An Indecent Gambit

Chapter Eleven: Unwanted and Unwise

Grace watched James leave the salon, swiftly, with purpose. It was a relief he was gone. If he had stayed another minute, she might have been tempted to slap him.

"What was he whispering about all this time?" Emma asked.

"Nothing," Grace said. "Come, let's find something to eat."

She stood, and as she did so, the movement of the opera singer — hard to miss in her peacock-blue gown — caught her eye. The opera singer was going out through the same door James had gone through. She moved as swiftly as he had, with the same sense of purpose. Alarm bolted through Grace.

"Grace?" Emma said.

"I'm not hungry," Grace said. "You go. I'll stay here."

She stayed in her seat, watching the door. After twenty minutes or so, the opera singer returned, her peacock-blue gown looking somewhat ruffled. Grace turned away and fixed her gaze upon her lap. She was leaping to conclusions. She must be. James would be here soon. He had said he needed air. He had been drunk. It might have been true.

Emma sat down, leaving the seat between them empty. "James isn't back yet."

"Shut up, Emma," Grace said. "The music is to begin again."

The seat between them, where James had been, remained empty for a long time. Grace expected James to come back any moment, but he did not. She kept flicking her gaze at the drab brown servant door, thinking of what she would say to him when he did return, fearing that she would dare say nothing. She never found out, for James did not return.

The music ended without Grace having heard a syllable of it. The people began to disperse, breaking into little crowds to converse. Slowly, the crowds thinned as the guests said goodbye to Mrs Partridge and left. Still, Grace could not see James. Emma hovered by her side, bleating every few minutes, "Where is Mr Redwood? Should we not be leaving soon?"

When the room was empty but for a handful of lingering guests, Grace realized they had been abandoned. The humiliation of it brought tears to her eyes.

"Miss Follet?" Mrs Partridge came bustling over. "But you are still here! Were you that fond of the music?"

There was, in that question, the open hint of 'When are you leaving my house?' Grace looked at the clock. It was half-past midnight.

"It was wonderful music," Emma said. "But we, um..."

"It seems that Mr Redwood has... has had to attend to an emergency," Grace said.

"Really! And left you here! That will not do! How are you to get home?"

Mrs Partridge had the grace to look embarrassed herself. It was a very awkward situation, to be stranded in the house of a host you had met only that evening — or, Grace supposed, to have guests stranded upon you. If Mrs Partridge had said, 'How awkward! How embarrassing!' Grace would have felt much better about it, but Mrs Partridge was very clearly trying to look as though it wasn't embarrassing at all, and that only made it all worse.

"What emer—"

Grace stepped on Emma's foot. "It seems that we'll have to walk. But it's not far."

"Oh, no, I can't let you do that. I'll send for my coach — but I cannot. I have already sent it for the Bells, and they live miles away. What will we do?" Mrs Partridge looked helplessly around the room, as though expecting James to return. "Oh dear. What on earth are we to do?"

"I think we'd best walk."

"We can't walk!" Emma said, rubbing her foot on her ankle. "It's dark and cold. I'm wearing slippers!"