An Indecent Gambit

Chapter Two: A Compelling Hypothesis

"Not when prefaced by James, Sir. Not after the incident a few weeks ago at Lady Dainburgh's ball."

"A most unfortunate to-do," Mr Follet said. "The woman in question must have been quite hysterical."

"I imagine you would have to be, to attempt to murder your husband in the middle of the minuet," Grace said. "But in the midst of hysteria she likely spoke the truth. James Redwood is the only man she ever loved. And since then, I cannot hear the name James Redwood without also hearing whispered the names of other women who might have loved him. It does not help that he was a witness in that awful divorce case last summer. Nor that he is handsome and flirtatious. I suppose that is why his father wants him to get married. To fix his reputation."

A smile crossed Mr Follet's face, though it did not reach his eyes. "A not inaccurate judgement. What of it?"

"It seems a rather mercantile transaction."

"If it is, it is one in which you gain more than you lose. James Redwood is the sole heir to a substantial fortune. In the meantime, he is privileged with the use of a generous income and a London townhouse. He is not, like so many other young man, dependent on his wife's dowry for his income. He is not a fortune hunter."

The familiar cold burn of resentment lit in Grace's belly, but all the words she had to say had been said years ago so she remained silent.

Her father must have understood her silence anyway. "I would be very unhappy, Grace, if in two or three years you were to look back at this moment and regret not considering the idea. A woman of twenty-five is in no position to be overparticular. I have been asking myself: are you likely to find, at your age and in your circumstances, a better prospect than James Redwood?"

A face and the name that belonged to it flashed before Grace's eyes. Even if he were— had he been? —a fortune hunter, George Benson had never blackened his own reputation by allowing married women to fall in love with him. But it was six years too late to consider him a prospect.

"I have considered it. And I do not like the idea," she said. "I had sooner never marry at all."

The crease under Mr Follet's right eye twitched. He lifted the glass dome from the skull and carefully dusted it with a small feather-brush he kept on his desk to the purpose. Grace knew very well that she was not dismissed and that the argument was not over. This was merely an interregnum. Mr Follet always made sure to never let an argument be over until he had won it.

She looked wistfully at the two hard-backed chairs her father reserved for visitors. Her father ought to have invited her to sit down. Perhaps if she remained standing he would remember his own bad manners. Perhaps he would only get a crick in his neck from looking up at her.

He finished dusting the skull and replaced the glass dome again.

"There are some ladies, I understand, who are happier without husbands," Mr Follet said, as though describing a peculiar species of insect. "In those cases, I suppose, they must be unnaturally absent of the normal womanly ambition to raise children."

"I'm not—"

"I would not, of course, force you into any arrangement you found intolerable," Mr Follet said, "but I am not convinced that you have given the matter due thought. How well do you know James Redwood?"

"I know him by acquaintance." He was one of a type of men that Grace thought of as very Tonnish. Always over-dressed, always talking too fast and laughing too loud, and always being so very busy about doing so much nothing-in-particular. "The idea of an arranged marriage to a man like him..."