After the orgeat incident, James realized that he had gone astray in his quest to rid himself of Grace. He was growing attracted to her, and worse still, he suspected she was growing attracted to him. If she started to harbour feelings for him, she would never break the engagement. Besides, it was one thing to rid himself of a Grace who did not care one way or the other for him. It would be quite another to break her heart.
To preserve them both, he sought refuge in good manners and distance over the remainder of their visit at Ellen's. He spent most of his time with Mr Montague, feigning interest in Montague's horses and hounds. It seemed to have its effect: Grace's manner cooled towards him and she withdrew into Ellen's company. When James returned to his parents' house a week later, the first thing he told his father was that he did not believe Grace was in love with him yet.
"Has she forgiven you for leaving her at the ball?" Mr Redwood asked.
"I don't know that she ever held a grudge. Her feelings are very lukewarm, Father. Love and hate might both be beyond her."
"Still waters run deep," Mr Redwood warned.
"There is always time after the wedding for her to develop feelings," Mrs Redwood said. "I should not wait around on that account. The banns must be read soon. You should marry before Christmas."
James faltered. "Before... Christmas? That's sooner than I expected."
"You've been engaged over a month already. Two or three months is quite adequate, particularly when all other matters are in such agreement."
"I'm not ready for it."
"It is quite normal for a man to feel that way before his wedding," Mr Redwood said with one of his almost smiles.
"James must conquer his cowardice," Mrs Redwood said. "Grace has more reason to be nervous than he does, yet she would never say such a thing."
Mr Redwood's smile faded about the eyes. "I will have a talk with Mr Follet about reading the Banns," he said. "You maybe be right; it may be time."
James's heart fluttered unpleasantly. Mr Follet would certainly agree to the Banns being read, and it would be extremely scandalous to break the engagement after they had been. He had to get Grace to turn him down before then.
By Saturday evening, James had still not managed to escape his engagement, and the next morning the Banns were to be read in church for the first time. He was not in a state of desperation. The desperation had come and gone, and left in its wake a sort of self-pitying, crotchety despair. Grace, of course, was neither offended nor sympathetic to his bad mood, which only made it worse.
That evening, they were to attend a ball at the local assembly rooms with the Daltons. At eight, James walked to Grace's house and waited with her in the drawing room for the Daltons to arrive. Mr Follet waited with them too, in as bad a mood, it seemed, as James was. He complained that autumn balls were stupid, faddish affairs and criticized Grace for the way she had done her hair and dress.
"An unmarried woman should wear white to a ball," he said. "What on earth were you thinking, dressing in indigo?"
"It was Mother's choice. She saw something like it in a fashion plate."
"Then what on earth was she thinking?" Mr Follet scoffed. "The woman has nothing but wool in her skull."
"She was probably thinking," James said irritably, "that Grace looks excessively pretty in indigo."
That made both Mr Follet and Grace's cheeks turn pink, though for very different reasons. James cursed himself for saying it and did his best to convert the compliment to Grace into one for her mother.
"I have always thought that Mrs Follet displays unusual creativity and charm in her choice of fashion," he said. "In a sea of white and pink and cream, Grace will stand out like a sapphire set amongst diamonds. You will give my compliments to Mrs Follet, sir, for the way she dressed Grace tonight."
Mr Follet subsided into a fit of twitchy silent irritation for some minutes. At last he said peevishly, "I've a spot of indigestion tonight, Redwood. It gives me a temper."
"Is this a temper?" James asked. "I thought it was just general fussiness. My mistake."
Grace looked from one to the other, her lips pressed tight. James, accustomed now to her subtle expressions, saw that she was displeased with them both. But perhaps she was embarrassed by her father's criticisms.
They sat in silence for several minutes. At last, the doorbell rang and the footman came to say the Daltons' carriage was waiting for them. As James led Grace out to the carriage, he expected her to offer some apology for her father's bad mood, but she said nothing. Further conversation was prevented by the presence of Mr and Mrs Dalton and their two daughters, Eliza and Bridget. When they arrived at the assembly rooms, they were well in time for James to take the first dance with Grace. His mind was still upon the earlier conversation. Grace was in every way a dutiful, obedient daughter, despite Mr Follet's ungentle treatment of her, but she was not insensible of his cavilling, James thought; she had been embarrassed, or uncomfortable, by what her father had said earlier. If he could drive a wedge between her and her father, give her a reason to rebel against him, then perhaps that would be motive enough for her to break the engagement — tonight.
To that end, he continued their discussion in a low voice in the quiet moments in the dance, as they were standing back and waiting for their turn to move.
"Your father was in a temper tonight," he began.
"Some men are prone to them," Grace said. "Most women forgive them for it."
James ignored the veiled insult. "I could forgive any man for a temper," he said. "I find it harder to forgive what your father said about his wife."
"Mother often makes Father impatient."
"No. Your father often loses patience with your Mother."
The movement of the dance parted them for a few moments and allowed James to carefully compose his next sentences.
"It occurs to me now that tonight was the first time I have ever heard your father say a word about Mrs Follet. And it was an extremely ungracious one."
"He is not usually unkind."
"I think he is very good at knowing when he crossed a line, and very quick to jump back over it. Once or twice, I have been about to lose my temper with him when, with a quick word and a smile, he has twisted things until I don't know what I feel at all."
"He understands people."
"He knows how to manage them." James met Grace's eyes. "He manages you."
The dance separated them again and across the floor James could see Grace's face rumpling with discontent. When they met up again, they had to hold hands as they sashayed down the line of dancers, and she held his like it was a dead rat.
"You admire your father too much," James said. "You allow him to manage you. You allowed him to manage you right out of your engagement to Benson."
Her hand tightened on his until it hurt. "You know not of what you talk."
"I know enough. You should have heard what he said about your engagement with Benson — he called it a silly little love affair, conducted by a silly little girl. He never considered that he had broken your heart. He doesn't know women have hearts to break."
"Stop it!"
"I cannot!" The music brought them face to face as they formed a circle with another couple. "You sacrificed your own happiness for your father's good opinion once. Now you do it twice, in marrying me. You love him too much, Grace."
The other couple shot each other surprised, amused glances. Grace's cheeks burned scarlet. They broke apart from the other couple and made their way back down the line, hand in hand. Even through her gloves, Grace's nails dug into the back of his hand.
"You know nothing!" Grace hissed. "Love him!? Never!"
The heat and poison of her tone surprised James. Her wooden, pale face was alight with fury.
"Then why do you do as he tells you?" he asked. "Why leave Benson? Why marry me?"
She snatched her hand away from him as they reached their place in the line again. The fury of her expression was rapidly cooling. "Your jealousy amuses me, James."
For some moments, there was nothing for them to do but stand opposite each other in their spots. Grace glared at him, her eyes bright, her chin high, her cheeks white and pink. Then they met in the middle of the floor to hold hands with the other couples as the dance came to a close.
"Why didn't you marry Benson?" James asked in a low voice.
"I'm not going to tell you."
"It was because of your father."
"I'm not going to tell you."
"You cannot hate him. I don't believe it."
She glared at him and said not a word.
The dances slowed and the music ended. James bowed to Grace, who turned away without curtsying. James took a step after her.
"We're engaged for the set. The next dance begins soon."
"I'm tired. I don't want to dance."
"Let me get you lemonade."
"I'm not thirsty."
She turned away from him and pushed through the crowd. James let her go and drifted away to the other side of the salon, as far away from Grace as he could get. There was something about the way she had said she never loved her father that unnerved him. It had been very feeling. If she had been hiding that deep down, what else had she been hiding? If that was what she felt for her father, what did she feel for him?
James went outside into the courtyard. It was damp and cold, which afforded him the solitude he needed to be truly angry with both his father and Grace's. He paced up and down, kicking at the ground and cursing them both for having arranged the foul matter. It was not just cruel, it was stupid. Surely his father could not believe it was for the best to shackle him to a woman he could never love. Surely Mr Follet could not be so callous as to force Grace into this arrangement despite her so obviously caring nothing for James. And surely Grace had more integrity than to agree to marry him despite all — but she had not. Nor would she. And the more he had tried to rid himself of her, the crueller he had been, the more he had hurt her. And none of it had worked.
James leaned against a cool brick wall and thought things through. He should never have agreed to marry Grace in the first place, no matter what his father said. His ruse to get her to break the engagement had only made things worse. He had hurt her, and to no cause. No. It was not too late. He would break the engagement himself and damn the consequences. They would both be better off for it.
He stayed outside until he felt courageous enough to do it. He would take Grace aside somewhere private and tell her he could not marry her. Then he would walk home and leave her with the Daltons. It would have been better to do it at home, but the farce had dragged on long enough. Besides, if anybody could control their emotions in public, it was Grace.
He returned to the dance hall and scanned the crowd for Grace. The crush of people would have made it hard to spot her, but he spotted the brilliance of her indigo dress amidst the crowds of white, over near the entrance door, talking to a footman.
Even from thirty yards away, the strange stillness of her posture gave James a flash of conviction that something was wrong. He crossed the room, heedless of the dancers he was walking through, and went to her side. She turned to him.
"I'm leaving," she said. "I have to go."
"Where do you have to go?" James asked. "Home?"
"Yes. My mother sent a message." Her voice trembled slightly and she was very pale. "I must go."
James looked at the footman, whom he recognized now as one of the Follet's. "What has happened?"
"Mr Follet has been taken ill. Mrs Follet sent me to fetch Miss Follet."
"Do you have the carriage?"
"I rode my horse. Figured it would be quicker."
"But we don't have a carriage." James twisted to scan the room for the Daltons, but unlike Grace, Mrs Dalton and her daughters had dressed in acceptable white and cream and were lost in the crowd. Mr Dalton was probably in the card room. "I'll find Mr Dalton."
Grace shook her head. "I must leave now."
She was more worried than the matter seemed to deserve. James hesitated, then decided it would be best to get her home. Mrs Follet had sent for her, and it would get them both out of this stupid ball. "I'll take you. We'll walk. If we cut across the fields, it'll be quicker than waiting for the carriage anyway." He looked at the footman. "Ask around for the Daltons and tell them where we've gone, please."
Grace barely waited for him to finish speaking before she slipped out into the hall. James followed her.
"Now just wait—"
Grace ignored him, crossing the hall and slipping out through the great doors into the street. James muttered a curse under his breath and went after her. He only caught her up half-way down the street, but she shook off the hand he laid on her arm.
"Grace, even if you're angry with me, I'm not letting you walk home alone."
She splashed through a puddle of mud. "We should hurry."
She was too worried to be angry with him, it seemed. James lengthened his stride to match her trot. Damp was seeping through the seams of his dancing slippers. He could only imagine that Grace's feet were already soaked. "We are going as fast as we can. It will not take us long."
Grace trotted onwards, stumbling over the ruts in the road. "Long said my father was very bad. He didn't want them to send for me, but Mother did anyway. We must hurry."
Her voice and shoulders shook. Too late, James remembered that she had a shawl and cloak back at the assembly rooms. He shrugged off his coat and draped it over her shoulders. She did not even seem to register his touch.
"Grace dear, it's your mother. She's a sweet woman, but a worrier. Mr Follet probably only ate too many of the cook's pickled herrings."
She shook her head. "But he said not to send for me. Mother would never dare cross him if she did not think it dire."
"And she may yet be mistaken."
They rounded a corner onto the main road. Grace showed no sign of slowing her pace.
"Did he seem ill to you before we came?" she asked breathlessly. "He said he had indigestion — he never has indigestion."
"Which is a wonder, considering your cook. But indigestion is no reason to worry."
"I told you, Mother wouldn't cross him un—" Grace tripped over a rut in the road.
James caught her arm to keep her from falling. "Ease up, Grace. No good you spraining your ankle."
She looked at him, then down at his coat around her shoulders, and slowly slipped her arms through the sleeves, shivering. "Can we hurry, please?"
"Yes. Just not so much that we fall."
For the rest of the main street, she kept to a brisk walk. When they reached the Follet's road, however, she started to trot again and, as soon as they were in sight of the Follet's house, broke into a run James decided that he had assisted as much as he could and only walked after her. When he reached the house, she had disappeared, and the hall was cold and empty. James went into the dining room where a dying fire lingered to wait for Grace to return. She still had his coat, and he wanted it back before he went home.
Ten minutes passed, and Grace did not return. James could hear people moving about above stairs, but thought he would be intruding if he went up to ask for his coat. Another fifteen minutes passed, and the clock struck eleven. Then half an hour. An hour. James began to wonder if everybody had fallen asleep. The dining room fire was almost out and he was cold.
At last, a footstep sounded coming down the stairs and he went to the door to look out. It was not Grace. Nor was it any of the Follets, nor even the doctor. It was the vicar. When he saw James, he shook his head.
James had never seriously considered Mr Follet to be in any danger. He stared at the vicar, acid dizziness sinking through his veins. No. Surely not.
The vicar bowed silently and went out through the front door. The house was silent and dark. James wondered if he should leave. Perhaps he should not be here, not now. But then there was another footstep on the stairs, a lighter, more feminine one.
"James."
It was Grace. She no longer wore his coat. She came down the stairs towards him, very slowly, clumsily, almost falling from step to step
"You stayed."
He could not tell her why. He only watched her come down the stairs and wondered what on earth he was meant to say. Their earlier conversation seemed suddenly so cruel, so poorly timed. But how could either of them possibly have known?
It seemed Grace had forgotten it anyway. She reached the bottom of the stairs and looked at him.
"I don't know—" she said. Then tears ran down her face and she fell towards him and pressed her face against his shoulder. Hot tears ran through the silk of his shirt to his flesh. James, who had held a dozen women in his arms before, was at a loss for what to do. He swallowed the lump in his throat and let her cry before it occurred to him to hold her close, so he did so, holding her very tight. It didn't seem to have any effect on her crying, but he thought it was the right thing to do.
There was a motion at the top of the stairs and he looked up. Mrs Follet was standing there, looking weary under the light of a single candle. She held James's coat over one arm. For one moment she seemed about to speak, then she shook her head, hung the coat over the stair newel, and turned away.
__
A/N 2021-07-08: x_x