An Indecent Gambit

Chapter Sixteen: Well Shot

It was difficult for Grace to meet James's eye at the breakfast table the next morning. The words he had whispered to her last night had given her strange, restless dreams, dreams which she hardly dared recall without blushing. This morning, she found herself acutely aware of his physical presence in a way she had not been before. The movements of his wrists and hands on his cutlery were, she noted, incredibly deft, soft, deliberate. The waistcoat he wore — today a quite ordinary brown — folded so very neatly around his narrow waist. And something about his shoulders in their well-fitting coat made her want to rub her face against them and bury it into the crook of his neck.

Despite all that, her primary conclusion was that she could understand, now, why the opera singer had chased after James.

It was a relief when James left with the other men to go hunting, leaving her and Ellen alone at the breakfast table. The first thing Ellen said, however, was, "So you've made it up with Mr Redwood?"

"What makes you think that?"

"You've been making eyes at him all morning."

"I have not!"

"Yes, you have." Ellen began to flick through the letters. "Bills, bills, this is from Harriet... If you bring out the red dress again, he'll be making eyes at you. I've an idea it effects him."

Grace's heartbeat quickened. "You're speaking nonsense. Besides, I can't wear the same dress twice in one week. I'll wear that white one."

"Really?" Ellen frowned. "What does Alice say you look like in it anyway?"

"A marble pillar," Grace said stiffly.

"I have an idea that's supposed to be the point."

Had a man ever made love to a pillar? It did not seem likely. If only James had worn the pink waistcoat today, instead of the plain one. She was sure she would not be so effected if he was in pink. "Perhaps I'll wear it then," she said. "Alice may have meant it as a compliment."

"Unlikely." Ellen laughed as she slit a letter open with a dirty butter knife. "You know that's one good thing about being married, Grace, you won't have to put up with Alice. Or Mother. I was so relieved when I could set up my own household and make sure the cooking was done right every night, rather than just when the cook felt like it."

That made Grace feel guilty, for she had been secretly looking forward to the same situation and expressed out loud the sentiment seemed ungrateful. "Is there anything good in the letter?" she asked.

"An invitation," Ellen said. "Mrs Sharp — the vicar's wife, if you remember her — wants Benjamin to come to dinner tomorrow. She's getting up a proper little dinner party for some children of the neighbourhood with music afterwards so they can practice their dancing."

"That sounds lovely," Grace said. "And I'm sure very good for Ben to learn a little about dancing."

"I'm inclined to agree with you, except Mrs Sharp insists I don't send Ben alone. I suppose she remembers what happened last time."

"What did happen last time?"

"He locked the vicar in the pig's shed and the pig in the vicar's study."

"But why?"

"When your son turns nine," Ellen said, "you'll stop asking that question." She tossed the letter aside and picked up another. "I'll have to refuse. I can't take Ben myself because I've got to superintend the plucking of all those game birds so I can get the feathers for pillows... unless you would like to take him?"

Grace opened her mouth to refuse.

"It's that or game birds," Ellen added.

"I'd love to," Grace said.