in size and style. If the rumors of his attention to the Steele sisters hadn’t been confirmed at the card party, they certainly would today. He wasn’t afraid for himself, but thoughts of how it would wound Grace’s reputation in coming days filled him with worry. He knew she planned to use it as her method of escaping Wetherfield, but it bothered him more than ever.
“That’s all of the names on our list,” Ruth said, relaxing back into the upholstered carriage seat.
“There are still three left,” Grace said, holding up a few smaller ones they had created with remnants. “What should we do with them?”
“We could bring them home with us,” Bridget suggested.
Richard balked. “What would we do with kissing boughs in every corner?”
Bridget raised a brow and eyed him, then Grace. “I am sure you could think of something.”
He felt his cheeks tinge with a subtle warmth. Him. Blushing? He cleared his throat. “I have a better idea. I have a few tenant families that might appreciate one.”
His gaze naturally shifted to Grace, curious of her approval.
Obvious surprise lit her eyes.
Why was she surprised? “Do you not think it a good idea, Miss Steele?”
“I . . . I do.” A smile flashed across her mouth. “I think it’s a grand idea.”
Relief filled his lungs. He directed his carriage driver to the family who had recently recovered from having their home rebuilt. They were terribly gracious to him, thanking him for his aid in the reconstruction and for the silly kissing bough.
He had humored his sister over this ridiculous project, wanting to redeem himself for failing her as a brother, but now he appreciated her creative desire to serve her neighbors. By the third delivery, he was convinced that his sister had been inspired. Nothing had brought a feeling of connection to his tenants in the last fifteen months as did this one small act of kindness.
It was late afternoon by the time they completed their last delivery. All of them leaned back into the carriage with cheeks rosy from thecold and hearts lighter from the joy they had brought to the neighborhood.
“Shall we return to Belside Manor for melted chocolate and shortbread?” Bridget asked.
“Will it be Gracie’s recipe?” Richard asked, his nickname for Grace slipping out before he realized it. His gaze whipped to Ruth’s, who smiled smugly at her sister. Drat! Why had he put his foot in his mouth?
Grace met his eyes, understanding and assurance there. He had wanted to read her mind earlier, but she was reading his. “Of course, Gracie’s famous chocolate will be served. Soon the fashionable houses in London will get wind of it and be begging for the recipe.”
Just like that, she had smoothed out the situation, as if she had coined the nickname herself.
When they reached Belside manor, the staff was in full force turning out the house with Christmas decor. Bridget pointed to the ceiling. “I instructed them to hang our kissing bough under the entrance hall chandelier. I cannot wait to see it.”
“Ours will be hung in the library.” Grace unwrapped her scarf from her neck. “Since our parents take this tradition very seriously, and we prefer they steal their kisses behind closed doors.”
They all laughed. Bridget was a whirlwind of energy, emboldened by their day, and was the first to cast off her outer clothing. She hurried to find a servant to request their chocolate and biscuits.
“All this day needs is a little music,” Ruth said. “Mr. Graham, do you mind if I look through your sheet music?”
The direct question, without a hint of shyness, nearly stopped him in his tracks. “You need not ask. Make yourself at home.” Home . . . if all went as planned, she would be the mistress here.
He gulped down the wave of regret building in his throat. Grace came up beside him, her hand coming to rest on his arm.
“She feels safe here. Ruth is only ever herself at home. You should be proud of your efforts. I believe she views you as a true friend now.”
A friend. People had married less before.
“What’s wrong?”
He shook his head. “I am glad she feels safe here. I want everyone to feel the same when at Belside. Shall we see what music she plans to play? Perhaps she will pick a song for you to sing.”
“You know I am not musical.”
