While James was in London with her cousins and brother-in-law, Grace was at home with her sister, Harriet, having a coze. Ellen and Mrs Follet were occupied with the more practical task of ensuring arrangements for tomorrow were in order, so Harriet was playing the role of the emotional confidante. It was safer for Grace to let her play that role than allow her anywhere near the bridesmaids' dresses or wedding breakfast. Chaos followed in Harriet's wake. As she walked into the entry hall on arrival, she knocked a vase off a table and shattered it into pieces. Harriet apologized profusely, insisted she had been nowhere near the vase and did not know how it had fallen, and cut her fingers trying to pick up the pieces. Nevertheless, once her hand was bound and she had been herded up the stairs to Grace's room, Harriet recovered her composure to tell Grace some Very Interesting Things about the married state, much of which Grace was sure could not be true, and to ask probing questions about the nature of true love. Harriet was a romantic.
"I am not a romantic," Grace said. "I like James more than adequately, and when you meet him, I am sure you will agree he is handsome. But it is a marriage of convenience. It always was."
"You would not marry only for convenience," Harriet said. "Besides, Mother told me about the long silences that occur when you and James are alone. Scandalous, Grace!"
Grace's cheeks warmed, but she affected a careless shrug. "We sometimes talk very quietly, when it is just us two alone."
"Yes, I like to talk quietly with Mr Underton too." Harriet's dimples appeared as she grinned. "I think James sounds like a nice young man. You won't say you're in love with him, of course, but you always were cagey about your feelings — as though there's any danger in showing the world that you're happy!"
"Of course I'm happy," Grace protested. "But I'm not in love with James. And he..." She remembered how he had almost said he loved her. "I suspect he feels more for me than I do for him, but I am not sure that he really loves me. Perhaps a man who loves as easily as James can never love deeply."
"Mother says he adores you. She rarely gets these things wrong."
That made Grace's heart flutter. "He is quick to affection. A double-edged sword, I think."
"But no real danger unless he is inconstant too." Harriet patted Grace's knee. "I am disposed to like James. I can't wait to meet him tomorrow. And if he is not handsomer than you have described I will be surprised."
Grace drew her legs up under her and hugged a pillow. "Part of me wants to run away, Harrie."
"I felt the same way. I think most women do. But I was also excited, you see, that I would finally have Mr Underton all to my own, in my own house." Harriet's eyes danced. "And my own bed."
"You speak of that quite differently to Ellen. The way she described it, it was a chore."
"Yes, but the poor dear is married to Mr Montague, isn't she? I don't think she quite understands." Harriet patted her hair and looked pleased with herself. "I am glad you did not marry that sleek little curate. He reminded me of a water rat, you know, sort of damp and plump and beady-eyed. I don't think he would have made you happy. You will know what I mean, tomorrow night."
Grace shuddered. "Don't talk about Benson. I am almost sure that he only wanted me for my money — what little there was of it. How he singled me out as a woman who could be tricked with sweet lies, I don't know."
"Because men like that always do know. It's an instinct, with them." Harriet gave Grace a consoling pat. "You know James wants you for who you are. It may be a marriage of convenience, but there is no pretence about it. Except perhaps the pretence that you feel for him less than you do."
"I don't pretend to feel nothing for him," Grace said. "I am fond of him."
"Oh, fond! That's a pleasant word! I am very fond of Mr Underton's mother."
Grace laughed. "You can't tease me into pretending I feel more than I do. I am happy to be marrying him. Is that not enough?"
She was, too. She was so happy she dared not express her true feelings. It felt as though speaking of her happiness might break it. Of particular anticipation was the prospect of tomorrow night, though she would sooner die than admit it to Harriet. After months of James drawing back just as things were getting interesting, she was aching with curiosity to know what happened next. Perhaps Harriet was right about it. Certainly, Grace no longer believed Ellen's description of love-making.
Perhaps her face showed her thoughts, for Harriet smiled. "I can see you are happy. And I'm happy for you. You deserve—"
A knock at the door interrupted her and she flushed pink.
"Come in," Grace said.
The door opened, and the maid slipped through. "Excuse me, Miss," she said. "A letter came for you. Hand-delivered. The gentleman would not take no for an answer."
Was it James? No. He would have come up to see her himself, even if it was the night before their wedding. Grace took the letter curiously. A half-forgotten hand met her eyes when she slit it open and her heart fell.
"Speak of the devil," she said to Harriet. "Thank you, Eloise. You may go. There will be no reply."
The letter was short though not to the point.
Dear Miss Follet,
Much time has elapsed since I had the honour of calling you my beloved, and I am unsure now if I even have the privilege of calling you my friend. However, I must trespass upon your magnanimity and beg an audience of you. There is information I have recently discovered of a highly disagreeable nature about James Redwood. After solemn reflection I have come to believe it is my duty to impart this information to you before the event of your wedding.
Tomorrow morning at seven I will be waiting in the lane behind your house.
Sincerely Yours,
G. B.
Grace passed it to Harriet silently, who read it and raised her eyebrows.
"James will be jealous."
"Furious, rather. I have an idea he warned Benson off, shortly after Father died. But I won't tell James about it, and I'm certainly not going to meet him."
"You aren't at all curious?" Harriet poked Grace in the waist. "He might be planning to make an impassioned declaration of love and beg you for your hand."
"I would hope not!" Grace crumpled up the note and tossed it at the fire. "Though I doubt it. The very ink bleeds malice."
"Well, I will be thinking about it all day long, wondering. It is all so very mysterious."
"I won't spare a moment to think about Benson at all," Grace said. "I will be thinking only of James."
"And you say you don't love him!" Harriet laughed then looked thoughtful. "What if I meet Benson in your stead?"
"What good would that do?"
"It would satisfy my curiosity. Besides, if he is planning on making trouble on your wedding day, it would be better to know in advance. It would be dreadful if he were to appear in church. I doubt he would do anything more than mope darkly in a backwards pew, but it would rather spoil the mood."
Grace shuddered. "He had better not."
"Then let me go and I shall warn him off."
Grace hesitated. The last time she had seen Benson he had done nothing more than wound her with cruel words. She had no doubt that his message now was for the same purpose. On the other hand, if she did not give him the chance to hurt her, he might attempt to attend the wedding or the breakfast after. She did not want to expose herself — or James — to that embarrassment. And she did not believe anything he could say could hurt her. Not when she was guarded against him. Not when she was so happy.
"I will go," she said, "but I want you with me. I don't wish to speak to him alone."
The next morning, shortly before seven, Grace slipped a dressing gown and cloak over her nightgown and met Harriet on the back stairs. They made their way silently downstairs and out into the garden. It struck Grace that this was where she and James had first agreed to get married, on that cold and windy night. This morning, the garden appeared very different, full of spring blossom under sunlight and blue skies. A sudden rush of happiness swept over Grace and she stopped.
"This is silly," she said. "We should not speak to him. He has nothing to do with me anymore."
"Then tell him so," Harriet said. "Tell him that you never wish to see him again."
"Not seeing him is the best way to do that."
"He will persist. Such men always do. They need to be given a firm message."
Grace shook her head. "I don't want to see him."
"Then let me tell him off and send him away." Harriet drew herself up to her full height of five feet. "I'll make sure he never bothers you again."
"Fine. Get rid of him. But I am not seeing that man on my wedding day."
With a military nod, Harriet strode through the wooden gate into the lane. Grace remained in the garden. After a few moments, she heard Harriet's raised voice, interspersed with the hushes of Benson's soft replies.
"...Not to know where you're not wanted! You had your chance years ago and lost it, young man... Older than me! But not wiser! Now, get away with you! ...No, I won't listen to such nonsense! It's the stuff of beer and blue cheese! ...What do you mean, proof?"
And a hush again, this time longer. Harriet's footsteps, her slippers flapping in the dirt, then her long nose poking around the gate.
"Grace," she hissed. "He's got a letter for you."
"I don't want it."
"It's from James."
"James would not send Benson to give me a letter."
"No. It's not to you. It's about you."
"Tell him to— No. I'll do it myself." It was a mistake to have sent Harriet in the first place. Harriet never could manage things.
Pulling her cloak tighter around herself (it had not slipped her mind that beneath it she was not properly dressed) Grace went out into the lane. Benson bowed very low when he saw her.
"I don't want it," Grace said as he held out a letter towards her. "I came to tell you that I know now that you never loved me, George. You only wanted me for my dowry — and for my foolishness in believing your affection to be true. I'm no longer a fool. Your lies have no coin with me."
Benson shook his head. "Miss Follet, you wound me. Were it not that your heart were already given to another, I would protest the truth of my past affections." He sounded hurt. "But time heals all wounds."
"A mercy I, too, have reason to be grateful for. My heart — and my pride — are quite recovered the wounds your venality did them."
"I cannot convince you of my innocence. I do not try. No, I am here to warn you, Miss Follet, of another's deception. Your husband-to-be—"
"Say no more," Grace said. "I will not hear you speak a word against James."
"Then read the words he wrote himself." Benson thrust the letter towards Grace, but she ignored it and turned away. "You accuse me of not loving you, Miss Follet, of pretending to so that you would marry me. Your accusation is levelled at the wrong man. It is Redwood who is all artifice and pretence. Not I."
Grace laughed. "What fool trick is this? Harriet, let's go. I must get dressed for my wedding."
But Benson pressed the letter into Harriet's hand and she flicked a glance at it, her eyes widening. "Is this really James's handwriting?" she asked. "It cannot be. No decent man would say such things about any woman. And surely Father would not have arranged this marriage on such precarious financial..." Harriet tilted her head to one side. "...Actually that does sound rather like Father."
Grace scoffed and snatched the letter. "It's not his—"
James's elegant, fine script, in the blue-green ink they used at his club met her gaze. The usual long tails on the g's and y's, the half-closed o's. The letter was crumpled, as though it had been balled up and later flattened, and the ink was smudged, but it was still legible.
"I only wish you to know the truth," Benson said softly. "A friend told me. As the letter says, Redwood did not wish to marry you, but was unable to refuse his father. He treated you cruelly to make you break the engagement. It was a widely known plan. Half of London has a wager on your marriage. But when your father died, Redwood realized that if he did not marry you, you would end up impoverished. So he had to persuade you to remain his bride. You can see what he thinks of that."
Grace did not want to believe it, but it explained too much. No wonder James had been so awful when they were first engaged — so stupid and vain and clumsy. She had thought she had liked him more as she got to know him better. No. He had only given her a different kind of lie. And the kisses — had they been to persuade her? To seduce her into forgiving him? Humiliation flooded Grace.
"Poor Miss Follet," Benson murmured. "You have my sincerest pity."
Those words snapped Grace out of her humiliation. Anger rose above it. Benson did not have the right to pity her. James did not have the right to pity her. She was no man's object of pity. And with her anger came clarity.
"Half of London has a wager on this, have they?" she said.
"I believe so. Mr Redwood was not discreet about the matter."
"And I suppose the friend who gave you this letter has bet against my marrying James? And that his object in giving this to you was to prevent my marriage?"
"You are too cynical, Miss Follet."
"I can see, where men are concerned, that I have never been cynical enough." Grace tore the letter in two, then four, and kept tearing until it was tiny fragments, scattering in the breeze like dandelion seeds. "You may tell your friend that he has lost his wager. I am marrying James Redwood."
"But surely your feelings—"
"Are none of your concern. Farewell, Benson. I hope we never meet again."
With her chin held high, Grace marched back through the gate into the garden. Her heart ached and her chest was tight, but her head was perfectly clear. Harriet trotted after her.
"What do you mean, Grace? Is it true? Did James write those things?"
"He did." Grace saw a shred of the letter on her cloak and brushed it off. "I told you it was a marriage of convenience. My heart is not involved and never was." Her heart ached as though the blood within it had been frozen solid. "The letter changes nothing. Except now I am disillusioned a little earlier than I otherwise would have been."
* * *
James did not see Grace that morning until the wedding ceremony. It was such a quiet, solemn, formal occasion and he was so overwhelmed by his own emotions that he did not realize she was upset until they were in the carriage driving back to his parents' house. They were alone but for the groom in an open coach under a sunny spring day. As soon as they were out of sight of the church and their well-wishers, James tried to pull Grace close and kiss her. She stiffened in his arms.
"Grace?" He tickled her cheek. "My darling wife?"
"I'd rather you didn't say that."
"Call you my wife?"
"Your darling." Grace pushed him away. "I never know if what falls from your lips is a lie or a truth."
"What?" James cast a glance at the coachman, but the roads were dry and hard and the horses' hooves were making too much noise for him to overhear if they spoke in low voices. "Grace, what is this? What are you saying?"
"I spoke with Benson this morning. He gave me a letter that you had written about me."
James had been nervous all morning, but at her words he felt quick sick. That stupid letter! And Oliver had quoted it last night — what a fool he had been not to see the strangeness of it! What a damn fool to have written it in the first place!
"Perhaps you have forgotten writing it," Grace said sweetly. "Shall I refresh your memory?"
"No. Please. I know the letter you speak of. Grace, I was upset when I wrote it. I was letting out my feelings. It was not true then. It is quite the opposite of truth now."
"I know quite well the insults are not true. Not of me, at least. I would not defend you against claims of spitefulness, James."
"Grace. Please." He tried to take her hand but she snatched it away. "Benson is trying to hurt you."
"I know. And were it only a cruel letter, I might only be hurt." Grace's voice wobbled, then she gave a full body shudder and spoke with cold determination. "But you tricked me, James. That I cannot forgive. It was an indecent gambit, to play the fool and the cad so that I would break our engagement. A coward's gambit. Any man of courage or decency would have refused to become engaged to begin with."
"Do you think I did not tell myself the same thing? I planned to break our engagement, Grace. The night your father died, I was going to do it. Then... everything changed."
"I know. You found that I had lost my dowry to my father's scheming. Poor James. You felt guilty. No, you had to make up for it. You had to rescue me from the consequences of your chicanery. You had to pity me. But, James, you misjudged me. You misjudged my family. They would never let me fall into poverty. I was not yours to rescue."
"I didn't mean it that way— I wanted to make up for what I had done."
"You wanted to appease your guilt."
"I didn't want to ruin you!" James reached out to her then stopped himself, knowing touch would only anger her. "Grace, please. I did wrong. I did wrong from the beginning. But for a long time now I've been trying to make up for it and be the man you deserve."
Grace kept her gaze angled away from him, looking towards his house further down the road.
"We are married," James said pleadingly. "You married me anyway, even though you knew this morning."
"Yes." Her voice was like granite now. "I thought about ending it. It was my last chance to get away from your tricks and your lies. But then it occurred to me that if I did, your reputation would never recover. If I were to leave you at the altar, everybody would take it as confirmation of the rumours. You are in my debt, James. It is I who rescued you. I will not touch a penny of your money, even if I have every right to as your wife. I leave for London with Harriet this afternoon."
"Grace. Don't." They were drawing up in front of the house now, some of their guests already waiting on the steps. "Let's talk about this."
"No." She looked at him at last, and he knew by the lack of tears in her eyes that he would never be able to persuade her. "I will make no scandal, James, but I will give you no more chances. You have wasted more than you deserved. Thank god, at least, that I never loved you."
They drew to a stop in front of the house. Grace smoothed her lace gloves. "Now let us thank our guests and eat cake."
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2022-08-08 A/N: I'm desperately trying to finish this story in time for the Wattys. For those that don't know, the deadline is next week August 19. If you have a complete story over 50k words it may be eligible. Check it out at the Watty's Profile @TheWattys