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.

Ellen smiled broadly. "How wonderful. You'll have to wear something special, of course, a nice evening gown, to make it seem like it really is a proper little dinner party."

Grace had the vague suspicion that Ellen was conducting one of her schemes. Ellen was like that. She was very clever, though she would be horrified if you ever suggested it.

The next day the scheme became clear to Grace. First — unaccountably — James's pink waistcoat turned up that morning with a large, iron-shaped burn on the front. He accused Ellen of interference on the issue at breakfast, while once more wearing the drab brown one that fitted so neatly around the waist. Ellen meekly admitted that she had ironed the vest, for she had seen it was crushed when she was overseeing the cleaning of Mr Redwood's bedroom, but that an accident of distraction had occurred and she had burned it. She apologized so profusely and with such a bold threat of tears that James immediately backed down and assured her it did not matter, he had his doubts about the colour and he may be very well shot of the thing anyhow. Grace hid a smile and told herself she would thank Ellen later.

After breakfast, a second accident occurred. Mr Montague, while preparing his guns, discovered that there was a deficiency with one — Grace could not understand a word of his explanation and was sure James could not either — and that as that left the party one gun short, he would stay home and let his guests shoot alone. James immediately protested that he should stay home in Mr Montague's place: he was such a poor shot himself that to send him off with one gun and leave Mr Montague behind was like losing two guns altogether. Besides, he was weary of hunting, for he was forever shooting at things and not hitting them.

At first, Grace did not suspect Ellen's hand in this matter, but as they were just going inside after seeing the other men off, Ellen said brightly, "And now I suppose, Mr Redwood, this means that you can attend a little dinner party with Grace this afternoon."

James, when the matter was explained to him, seemed rather impressed with the tale of the pig and vicar and keen to attend. The more Grace tried to protest it would bore him, the more he insisted on coming. A spirited boy like Ben needed a spirited man like James to keep an eye on him, he said. An ambitious boy like Ben would never rest on his laurels, re the pig in the study, but was sure to come up with a bolder, better jape. James would be on hand to stop it, and the dinner party would be saved. Eventually, Grace gave in.

The fourth and final part of Ellen's plan was not revealed until that afternoon, when she was helping Grace dress for the dinner. The white dress did indeed make Grace appear rather like a marble column, very cold and tall and narrow. Ellen cast a doubtful eye upon it and said that she was not sure she disagreed with Alice, for once.

"It doesn't matter," Grace said. "It's only a children's party."

"But James will be there. Do give the red dress a second run — it doesn't matter if he's seen it before if he likes it."

"I am satisfied with the white. I am not dressing up for James's sake."

"Very well then. Let me tighten the laces. They're a little loose."

Ellen pulled at the laces at the back of the dress. Grace gasped as the dress compressed her ribs. Then there was a sudden snap and Grace felt everything coming very loose around her neck.

"I'm so sorry," Ellen murmured. "It just came off in my hand."

Grace turned around and snatched the broken tie from her. "Stop interfering! I am not dressing up for James."

"Why on earth not?"

"Because..." Grace sniffed. "He... Ellen, he has an opera singer."

"Oh." Ellen looked surprised. "Well, in that case, dear Grace, you are certainly not going to wear white."

That Ellen could take it so mildly sent Grace over the edge. She sank down into a chair and cried bitter tears for a good five minutes while Ellen put her arms around her and comforted her. When she was done crying, she felt much better for it. Somehow, it felt like she could treat Ellen like the confidante she always had been — Ellen hadn't changed, not really. She still had that same sly, secretive cleverness and that same matter-of-fact manner that disguised it. And even on the day of her marriage, she had never seemed very much in love with Mr Montague, but she was happy with the life they had made together.

"He warned me when we first got engaged what he was like," Grace said wearily, "but I didn't think... I didn't think I would feel so... humiliated when I saw him... I didn't think I would see him. I thought he'd... have the sense to keep it hidden."

Ellen squeezed her shoulder. "Grace dear, forgive me for asking, but what exactly did you see?"

Grace wiped her eyes on the sleeve of the white gown. "We were at a musicale, Emma and James and I. It was in the intermission. He left the salon, and a moment later the opera singer followed him. Some half-an-hour later, the opera singer came back alone, and her dress was all... rumpled. James never came back."

"He never came back?"

"No. He abandoned Emma and me at night in the house of a woman we'd only just met. Without a word of warning."

Ellen frowned. "That is very bad of him indeed. But I'm not sure you're right about the opera singer. You don't know that it was he who rumpled her dress."

Grace shook her head. "It was... the way he looked. He moved with purpose."

"He may have been going to the necessary."

"But then why did she follow him? And why did he not come back?"

"Has he explained why?"

Grace flushed.

"Have you asked him, dearest?"

"How can I? Either he will tell me the truth and I will hate him for it, or he will lie and I will hate him for that."

Ellen fixed Grace with a steady eye and said not a word. Grace's cheeks warmed.

"He's undoubtedly an ass of a man — they all are, I think — but that's no call for you to go behaving like an ass of a woman." Ellen poked Grace in the ribs. "You must confront him, and you must listen to what he has to say, and if he has done what you think... why, break the engagement at once. But if he has not done what you think, then you've made a terrible mistake."

"But... the way he moved... the way she moved... something strange was going on."

"But perhaps not what you think. You may not owe James your trust, but you at least owe it to yourself to ask him, Grace, and know." Ellen put an arm around Grace's shoulders. "And I do believe it unlikely. It's such an absurdly villainous thing for a man to do, and James is absurd, dear, but he's not a villain."

Grace rested her head on Ellen's shoulder. "Are you sure he's not?"

"He carried that hurt dog to the cattle doctor, didn't he? And he would have rescued you from Blythe, if you'd let him."

"Blythe!" Grace sat up. "You saw how he was accosting me?"

"I did. I also saw how Demery put a spoke in it — the man is not all to the bad, though he is a queer one — and how you dressed Blythe down very neatly and how James arrived too late to rescue you, which rather dashed my scheme for him to play the hero. But never mind, there will be other chances, once we've suitably punished him for abandoning you at the musicale."

"You might have rescued me," Grace said. "It was very uncomfortable."

"You didn't need rescuing. Not then. You do now." Ellen pressed her handkerchief into Grace's hands. "Dry your eyes. You're going to dress in red, and I'm going to do your hair, and James is going to take one look at you and forget all other women ever existed."

"I don't want him to."

"Nonsense." Ellen turned Grace around to face the mirror. "He's an ass of a man, I agree, but it's a very good match, and on top of all that I'm beginning to think there's a real chance the two of you might actually fall in love — once we've got you both dressing properly."

Grace still felt doubtful.

"Besides," Ellen added, "if he really does have an opera singer, that's all the more reason to dress up. You must make him regret it."

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A/N 2021-06-25: RIP pink waistcoat. Next chapter Monday.