An Indecent Gambit

Chapter Three: Not Very Romantic

The dinner had confirmed Grace's opinion that James was not even worth consideration, but Mr Follet was not so easily satisfied. Soon after Mrs Follet had pressed her daughters to take out their embroidery and Mrs Redwood had offered her thin praise of it, a maid came to summon Grace back to the dining room on the excuse that her father wanted something read to him and needed her young eyes. When she entered, there was neither book nor newspaper in sight, only empty brandy glasses.

"Ah, it's Grace," Mr Follet said, as though she had taken him by surprise. "Why don't you take Mr James to see the garden? Two old men must be dull company for such a bright young man."

Grace looked at James slouching in his chair. There was a particular, petulant twist to his mouth, not unlike the glower her five-year-old niece displayed just before throwing a tantrum. A dose of damp night air might do him good.

"Of course," she said. "Mr James?"

James hauled himself to his feet. "Alright, alright."

They went down the hallway and into the back garden where the box hedges were crinkling in a splintery breeze. Grace shivered but had the satisfaction of seeing James shiver likewise. They took one turn of the walk in silence, bar for the crunching of the gravel beneath their feet. Judging by the frown on his face, James was thinking, and Grace did not wish to disturb him. She suspected he found thinking difficult.

At last, his thoughts drew to a conclusion and he uttered it: "This is not very romantic."

"What do you mean?"

"As a first meeting, for a pair who are to be married."

Were they to be married? He sounded very sure of that. "It is not the first time we have met. We have met several times. The Tempest, last year at the Theatre Royale. We shared a box. I remember well."

"With Martha Bainbridge and Lady Howell?"

"No, Sir. It was the Daltons and the Albrights."

James cleared his throat. "You were there?"

"I was." And she had not failed to notice the tender attention James had paid to Mrs Albright. "Then there have been balls, routs, picnics where our paths have crossed. It seems we have many mutual friends. I do not recall when we first met, Mr Redwood, but it must have been some years ago."

"I really can't remember you at all."

They made another turn of the walk. When they once more reached the stairs leading to the house, James stopped and regarded her. "Aren't you cold in this wind?"

"I'll warm up."

"We can just as easily maintain an uncomfortable silence indoors."

"My sisters will eavesdrop. Emma will giggle. It won't be silent."

James shuddered. "Then outside we remain."

"If you're really concerned, you might offer me your coat."

"If I give it to you, then I will be cold." James started around the walk again. "Come on. You'll warm up faster if we're moving."

Grace stared at him in disbelief. She could not recall ever meeting such a selfish man — except perhaps her father.

She trotted after James to catch him up. "It doesn't signify if you think this is unromantic," she said. "I might as well tell you now that—"

"I just can't believe my father would put me up for this," James interrupted, turning on her. "Why on earth would he think I'd ever want to marry you?"