Ellen was right about the dress. When Grace came down to the hall later that afternoon, she found some satisfaction in the distracted, appreciative expression on James's face when he saw her. It pleased her to ignore the arm he offered her and instead take Ben's.
"It's practice for when I'm grown up," Ben said to James. "You don't need the practice. You're old already."
"How observant," James said. "You look very charming, Grace."
"I know," Grace said. "Shall we go?"
James looked surprised but opened the door for them without a word. In the coach, Ben sat like a bulwark between them.
"I'm your chaperone," he said. "A man and a woman should not be left alone in a coach, you know."
"Very effective," James said. "If you weren't here I'd be doing all manner of unspeakable things to Grace."
Grace thought it was a joke but her heart leapt anyway. James had changed his waistcoat again, and now wore cream embroidered with delicate olive and gold fern leaves. It went very well against the forest green coat that fitted so neatly around his flared chest and narrow waist. He looked, for once, as fashionable as he so frequently claimed to be.
"What are those unspeakable things?" Ben asked curiously. "No one will tell me."
"When you're old, you'll find out," James said.
Ben glowered. "That's not fair."
"Little in life is."
"You sound just like my mother."
James looked offended. Grace hid a smile; she must, as Ellen had suggested, be cool to James.
"There are many things that children are not allowed to know," James said. "That's why you will be drinking orgeat and we—" he fished a familiar silver flask from his coat pocket "—will be having the good stuff."
"You did not bring that!" Grace said.
"As I told you, it's my antidote against boredom."
"James!"
"What is it?" Ben asked. "Can I try some?"
"Absolutely not." James slipped it back in his pocket. "When you're old, you may drink brandy. Not before."
Ben glowered. "I knew Aunt Grace would marry someone boring."
"Ben," Grace said, in the warning tone of voice that never did any good with him.
"Aunt Grace," Ben mimicked. "Uncle James."
"Oh? I'm your uncle already, am I?" James pinched Ben's ribs. "That gives me certain liberties, you realize?"
Ben squawked. "I'll fight you! I'll win!"
"We'll arm wrestle," James promised. "But I won't take it easy on you. And if you're any good, I'll give you a shot at boxing tomorrow."
"Is that how you got the black eye?" Ben asked. "Boxing?"
"It is."
"You can't be much good then."
"Oh, I think I can take you on. You're not very tall."
"I'm fifty-six inches!"
"And I'm sixty-eight."
"Which," Grace added, thinking that this conversation was going far too well for James, "is a good half-foot shorter than you can expect to be when you are fully grown, Ben." She smiled at James. "His father is six foot four."
"A giant," James said carelessly. "Should I wear heels, Grace? Would that please you?" He grinned at her. "Or do I have no hope of pleasing you unless I look like Mr Montague?"
The thought of James adopting Mr Montague's greying whiskers and growing paunch made Grace shudder.
"I think," James whispered to Ben, "that she's really quite pleased with me as I am."
"You're not that bad," Ben said loftily.
Grace realized that James had, in the space of a bare few minutes, turned her wayward, truculent nephew into an admirer. Had she not been furious with James, she might have admired him for it. As it was, she felt only a jealous twist of resentment towards him and maintained a cool silence for the rest of the journey.
When they arrived, Ben leapt down from the coach and ran on into the house. As James handed Grace down from the coach, she said, "How on earth do you do that? For three years, I haven't been able to get Ben to listen to a single word I say, but in the space of ten minutes you made an ally of him."
"Don't worry," James said. "He's not going to listen to a single word I say either. He's just going to like me a little better when he disobeys me."
"How did you do it?" she repeated. "Ben's impossible."
"He's merely improbable. I was impossible, when I was his age. That's how I know how to do it."
"You're still impossible," Grace said, sweeping into the vicarage.
James hurried after her. "Have I done something wrong?"
Grace ignored him, for she had spotted her host through the open door to the dining room. "Good afternoon, Mrs Sharp."
Mrs Sharp, a spare, tall woman who always looked perpetually tired, came out into the hall to shake Grace's hand. "Good afternoon, Miss Follet. You look very well." Her tired gaze turned to James. "Your husband-to-be, Mr Redwood, I take it?"
"Just so," James said, pressing her hand.
"Well met," Mrs Sharp said. "But where is Ben? I hear screaming."
"I'll find him," James said, and went down the hallway towards the screams.
"I've got one of my headaches coming on," Mrs Sharp said to Grace, rubbing her temples. "And the children have already arrived. I hate to be an imposition, but would you mind looking after them while they eat, so I can lie down for a while? The maids have everything ready for their dinner. You would just need to settle them down in the drawing room to drink orgeat and encourage a little conversation, then take them down and the food will occupy them."
It was an imposition, to be asked to play host in a house that was not her own, but Mrs Sharp did look pale. Grace smiled politely. "Of course. I'm sure it will be no trouble."
"You're a dear," Mrs Sharp said, squeezing Grace's arm. "I'll be in my sitting room if you need me."
Grace followed the sound of thuds and squeals into the back of the house, where she found a schoolroom. The thuds and squeals were explained: James, Ben, and another boy were wrestling on the ground, while a third boy looked on piously and three girls squealed at intervals behind white-gloved hands. A pile of coats on the school table showed that James had at the least the sense not to ruin the boys' best suits. Even as Grace entered, however, a button came flying from the wriggling pile of bodies.
"James!" Grace said. "Really!"
James sat up, dislodging the boy who'd been sitting on him and pummelling his chest. "Oh no. She caught us."
"I would not join in," the pious boy said. "Fighting is not nice."
Ben, who was pinning James's arms to his side, snorted. "Shut up, Fred."
It was going badly already. "All of you get up and put your coats on," Grace said. "We're going to go upstairs and have some nice drinks."
"Orgeat," Ben said contemptuously.
James slipped free of Ben and scrambled to his feet. "Come on. After the drinks, we get to eat." His hair was mussed, and the gaping of his waistcoat showed that he was the one who had lost the button. Grace bent and picked it up.
"I'll take the children to have drinks," she said. "You can find a maidservant to sew this back on and make yourself look half-way decent."
James gasped in horror and snatched up the button. "That's the second one today!'
"It's just a button, James." Grace eyed the puff of white shirt escaping his gaping waistcoat. "You're not setting a good example for the children. Go tidy yourself up, please. Mrs Sharp has a headache, so I'm going to supervise the children until after their dinner. I don't want to have to supervise you as well."
James left the schoolroom in his gaping waistcoat. Grace looked at the six children. They looked back at her.
"I told them not to fight," Fred said.
"No one is in trouble," Grace said. "But put on your coats, boys, and we'll go upstairs."
"What about Uncle James's coat?" Ben asked. "He left it behind. Should I take it upstairs for him?"
"I suppose so."
The boys wriggled into their coats and Grace led the way upstairs to the drawing room where a tray of wine glasses and a jug of orgeat had been laid out in preparation for the children. Fortunately, Ben seemed to have taken into his head to be good today. He insisted that Grace sit down while he carried the drinks tray from the sideboard to the table and even helped Mrs Sharp's daughter Jenny pour the drinks and handed one to Grace. Then, with determined politeness, he complimented the taste of the orgeat (Grace thought it was rather peculiar and unpleasant) and the pleasantness of the weather (it had started to rain) and the prettiness of the girls' dresses (Grace could see he would be even more trouble when he grew up). Some half-an-hour passed. With the rain outside and the fire within and the children behaving so well, Grace began to feel cozy and content. Even the orgeat was tasting less peculiar the more she drank of it. To be sure, the children were getting somewhat boisterous and loud, particularly their laughter, but at least they were all getting along.
James appeared in the doorway, his waistcoat mended. He looked around the room, saw his coat hanging over the back of a chair, and went and squeezed himself into it. When he was done, he came over and leaned on the back of Grace's armchair. She fixed her gaze steadily upon the children. The girls were laughing at some secret joke, while Fred and the other boy were engaged in trying to out-boast each other about their sporting prowess. Grace was quite certain that Fred was lying through his teeth, but thought it best not to interfere. Ben had fallen into a contemplative silence, and she wished not to provoke him.
"They're getting along, aren't they?" James observed.
Grace kept her gaze steadily upon the children and sipped her second glass of orgeat. Peculiar, how the flavour seemed to grow upon one, and what a pleasant warmth it brought to the belly. It was a most comforting drink after all.
"Grace?"
Grace ignored him. She had to show him his place, yes, that was what she had to do.
"Have I done something wrong? It was only a little wrestling. I was just trying to get them to like me."
Grace took another slow sip of her orgeat. The girls shrieked with laughter. Fred claimed to be able to walk on his hands. Ben gave a single hiccup and looked surprised.
James leaned over the back of her chair to speak in her ear. "You're giving me the cold treatment."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
James clicked his tongue. "For God's—" he broke off. "Come with me."
He put his hand in hers and pulled her up and out into the hallway. She did not resist. She might have, except that the warmth that had stolen over her with the orgeat seemed to particularly concentrate in her hand where it was held by him. She was angry with James for that, and angry with her hand too.
"We're going to talk," James said, dropping her hand. That brought sense back to Grace.
"We have to watch the children."
"They can't do anything in five minutes."
"I assure you, Ben can."
"Then let him." James's eyes glittered with irritation. "I don't mind a good quarrel, but I'm not going to play guessing games. What have I done to offend you?"
Grace took a long drink of the orgeat, heat rising to her cheeks. Ellen had told her to ask him. She was going to ask him.
"Grace?"
"It was the musicale," she blurted. "What you did at the musicale."
"I told you I was sorry. I meant it. It was never my intention to leave you and Emma alone." He twitched his nose in distaste. "Certainly, I never meant to put you in a position where you had no one to rely upon but Benson."
"That was embarrassing," Grace said, "but it wasn't humiliating."
"What was so humiliating then? Tell me."
"The opera singer!"
It was out, at last, but James only looked confused.
"The opera singer?" he said. "What about her?"
"I saw her follow you from the room."
James stared blankly at her. "What? You saw her... oh. Grace! No!" He ran a hand through his hair. "You saw me leave the room. You saw her leave after me. Of course, she would have..." He shook his head. "She was not following me, and if she had been, I wouldn't..." He actually looked hurt, which confounded Grace. "I wouldn't do that, Grace. I am not a saint, but I did not do that."
Tears pricked Grace's eyes. "Why didn't you come back then?"
"I got locked out on a balcony while I was trying to sober up so I could drive you and Emma home safely. I kept hoping you would think to look for me. Now I understand why you didn't."
The walls were spinning rather. Grace twisted her hand through James's cravat to steady herself. "I want to believe you."
"Then why are you trying to strangle me?"
"I'm not. I'm just wobbly." She sipped more orgeat, and the hot dizziness swamped further over her. "This orgeat is a little powerful."
With a frown, James took the glass from Grace and sipped it. A horrified expression rose over his face. He patted at his pockets.
"God damn it," he muttered. "The little rat stole it."
"Stole what?" Grace demanded dizzily.
"My brandy."
* * *
James's first instinct was to laugh. He overcame it. If the brandy was enough to get Grace tipsy, it was certainly going to get the children drunk. And it was his fault. He should never have brought it with him, nor showed it to a precocious trouble-maker like Ben. He pushed Grace down into a chair.
"Be a darling," he said, "and sit here and don't talk to anyone. I'm afraid you're drunk."
"I'm quite sober," Grace said. "It's only orgeat."
"Laced with an entire flask of brandy." James pressed the glass into her hands. "Drink it if you wish, but sit here and be quiet."
He left her and went into the drawing room. In their brief absence, chaos had taken reign. One little girl was doing somersaults on the couch, giggling madly, as another cheered her on. The third was prone on the floor looking mildly perplexed. Fred and the other boy were throwing wobbly punches at each other. Ben was green-faced in his chair, staring at a nearly empty glass of orgeat as though trying to convince himself to finish it off. James snatched it out of his hands.
"Hey!" Ben shouted, trying to stagger to his feet, only to reach them and be unable to stop staggering. "Hey!"
He bounced to the floor, where his green cheeks went suddenly white. James thrust the coal scuttle under his face in time.
"Better out than in," James muttered. "I suppose you poured the whole flask into the orgeat?"
Ben heaved.
"Very clever, Ben." James rubbed the boy's back. "Go on then, let it out. You'll feel better when you have."
He left Ben on the floor with the coal scuttle and went around the room, quickly gathering up the cups of orgeat and dumping them back into the jug. There was not much left. He left the room, taking the jug with him. In the hallway, he stopped a passing maid, informed her that the children were ill and would need buckets, then went downstairs to find Mrs Sharp. She was lying on a couch in the sitting room with her eyes closed.
"No," she said, when he came in. "Can't I have a headache in peace?"
"I'm sorry," James said. "I've made a terrible mistake. I think you might want to call the doctor."
She opened her eyes. "Has someone broken a bone? I thought I heard fighting."
"Worse. Ben poured brandy in the orgeat. The children are all drunk."
She sat up with a very unladylike curse.
"I'm sorry," James added. "It's my fault."
"Why on earth didn't Miss Follet realize? This is the last time I invite Ben to anything — that boy is trouble."
"He certainly is. Look, you can have your headache and I'll—"
"No, no." Mrs Sharp got up, rubbing her temples. "I can't have a headache. Not now."
"I'm sorry." James gave her his arm. "I'll help you upstairs. At least Ben's got the worst of it. The others seem quite cheerful by comparison."
"That is a silver lining," Mrs Sharp grumbled. They started up the stairs. "You'd better take Ben home, if he can travel. Do you think the doctor is needed?"
"The apothecary might be better. He probably has a nasty tonic to bring it all up."
"I've got that myself. A bit of tartar, or chalk and magnesia. I'll tell the children it's all Ben's fault."
"It's mine really," James said. "It was my brandy. I'm so sorry."
Mrs Sharp gave him an unimpressed look. James sighed; he seemed forever to be apologizing lately, and it never seemed to be doing him any good.
They reached the first floor, and James guided Mrs Sharp hastily past Grace into the drawing room. One maid was struggling to keep the fighting boys apart, while another was mopping up after Ben, who had managed to miss the coal scuttle. The somersaulting girl had ceased somersaulting and was looking as though she needed a coal scuttle too. The perplexed girl still looked perplexed.
"Tartar," Mrs Sharp said decisively. "Lucy, go fetch my medicine box. Mr Redwood will look after Ben." She grabbed an empty vase from the mantlepiece and marched up to the somersaulting girl. "Here, Jenny, you're going to be sick."
Jenny was. James kneeled next to Ben and patted his face with a handkerchief.
"Feeling better?"
Ben's eyes glittered with tears
"Do you need water?"
Ben shook his head.
"More coming up?"
Ben nodded. James marshalled the coal scuttle just in time.
"I don't think Ben needs tartar," James said. "I think it's coming up already."
"I'm giving him some anyway," Mrs Sharp said grimly. "He deserves it."
The maid returned with the medicine box and tartar was given to all the children, with predictable and messy results. Mrs Sharp's children were put to their beds, the neighbours' children were put to Mrs Sharp's bed, and Ben was carried into the coach with the coal scuttle in attendance. To James's relief, Mrs Sharp never looked too closely at Grace, who accepted these developments with passive confusion and only protested when the jolting of the coach set Ben off again. Thankfully, after that, Ben seemed cleaned out and fell into a stupor. When they got home, James had to carry him indoors. Ellen, coming to meet them, was predictably furious to hear the story. She hauled Ben into her arms and half-dragged him up the stairs.
James turned to Grace, who was flushed and wobbly. "You ought to go to bed."
"I'm not at all tired," she said, rather tearily.
Then she was a sad drunk. He ought to have expected that. He took her hand gently. "Come on. You'll feel much better after a rest."
She stumbled up the stairs behind him, quite content, it seemed, to go wherever he led her by the hand. When they reached her room, she sat down on the bed and rested her head in her hands.
"My stomach hurts."
"Should I get you something? Tea? Soda water?"
"No." She ran her hands through her hair. "James. Did you mean it? You were locked out?"
"Yes. I spent ages banging on the door but no one heard me."
"How did you get locked out?"
James considered telling Grace that he had followed Benson but decided it was too risky. She would put together Benson and the opera singer if he did. "I'm not sure. I was drunk."
"And you weren't with the opera singer?"
"No, Grace. Never." James sat down beside her and patted her knee. "Think what you're accusing me of: running off in the middle of a concert to rut with an opera singer in some dark corner of my hostess's house. I may be a bad man, but I am not grotesque, and that is grotesque behaviour."
She looked at him with wide, hurt eyes. "But one day... you would... you said you would... betray me."
There was something about those wide, hurt eyes that made James want to kiss her better. He looked away. "I said that?"
"When you told me about your lovers."
He had, hadn't he? And he had meant it then, perhaps. But Grace had looked so plain and unanimated that day, like a statue. She certainly didn't look like a statue now, with her trembling lips and flushed cheeks. He could imagine making love to her — if she would only look like she wanted him to. If she wasn't an unmarried virgin.
If she was his virgin bride.
Very, very carefully, James shifted away from her, putting six inches of bedspread between their thighs. Slowly, he stood up and took one long step away from the bed. There he stood, waiting for his heart to slow, looking down upon Grace and telling himself that she was not to be his bride.
"James?"
"I have no wish to betray my wife," he said. "No wish to be betrayed by a wife. But from what I know of marriage, it is a system that engenders betrayal. That's why I said what I said that day. But, Grace... I have not betrayed you."
Naked relief entered her eyes. "I'm sorry."
"It's alright. We've set things straight now." Besides, James was relieved too. Grace believed him. Somehow, that mattered. He could not marry her. He would not. But he would not see her turn him down for an infidelity he had not committed. "You'd better take a rest, Grace. Let the brandy wear off."
Her lips wobbled. "I don't think I like brandy."
"She's a fickle friend." He ruffled her hair. "I'll see you at dinner."
She flopped down onto the bed and rolled onto her side. James left the room and went to find Ellen. She was in Ben's room, watching the boy sleep. When she saw him, she pressed her lips together thinly.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I had the brandy and I didn't realize he stole it."
"I can't believe this," Ellen said furiously. "What on earth was Grace doing?"
"I'm afraid she, too, drank of the poisoned orgeat. I persuaded her to bed."
"She never could hold her wine," Ellen said. "But you ought to have been more careful! Ben's — well, he's exactly the sort of boy you were as a child, I imagine."
"He's—" James stopped on a thought. Ellen's usual fluttery inanity was suspiciously absent in her anger. "For that matter, you should be more careful about your ironing. You deliberately destroyed my waistcoat, didn't you?"
"It was an eyesore."
There was a cold, angry challenge in Ellen's voice. An angry reply rose to James's lips, then the humour of it occurred to him and he laughed instead. That had Ellen reluctantly smiling too.
"I will forgive you," she said. "Once Ben recovers."
"I'll forgive you now," James said. "And I'm dreadfully sorry, really. I underestimated Ben."
The smile was still pressing at Ellen's lips but not quite coming through, like the expression Grace sometimes wore. "You know, I think you're going to be my favourite brother-in-law."
That had a dampening effect upon James's spirits. He looked away. "Well. Maybe."
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A/N 2021-06-28: Long chapter. Short A/N.