An Indecent Gambit

Chapter Five: Anchovy Sandwich

James's courtship of Grace began at eleven-thirty on Wednesday morning in the Follets' drawing room. Mrs Follet was writing letters by the window, at just enough distance that she could pretend not to overhear anything intimate, and Alice and Emma sat together on the couch, making no effort to conceal that they fully intended to eavesdrop. Grace did not know what her mother or sisters thought they might hear. At this stage in courtship, she and James could have nothing to talk of but the most general topics. She expected they would trade opinions on their preferred weather or plays or walks, and hopefully they would discover some compatibility in their preferences.

It began, however, in silence. James slouched in and flung himself down into the chair opposite Grace without saying a word at all. She waited for him to say good morning or to acknowledge the presence of anyone in the room. He did not.

"It's a lovely day," Grace said at last.

James picked at a stray thread on his waistcoat.

"James?"

"Oh?" He shook himself. "Was that addressed to me?"

"Yes."

"I thought you might be talking to your sisters."

Alice whispered something to Emma, who giggled.

"No, I was talking to you," said Grace.

James swung his leg idly over the arm of his chair. "It's not very romantic, to speak of the weather, so I didn't think you would."

"But we're not—"

"I can't abide how English women always talk of the weather," he continued as if she had not spoken. "Given what it usually is, we had all much better stay silent. But I suppose there is so very much unmentionable for ladies and so very little they truly have any knowledge of that they must suffice with the weather." He glanced outside. "Let us not fill the air with such banality; it will bring on rain."

"Very well," Grace said. "We won't."

And, annoyed by his rudeness, she said nothing at all. She watched him with her hands clasped neatly in her lap, waiting for him to supply a more interesting avenue of conversation. He could not keep her gaze. He kept having to look away, frowning as though confused.

Three minutes, thought Grace. Three minutes and he'll say something, no doubt banal.

At two minutes and fifty seconds, Mrs Follet spoke, her voice trilling with anxiousness to please. "I am going to call for tea. Does anybody want tea?"

Grace sighed. "Alright then. If you are."

"Whiskey would be better," James muttered in undertone, but thankfully Mrs Follet did not hear, or she might have taken him at his word.

When tea came, they all moved to the table by the window. James sat down in one chair, then stood up and sat down in another, then stood up and sat down in the first again, which Grace had been just about to claim for herself. Before anyone could offer him a plate, he took a slice of orange cake from the platter and stuffed it in his mouth.

"Sugar and milk," he said, powdered sugar puffing over his lips.

Mrs Follet was far too timid to do anything but pour his tea and put a lump of sugar and some milk in it. Alice narrowed her eyes.

"Mr James has a sweet tooth," she observed. "Just like a little girl. Be careful, Grace, he will be fat before you know it. He is already getting chubby. His chin is doubling."

James anxiously fondled his chin. "It is not."

"Perhaps it is just the lighting," Alice said sweetly. "I have noticed that this bright morning light is unflattering to anaemic types."