An Indecent Gambit

Chapter Two: A Compelling Hypothesis

Grace Follet was, at that moment, standing on the Turkish carpet in her father's study and wondering if she was in trouble. Mr Follet never called any of his daughters to his study unless they were, and Grace, the most prudent of the five sisters, had not had cause to be called here in six years. She had forgotten how severe and depressing the study was. No paintings adorned the mahogany-panelled walls, bar the severe portrait of her grandmother and grandfather scowling down upon her from above the fireplace. A single case of books always remained locked. The only ornament in the room was a human skull entombed under a glass dome on her father's desk. As children, Grace and her sisters had whispered stories to each other of whom the skull had once belonged to — an enemy of their father's, a highwayman he had shot, a servant who had displeased him. As an adult, Grace still did not know why her father had such a strange object on display.

At his desk, her father signed the letter he had been writing and set it aside to dry. He looked up and examined her through ever-unsmiling eyes. Grace noted indifferently that the thick creases beneath them were deeper than usual.

"You are twenty-five," Mr Follet said.

"Yes, sir."

"You are almost of an age to be unmarriageable."

"I am not getting younger."

"I would not like you to grow old unwed," Mr Follet said. "Aged spinsterhood is an unhappy state of being. And you would be a burden to your sisters. A burden to their husbands."

"I have no wish to be a burden upon anyone."

"I know you don't." Mr Follet's thin lips tightened in what might have been a smile. "You are an industrious young woman."

That was unexpected. Mr Follet hardly ever praised his daughters. The flutter of pride Grace felt was instantly followed by damping suspicion. She was not in trouble. So why had her father called her here?

Mr Follet looked idly at the skull, as though holding a silent conversation with it. "I received a visit from an old friend of mine last week," he said. "Mr Redwood — you remember him?"

"Yes, sir." Ancient. Cadaverous. Intimidating. Like most of her father's friends. "I remember Mr Redwood very well."

"He is a great philosopher," Mr Follet continued. "He has many interesting ideas about science and religion. Last week, however, he brought up a compelling hypothesis about a matter closer to hand."

Was it possible that her father had brought her to his study merely for idle conversation?

"He believes that your sedate, well-governed nature and his son's spirited one would form two complementary parts."

No. It was not possible. Of course not.

"You look offended." Mr Follet raised a querying eyebrow. "Is his hypothesis of such revulsion to you?"

"His hypothesis?" Grace shook her head. "It doesn't bear consideration, I'm afraid."

"But I am asking you to consider it." There was steel in Mr Follet's voice.

"The hypothesis being..." Not love, it could not be love if her father suggested it. "...Marriage?"

"Yes."

"To James Redwood?"

"Indeed."

Grace tried to look as though she really was considering it. She counted to fifty before she answered. "I don't think James Redwood and I would suit, Father."

Mr Follet nodded. "That was my first thought too. He is such a boisterous, happy-go-lucky young man. You do not have much in common. But I did not pause on my first thought, Grace, and nor should you. There are material and social advantages to such a match. James Redwood will be a wealthy man one day. His family is of very good standing in the community. People respect the Redwood name."