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."

"It is sometimes too bright in here in the mornings." Mrs Follet cast a warning look at Alice. "I have wondered about shading the windows — perhaps a little light lace. But then, I do like a nice, bright light to do my writing by. I am not sure—"

"It is a very good amount of light," Grace said, forestalling her mother's faltering soliloquy.

James had not been listening anyway. He got up and went to the fireplace to look in the mirror hanging above it. "I don't think I look anaemic."

"You look quite well," Grace said. She believed it too. He was very pale for a man, but it was a paleness in accord with the sun-fairness of his hair and well-ornamented by a healthy tint of pinkness to his cheeks.

He caught her watching him and flattened his hair. "Well anyway," he said, coming back to the table and taking two more slices of cake at once. "Women are supposed to dress up and be pretty, but men may do as they please. Particularly once they are married. I am sure I will gain three stone by our wedding day."

"Then have more cake," Alice said. "And, Grace, don't you dare eat that sandwich. You must remain slender. You are the lady."

Grace put the sandwich back on her plate. "I do not believe you could gain three stone before our wedding, Mr Redwood."

"I might try." James took the sandwich she had abandoned and bit into it. "Yuck! Anchovies!"

Emma giggled. "Do you not like them?"

"Anybody who likes anchovies shows a distinct lack of taste and self-respect," James said firmly. "It puts a nasty fishy smell on the breath. You must not eat anchovies, Grace, not ever. I could not abide a wife who eats anchovies."

"Alright," Grace said, taking another sandwich. "It's a small price to pay. I don't think anybody really loves anchovies."

James narrowed his eyes at her sandwich.

"This is cucumber," she added.

"I'm not overly fond of cucumber either," said James. "Nasty, slimy stuff."

Grace did not think that deserved a response and so did not give it one.

"What other opinions on food do you have?" Alice asked, shooting a sly glance at Emma. "You seem quite the... gourmet, Mr Redwood."

James took a sip of tea, frowning. "I won't get into the strawberry affair. That's a very long story. But I will say that my wife must know how to plan a dinner for my friends. The right foods must be on the right plates, and the wrong ones kept off the table altogether."

"I never could plan a dinner," Mrs Follet mourned. "I wish I could teach you, Grace, but I'm afraid... perhaps a book of housekeeping for a wedding gift."

"That's a lovely idea," Grace said, hoping to keep her mother from speaking further. "Thank you."

"I'll take care of the wines," James said. "None of this Quakerish temperance nonsense in my house. I hope you're a good drinker."

"Oh goodness," Emma said. "Grace starts swaying after half a glass of wine."

James looked reproachfully at Grace. "You will have to do better, Miss Follet. You may study from me."

"I have no wish to study inebriation from anybody," Grace said. "It is not good manners for a lady to overindulge. Besides, I find it very unpleasant."

"I can see you would say that." James reached over the table for the teapot and started pouring himself another cup of tea. "Oh dear. It spilled."

He had, in fact, spilled it himself, and very clumsily, but he made no movement to clean it, only slurping at his cup of tea and setting it back in the puddle he had made.

Mrs Follet, who saw every domestic upset as an emergency, got to her feet and stumbled to clean it up with her apron. Emma lent her handkerchief to the cause before following Alice from the room to get napkins. James leaned back in his chair and watched Mrs Follet clean. Grace felt a sliver of annoyance at her mother's "oh dears" and "isn't it wets".

"So sorry," Mrs Follet said, lifting James's teacup to wipe beneath. "Goodness, what a lot of tea. Oh dear! The carpet, it is getting on the carpet!"

She fell to her knees and pressed Emma's sodden handkerchief to the carpet at James's feet. James made no move to get out of her way. He met Grace's eyes.

"Shouldn't you be helping your mother?" he said.

Suppressing a scowl, Grace knelt, but Mrs Follet shook her head. "Do talk with Mr Redwood. This will only take a moment."

Grace straightened, but James shook his head and pointed at the floor. "I insist you help your mother. It is only good manners for a lady."

With a sigh, Grace crawled back under the table. Unlike Emma, who was always sniffly in autumn, the only handkerchief she had on her was a delicate lace affair quite unsuited to anything more than patting at imaginary tears. She made no attempt to ruin it by soaking it with tea.

"I wish I had known about the anchovies," Mrs Follet whispered. "I shouldn't have ordered them."

"He doesn't need to eat them if he doesn't like them," Grace said. "Though while we're on the topic, Mother, you needn't order anchovy sandwiches just because Cook has a fancy for the fishmonger."

"Oh!" Mrs Follet looked surprised. "Is that what it is? She said she gets a very good price."

"I doubt there's ever such a thing as a good price on anchovies," Grace said. "At least you could encourage her towards whiting."

"I'm not sure I like the idea of a whiting sandwich."

"Do you like anchovies?"

"Not particularly." The thin line between Mrs Follet's brows creased. "But I won't order them again when Mr Redwood is here."

It was useless. Mrs Follet would forever be at the whim of her domestics. Thankfully, at that moment, Emma and Alice returned with napkins to attend to the spilt tea, so Grace crawled out from under the table and stood up. She stared at the plate of biscuits. Nothing was left but crumbs. James lounged back in his chair with powdered sugar down the front of his vest.

It would be very, very bad manners to mention his appetite. Very bad indeed. Grace ran her eyes down the row of buttons on his waistcoat and decided they were not in danger of popping. Mr Redwood must be one of those lucky men who could eat a great deal and yet never show it in his figure.

Emma finished mopping up the tea and stared at the plate.

"Where did all the biscuits go?" she asked.

James cleared his throat. "The sandwiches weren't up to much. And I was hungry."

Emma opened her mouth wide. "But you... it wasn't even five minutes! And they're all gone!"

"It won't do you any harm," Alice said. "No, all the harm has gone to Mr James, I fear. Look, his chin is fattening as we speak."

James shrugged. "I am preparing for the wedded state. Like a bear preparing for winter, only in my case, there's not going to be a spring again."

"Poor Grace," Alice said.

"It is for the best," said James. "If I'm too good looking, we might end up having a dozen children, and that would be very hard on her."

Emma let out a sputter of nervous giggles and Mrs Follet turned bright scarlet. Even Alice looked taken aback.

"I think we can talk about this after we are married," Grace said. "Are you sure you won't try another sandwich, Mr Redwood?"

James shook his head. "We ought to talk about it beforehand. But perhaps you don't even understand what I'm talking of. I understand that I will be the more educated, when it comes to the acts of marriage, and I can take my part as teacher, but I refuse to play the part of nursery maid." He looked directly at Mrs Follet, who was busy looking anywhere but at James. "You haven't raised your daughter under the misconception that babies are found under cabbages, have you?"

"No," Mrs Follet said in a whisper-thin voice. "I have not."

"Nor that the stork brings them?"

"Oh no."

"Then she knows the truth?"

"Oh yes."

James crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. "In theory only, of course?"

Mrs Follet hiccupped. Even Emma didn't dare giggle. Grace thought it was time to change the topic of conversation. Her eyes fell upon James's waistcoat, which was of a very loud pink and decorated with a profusion of scarlet frogging.

"That's a very interesting waistcoat you have, Mr Redwood," she said. "The colour is very lively."

"Ah," James said. "In theory only. I see." He drummed his fingers on the table. "That was very clumsy flirting, Miss Follet. You'll have to do better."

"I wasn't flirting."

"Oh, I see." James frowned at her. "Do you know, your right front tooth is bigger than your left front tooth."

Nobody had any reply for that, except perhaps Alice, but she had been shocked into rare silence by the earlier turn of conversation and had not yet recovered from it. The clock over the mantelpiece ticked loudly. James looked at it.

"Just on noon," he said. "That means our time is up for the day. Mother said not to overstay my welcome. But I'll come again tomorrow, Miss Follet. In my absence, you can practice pining after me. I think that would be a suitable beginning."

"Farewell," Grace said.

"And goodbye," Alice added pointedly.

James pushed himself up off his chair and slouched from the room without bothering to say goodbye to Emma or Mrs Follet. As the door shut behind him, Grace took up an anchovy sandwich.

"Are you sure about this, Grace dear?" Mrs Follet asked. "Oh, he is a strange, strange man."

"I have no doubts."

"He's incredibly vain," Emma said. "And that was a nasty waistcoat."

"The first thing I will do as his wife is arrange an accident to it. I'm quite looking forward to being in charge of the laundry."

Mrs Follet raised her eyebrows over her teacup. "The novelty wears thin."

"I don't see what you see in him." Emma cut herself another slice of cake. "He says the most uncomfortable things. I can't stop looking at your teeth now. I'm not sure he isn't wrong about them."

Grace ran the tip of her tongue over her front teeth. They felt the same size to her.

"It's a release from spinsterhood she sees in him," Alice said. "From the frying pan into the fire. There is nothing redeemable about Mr Redwood."

Grace felt the need to defend that. She sought for a compliment to pay James and could come up with only one. "His looks are pleasing."

"Oh yes," said Alice. "He is almost as handsome as he believes. Now if he only could become part of the furniture and not talk or move, I fancy he would be quite tolerable to live with."

"He at least has the advantage of being pleasant scenery."

"Oh!" Alice put her hand over her mouth as she laughed. "That was rather clever, Grace darling. Do try that one on Mr Redwood. He might like it."

There was no winning with Alice. Grace finished her sandwich and left the room.

* * *

At the end of the Follet's street, James paused to remove half a squashed cake and two handfuls of biscuits from the pockets of his coat where he had stowed them. He scattered them carefully into the bushes, making sure they were too well-hidden for anyone to discover them. The birds and mice would dispose of them overnight. For a first meeting, he thought, matters had gone quite well. There were several times when he must have really offended Grace. Nor had he impressed her mother or sisters. A few more meetings like this, and there would be no doubt she would decide she could not marry him, and he would be free.

Satisfied with himself, James headed home.

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A/N 2021-05-28: I think neither James nor Grace come off particularly well just yet, but they will improve.