For a week, James was prevented from exposing his libertine side to Grace by the constant presence of Mrs Follet. His resistance was confined to lesser bad behaviour: dull conversation, garish waistcoats, and poor table manners. He bided his time and told himself that as soon as he had the chance to behave really badly, he would take it. The chance came: Mrs Partridge, an old friend of Mrs Redwood's, was hosting a musicale, complete with a professional opera singer hired from London. Mrs Redwood had been invited, but she had no ear for music. It seemed far better that James should go instead and take Emma and Grace with him. It would give Grace and James the opportunity to attend an event together at last and let the world know that they were courting, and Emma was enough of a chaperone at such a staid gathering in the house of such an old friend.

James laid his plans well in advance. For thirty minutes before he was to leave for the Follet's, he occupied himself with steadily drinking his way through half a flask of brandy. The drive to the Follet's, in his father's coach, was a precarious one, but he reached their house without accident and, by speaking very little as he waited with Mr Follet in the hall for the girls to come down, managed to hide his inebriation. Grace gave James a sharp, suspicious look as he unsteadily handed her into the coach but said nothing. On the drive to Mrs Partridge's house, James managed to sneak a few more swigs of brandy, and by the time they arrived the world was swaying pleasantly before his gaze. As they walked up the stairs to the house, James stumbled slightly and caught himself on Grace's arm.

"Have you been drinking, James?" Grace asked.

"I came prepared," James answered giddily. "Antidote against boredom."

"You shouldn't—" Grace cut herself short and shrugged. "The receiving line runs halfway down the stairs. Be careful."

James had not anticipated the effect of the brandy upon Mrs Partridge's spiralling staircase. He kept one arm pressed tightly through Grace's as they slowly mounted the stairs. At the end of the line, James reacquainted himself with Mrs Partridge, introduced Grace and Emma, and then took them into the salon. A piano was set up at one end of the room and Mrs Partridge's eldest daughter sat at it, playing a funeral dirge and singing along in a flat, nasal voice.

"And now you understand," James said giddily, "why I am drunk tonight."

Grace surprised him by laughing. "You might have warned us."

Emma scowled. "I knew there was something wrong when Mrs Redwood wouldn't chaperone us."

"If it gets any worse, I will begin a headache and James can take us home."

That would not do at all. This might be the only chance James had for weeks to be unattended with Grace. "We must wait," James said. "Emma looks hungry, and refreshments will be served at ten."

Emma looked hurt. "That is a great deal of implication from a man who can eat an entire cake in five minutes, Mr Redwood."

"It was your inference." James flagged down a footman with a tray of champagne and took a glass for each lady and another for himself. "Here, this will make the music better."

As he handed Grace the champagne, she stiffened. He followed her gaze. A morose young man dressed all in black stood apart from the crowds, head tilted to one side, eyes half-closed, as though listening deeply to the music. James frowned. He did not look like the sort of man worthy of catching Grace's attention.

Emma was looking now too. Her jaw dropped. "Is that Mr Benson?" she said.

Benson. The man Oliver had said Grace was in love with. James watched her keenly.

"It appears to be so," Grace said. "He... he always did like music."

She appeared to be trying — and not quite succeeding — to suppress a strong emotion. Her pulse fluttered at her pale throat like a butterfly buried beneath her skin. James was suddenly aware of a sharpening of his senses towards her, an awareness of the rapidity of her breathing, of her heartbeat, of the trembling of her lips. He shook himself to dispel it; he had drunk too much.

"I have heard of this Benson," he said, thinking slowly and carefully through his haze of brandy. "It is true, is it, that you were once engaged to him?"

Grace drained her champagne and did not answer. James raised an eyebrow at Emma. It gave him a good excuse to keep his eyes away from the quavering of Grace's lips.

"Is it true?" James pressed when Emma did not reply.

"They were engaged," Emma said reluctantly. "But my father did not approve."

Then that was confirmation of why Grace had broken the engagement: Mr Follet had said no. Clarity, and with it a prick of anger, came to James: Grace was being so resistant now because this was what her father wanted. How pathetic she was, James thought, to allow her father's desires in this matter to outweigh her own feelings. It was her life to live, her heart to lose. How could she sacrifice it so easily?

He found that he was looking at her again, tracing the shape of the curl that fell over her cheek, tracing the curve of her cheek itself. She was pretty, prettier still for the brightness emotion had lent to her eyes and cheeks. She deserved more than to be bullied into a mercantile marriage with a man who would never appreciate her.

She flushed under his gaze. "It is true. We were engaged only for a week."

James recovered his senses at the guarded stiffness in her tone. He put a hand over his heart. "And your father would have me marry you and say nothing of it! Heavens! But, Grace, look at you. You can hardly take your eyes off the man. You can't still be in love with him, can you? My heart will break!"

"I fancy when the port, or gin, or whatever it was that you drank tonight has worn off, your heart will find itself quite healed again. Though not, perhaps, your head."

James sipped his champagne with dignity. "It was brandy. I never drink gin. Anyway, as your husband-to-be, I can hardly be happy about the way you look at a man like Benson. There is avarice in your eyes, my dear."

"Don't speak so loudly," Grace said, darting a glance at a couple standing near them. "It was a long time ago. It matters nothing now."

"But it certainly does. I thought I was marrying an innocent. Instead, I find that your eyes are capable of hunger — for someone else. It puts me at a disadvantage. What if my heart is caught? Most certainly it will be broken." James wiped away an imaginary tear. "It is fraying already."

Emma giggled uncertainly. "It is not like that, Mr Redwood. You could not think such a thing of Grace."

"I am equal to thinking any thing of any woman, where love is concerned," James said. "When you have been as long as I have in the world, young Emma, you will understand. The best of intentions, the best of principles, may so easily be undermined by the most fleeting impression of love — be it vivid enough."

"Perhaps the women you have been previously acquainted with have convinced you of such," Grace said, "but they may not have had the best of principles or intentions to begin with. Besides, I'm certainly not in love with Mr Benson." She tilted her chin and met his eyes. "I'm not in love with anyone."

"Not even me?" James placed his hand over his heart in mock horror. "It breaks, it breaks. But you have not forgotten Mr Benson. I can see by the look in your eyes that no matter how long it has been, you still feel strong emotions for him."

Grace turned away. "You speak nonsense. You are drunk. I am going to sit down and wait for the opera singer to begin."

"But no, you will not." James caught her hand. "Stay. Mr Benson is coming over. He has seen you. And I must know if his memories are as strong as yours."

With her hand in his, he felt her pulse leap into acceleration.

"Oh no," Grace said. "No, no, no."

It was too late for her to flee. Benson was weaving between the crowds with his eyes fixed upon them. He bowed to Grace and Emma. "Good evening, Miss Follet, Miss Emma."

"Good evening," Grace said faintly. "Mr Benson. It. It has been a long time." Suddenly, her pulse calmed under James's touch and she drew herself straighter. "How do you do?"

My god, James thought in disgust, she was like some medieval martyr who, while being turned on a spit, could yet wish her torturers well. So proper, so mannered, so constrained. It would be impressive were it not so cold.

"I endure," Benson said. "I endure."

There was a long silence after this. Emma and Grace exchanged glances. Benson seemed expectant.

"What do you endure?" James asked helpfully.

Benson patted the black velvet band around his left arm. "My poor dear wife died this last summer. I feel her absence every day."

Again, Emma and Grace exchanged glances. Grace looked almost guilty. "My sympathies," she said.

"Thank you," Benson said. "As I said, I endure." After everybody observed the correct dramatic pause, he continued, "You and your sister look well. And your father? Your mother?"

"My parents are very well," Grace said.

"Nothing ever ails Mr Follet," James said. "Though young Alice is suffering a sniffle tonight. You did forget to enquire about Alice. One often does, with Alice. One would often rather not know."

Emma hiccuped out a giggle. Benson eyed James without amusement. His gaze drifted down to the hand James held in his and then up to Grace with a polite question in them. Grace met his eyes and said nothing.

"I've never met your friend," Benson said. "Will you introduce us?"

"My apologies. Have you not? This is James Redwood."

It was not a very polite introduction on Grace's part, but Benson made up for it by bowing very low.

"How do you do?" he asked, straightening.

"I'm foxed, thank you." James grinned. "Grace and I are engaged."

Some dark emotion flickered in Benson's dark eyes. "Then I must congratulate you, Miss Follet."

"Thank you," said Grace.

"She has told me a great deal about you," James added. "She swears I have no reason to be jealous, but I am, you know. A man must be, in such a position."

Hauteur stiffened Benson's spine. "Jealousy is an unChristian emotion."

"But not an unnatural one. Her heart, I fear, may never be entirely my own, Mr Benson. You have stolen a piece of it from me. But, there, a man who marries a woman not in her first bloom of youth must not expect a virgin heart."

Grace's hand, still in James's, tightened suddenly. Then she tugged her hand from his. He watched her carefully for any outward sign of discomposure; she was angry, certainly, she could not be otherwise after such an implication, but would she show it?

She only lowered her gaze so that all he could see of her eyes were her long lashes, dark against her cheeks. "Mr Redwood is foxed indeed tonight."

"Pray excuse me," Benson said. "I see a friend of mine."

He exited the conversation, neatly, politely, and crossed the room. Any man of true feeling, James thought cynically, would have at least some hard words to say, if not a punch to throw. Perhaps that was why he and Grace had fallen in love — they were so similarly unfeeling.

Behind them, Miss Partridge ceased her caterwauling and relinquished the piano seat to the hired musician.

"We must take our seats," Grace said, as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

As they sat down, James leaned across to speak low in Grace's ear. "It occurs to me now," he said, "that you perhaps are not a virgin of body. You ought to know, dearest, that it would not prejudice me against you. After all, neither am I."

He had the rare pleasure of seeing her turn brilliant scarlet, and laughed to himself as the music began.

Some hour later there was a pause in the music to allow the opera singer to rest her lungs. James had tried to annoy Grace throughout the music by whispering to her and sneaking gulps of brandy from the flask in his coat, but he doubted he had had much success. Indeed, by the fixed expression Grace had given the opera singer, and the monotone replies she had given him, he suspected — through the thickening fog of inebriation — that she was brooding upon the matter of Benson.

Indeed, Benson had aroused James's curiosity. He very frequently found himself glancing across the room to where Benson sat in rapt attention to the opera singer. He wanted to know if Grace was thinking of him. What she was thinking of him. And what was Benson thinking of Grace?

As the opera singer left the stage, Mrs Partridge called out that there would be biscuits and wine in the next room. Through the general moving of bodies and chairs, James saw Benson leave the salon through the passage door, rather than the drawing room door where the refreshments were.

"I'm going to get some air," James said. "Excuse me, ladies."

He left the two girls there, knowing full well that Emma had opened her mouth to ask for champagne. Well, she could get it herself. James walked hastily to the door Benson had left by and went through. He found himself in an unlit passage. A breeze carried with it the scent of tobacco and James followed it. He came to an open door and, going through, found himself on a small roof-terrace overlooking a service lane running between Mrs Partridge's house and her neighbour's. Here, Benson leaned against the railing smoking a cigar. When he saw James, he scowled, and the cigar wobbled precariously between his teeth.

"You look mournful," James said. "Are you mourning Grace?"

"I came here seeking solitude," Benson said.

"Sotilude... Solitude for mourning Grace?" James took out his brandy flask and took a deep swig. "Did you love her?"

A faint, ugly stiffness came over Benson's face. "I think you should leave, Mr Redwood."

"I'm just curious about the man who had my beloved's heart before mine." James frowned at the brandy flask. "Before I did, I mean."

"Please, leave," Mr Benson repeated.

Instead, James leaned against the railing. "But I want—"

He broke off as someone else stepped out onto the terrace. The opera singer. Her eyes went first to Benson, then to James with surprise, and then back to Benson. With a flash of drunken intuition, James realized he had interrupted a rendezvous.

"Well," he said. "I suppose you don't need that sotil— silot— thing for mourning Grace. How nice to know I have not a rival."

"I'm sorry," the singer said. "I did not know the terrace would be occupied. I was only looking for a breath of fresh air."

"He's rather stale-looking, if you ask me," James said.

The singer looked offended. "I do not understand you, Sir. Never mind, I will take a few minutes' rest in the sitting room downstairs."

She fixed her gaze meaningfully upon Benson at the last words and stepped back into the house. Benson took a last, deep inhale of his cigar and stubbed it against the terrace wall. James coughed.

"If you go after her right away, I'll know it's an agiss— assingation," he said. "I know anyway, of course, but you do make it obvious."

Benson looked annoyed. "I'm not going to an assignation. I'm leaving because you are here."

"Does the sight of me pain you that much? The man Grace is to marry? Perhaps the opera singer is merely your con— consolation?"

"These baseless accusations might do a great deal of harm to many good people, Mr Redwood. I am a man of the cloth."

"Even men of the cloth are capable of taking it off," James said, drinking more brandy. "Are you going to try to win Grace back?"

It would be one solution to the problem, of course, if Grace were to fall in love with Benson and run off and marry him. But somehow James didn't like the idea. Somehow James didn't like Benson. He was pompous, stiff, self-righteous. A liar.

"Not at all in Grace's class," James said.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Oh? Did I speak out loud? You're not in Grace's class." James frowned, trying to regather his train of thought. "Are you going to try to win her back?"

"She is engaged to you," Benson said. "For better or worse."

"By your tone, you judge it worse. Perhaps you are right. You might try to win her back. But if you do..." James tried to drink more brandy and found to his annoyance that there was no more to drink. "...You're welcome to her, if you can get her. But I won't let you get her. Not that I'll have to try too hard. She did tell me she likes them tall, but I think she forgot to mention handsome. And I rather fancy she'll find the opera singer an impediment."

Benson drew himself up to his full height, some four inches greater than James. "I have nothing to say to you, Sir. I am leaving."

"But you haven't answered my question!" James caught his arm as Benson tried to leave. "Do you still love Grace? Did you ever love her? Am I to be the first? Shall she never then be loved?"

Benson shook him off. "You, Sir, are a drunk nuisance."

James wobbled from being shaken off and clutched at the terrace railing for support. "A trifle nuisanced, but not a drunk."

"Drunk," Benson repeated.

"Answer my question."

"The propriety you have ignored in asking keeps me from answering," Benson said loftily, going to the door.

James pushed himself off the railing and caught Benson by the sleeve of his coat. "No, answer me, man. Did you ever love her?"

Benson turned and shoved James away. James staggered backwards and grasped at the railing again. For a moment, he thought it was going to be a fight, and he could not quite understand why, but he did think that if he got Benson just once on the nose it would make up for everything else. Then Benson lowered his hands and sadly shook his head.

"Did you drive the girls here?" Benson asked in a soft, reproachful voice.

"What?"

"Did you drive the girls here?"

"I did."

"Are you driving them home?"

"I am."

"But you are drunk, sir. You cannot even stand straight. I would say nothing if it were only your own safety that you risked, but you risk the Misses Follets' safety too. What if there were to be a carriage accident?"

James blinked. This was not a fight, and he was more confused now that it was not than he had been a moment ago when he thought it was going to be.

Benson shook his head again. "You must sober up. I suggest you stay out here in the cold air and reflect upon your actions tonight. How would you feel if your over-indulgence led to Miss Follet's hurt? How would Miss Follet feel if she could hear what you have said tonight?"

It was rather a pity Grace had missed it, James thought. But Benson was not wrong about him being too drunk to drive the coach. He had not realized how drunk he had become, sitting down in the salon. Now that he was standing — more or less — the alcohol was hitting him. His stomach was rather wobbly and his head was spinning. He lowered himself to a squat on the terrace and stared at the sky. The stars spun dizzily before his eyes. Yes, he should sober up before he drove the girls home. Too dangerous to drive them when he couldn't see straight. Stupid of him not to have thought of that beforehand. Didn't want to bring them to any real hurt. Grace hadn't seemed bothered by his drunkenness anyhow...

Somewhere in the distance, a door shut and footsteps receded.

...Benson was not good enough for Grace. That was clear. Grace should never have been in love with such a pompous hypocrite. A feeling of strange unease came over James. It was none of his business who was good enough for Grace or not. He was not going to marry her. He could not.

But it would be a shame if she ended up with a man like Benson.

Slowly the stars stopped spinning. James heard the music start up again from indoors. Time to go in. Another bare hour of Grace's company, and then bed. He swayed to the door and tried it. The knob jiggled in his hand but did not move. He tried it the other way. Still, the door did not move. Just to make sure, James tried it again both ways. The door was held tight.

Benson had locked him out.

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A/N 2021-06-08: A lot of bad things happen to James in this story. He deserves some of them. I'm not sure he deserved this though.