Mrs Redwood urged James to seek out Grace and make up to her. Mr Redwood said nothing but exuded silent disappoint. They both thought James was to blame, and in this case, James thought, they were not wrong.

He could not bear the thought of going to London, where people were still gossiping about him and Miss Balley. Besides, he might see Grace, and his wounded heart could not bear the thought. The words, 'Thank god I never loved you,' seemed branded into his soul. She had never loved him then. Now, she never would. He had always feared marrying only for it to break apart. Now, he had married into something broken in the first place. And it was all his own fault.

James occupied himself by going for long, morose walks around the countryside, or riding his horse out to far flung, quiet villages where no one knew him, where he could sit at a table in an alehouse drinking and not talking to anybody, except for commonalities on the weather or compliments about a horse or hound. Sometimes he would desire even more solitude than that gave him, and find quiet woods where he could sit down under trees and not think about Grace for hours on end. It took a great deal of his energy not to think about her.

One morning, he returned home from one of his long, quiet, not-thinking rides to find there was a visitor waiting for him in the drawing room.

"It is a Mr Demery," his father said, drawing James aside in the hall. "I told him you were not at home, and he said he would wait. He has been waiting for two hours. He will not say what he wants."

"Does he look... angry?" James asked.

"He has the face of a tombstone," Mr Redwood said. "If you think it prudent, I will ask him to leave."

It probably was prudent, James thought, but he was restless and felt reckless. A tussle might improve his mood, and he would not go easy on Demery this time. He smiled. "I am sure he has only come to clear the air."

He entered the drawing room prepared to dodge a blow. Demery, however, only stood up and bowed. There was no glove thrown. No sabre drawn. Indeed, his gloves were shoved in his pocket and he had no weapon on him.

"Mr Redwood," he said.

"Mr Demery. How very unexpected. Do you bring your own pistols, or I will I have to provide? I can't, I'm afraid. I don't have any."

Demery's sun-worn face darkened, not with anger, but with embarrassment. "I did not come to pick a fight."

Bother, James thought. He leaned against the back of an arm chair and sighed. "Then to what do I owe the pleasure?"

Demery did not answer. He paced to the window, looked out, then paced back again.

"Sir?"

"Yes, yes." Demery cleared his throat. "I... I know my visit must be unexpected, even unwelcome, but I felt it important to come."

James grunted.

Demery waited a moment, as though expecting a more thoughtful reply, then continued, "I have been made to understand that I did you a great wrong last October. I accused you of a crime you had not committed. I used violence against you. I challenged you for your life and would have taken it." He bowed low. "Apologies are not enough, but I offer you my deepest anyway."

This was not merely unexpected, it was profoundly awkward. James stared at Demery's bent back. The formality of Demery's apology made it impossible to reply to. If he did not reply, would Demery remained hunched over in his drawing room forever? The man had not released his bow.

Demery rose, slowly, his face reddened. "Mr Redwood?"

"Yes, I heard you," James said. He found he was rather annoyed with the whole situation. Demery was a stiff, pompous fool. James cared as much for his apology as his company. "I'm just confused by this change in your manner. Did your lady tell you the truth? Is she going to tell everybody else and clear my name."

"She is not my lady anymore." A sudden coolness came over Demery's voice. "It was your lady who convinced me."

"Grace." A strange, giddy feeling came over James. "You saw her?"

"She accosted me at a dinner party and protested your innocence. She was very persuasive. She left me with no moral recourse other than apology."

"She did?" James's heartbeat quickened. "What did she say?"

"Enough to persuade me." Demery shuffled his feet. "Apology is insufficient recompense, I can see. Is there some way I can make up for what I have done?"

"What? No, no. It's alright. Sometimes a man has to let his anger out. No harm done."

"I wish I could help dispel the rumours."

"You can't," James said. "It doesn't matter. Give it five or ten years. People will forget." Rumours seemed very unimportant right now. Grace had defended him. He felt light as a feather.

"You are very generous, sir." Demery bowed again, briefly this time. "You have set my heart at ease and I thank you."

He crossed the room to leave, but James stopped him by tugging at his sleeve.

"Just tell me one thing," James said. "Did Grace look well?"

"In fine health, I would say."

"Happy?"

"Not happy, not exactly. But she looked well."

"Not happy." James drummed his fingers against his thighs. "Am I cruel for being relieved? But she never was a very happy person— it may mean nothing."

Demery gave him a thin, diplomatic smile. James realized he was overstepping the boundaries of polite conversation. He shook himself.

"Thank you for your apology," he said. "I appreciate it."

Demery held out his hand, and James shook it. "I'm glad we could settle our differences."

"Yes." James saw him to the front door and opened it. "By the way, did Grace— No, never mind."

Demery paused on the front steps. "She said you were the worst of men."

"To her, I have been."

"Yet she did not deny that she loves you."

James's heart leapt. "She— did she really say that?"

"In as many words."

"No. She can't have. She never loved me." James shook his head. "She told me so. And she might have loved me, if I weren't such a fool. But I ruined it. I might have actually been happy with her, if I hadn't broken her trust." Again, he was overstepping the bounds of polite conversation, but when he had been trying not to think these thoughts for three weeks, it was difficult to stop them spilling out as speech now. Especially when his heart was alight with the idea that Grace loved him — but she could not. She had said she did not. But did he have a chance? He tapped his foot against the top step. "Do you have your carriage? Are you going to London?

"I do and I am."

"Then there's something you can do for me after all. You can take me with you."

They arrived in London in the early afternoon. When they got there, James realized he did not know the address of the sister with whom Grace was staying. Luckily, Demery knew Mr Underton and diverted his carriage to the address. James leapt from the coach with barely a word of thanks or goodbye — but then Demery was probably glad just to be rid of him. James had spent the whole journey explaining the course of his relationship with Grace and asking Demery his opinions and thoughts. It was a relief to talk to somebody about it at last, even if that somebody was far too diplomatic to give anything more than the vaguest of reassurances and sympathies.

When he rang Mrs Underton's doorbell, a footman answered the door and informed him, with a doubtful look at his boots, that Mrs Underton was receiving. James looked down at himself. He was still in his muddy riding clothes. It would embarrass Grace and her sister if he walked in like this.

"It's only Mrs Redwood I wish to speak to — my wife. Is she here?"

"She is upstairs. Perhaps you would care to wait in the—" the footman looked sadly at James's muddy boots "—morning room?"

James would have waited in the scullery if it meant seeing Grace. He followed the footman into the house and down the hallway to an over-cluttered and fussy room, at this time of day, fast losing the light. James almost tripped over a small chair as he entered and, to save face, caught it and sat down upon it. The footman politely did not remark upon it and disappeared back into the hallway. James was alone in the room, and now that he was alone, he was beginning to feel nervous. Grace had been quite firm in wishing to live apart and have little to do with him. She had not precisely said she never wished to see him again, but the implication had been there.

There was a soft footstep at the door and she entered. He stood up, his heart pounding. She looked well. She wore a very pale pinkish lilac gown of diaphanous layers which shifted smokily around her hips as she moved. The expression in her eyes was wary.

"Is there something wrong?"

"Yes— no. I just... I just wanted to see you." He had been mistaken in coming. He knew it by the tone of her voice. He should have waited longer, given her more time to forgive him. But he was here now, and he could not bring himself to leave. Besides, time might not be enough. "Demery spoke to me. He said you persuaded him of the truth. Thank you."

"You need not to thank me."

"I want to."

They fell into silence. On the drive over, James had imagined what might happen when they saw each other. He had expected that she would slap him, or that he would kiss her, or perhaps that she would begin to cry. Instead, she stood quietly by the door with her hands clasped in front of her. The diaphanous dress moved a little in the breeze through an open window.

"Is that a new gown?" James asked.

"It was one of the ones ordered before our marriage."

His hands ached to reach through its smokey folds and find the form her body within. She was his wife now. It was no longer forbidden. Except by the coldness of her gaze, which made it impossible. He clasped his hands together and shivered.

"When Demery came to see me, I... I felt I had to speak with you. There is much we left unsaid on our wedding day."

"I thought it for the best not to say too much. What we had to speak of would only be painful."

"Can I not have the chance to explain myself?"

"Do you think an explanation will change anything?" Her eyes were suspiciously bright. "You tried to trick me out of an engagement, and then you tried to trick me into one, and now I'm sure you're trying to trick me into... into something! The whys and wherefores don't matter. I don't want to be tricked. I don't want to be lied to."

"Then let me tell you the truth. I... I..." He could not say he loved her. He was on the precipice of it, but he had not fallen. Would not fall as long as they lived separate lives. And even if he did, he could not promise her he would not crawl back out. "...I want you with me."

"I don't trust you, James. How can I live with a man I don't trust?"

"How can I earn your trust if we live apart?"

Grace's lower lip trembled. James wanted to kiss it. She clamped it firmly shut. "Perhaps you can't."

"Then what happens? Are we forever broken?" He shook his head. "I don't want that. We are married. I don't want to be another of those married couples that don't talk to each other, don't care for each other, aren't even friends with each other. I never wanted to marry at all but..."

"But you thought you had to because of my dowry."

"But you began to change my mind. You began to make me believe we'd be happy together. And then..." He shrugged helplessly. "So we are married, and we are broken apart, what happens next?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, what do you envision will become of us? If you never trust me, never forgive me, but... do not, I think, hate me."

She shook her head. "I never hated you."

"And cannot live with me."

"No."

"But we can talk."

"We can talk."

There was faint hope then. She was not shutting him out, as she had after her father's death.

"If I were to move back to London, we could talk more often?"

"We might find ourselves in the same social circles."

"And if we were to find ourselves at a ball, we might dance?"

"I think we might."

"And I might hold your hand. Or your waist."

"It sometimes happens, when dancing."

"And if I invited you to dinner sometimes, alone, at my house, you would think about accepting it?"

"I would consider it."

"And since it is also your house, now, you might wish to stay the night sometimes?"

Her eyes went very large and she gave a brief nod.

"Then... then with all those mights and woulds and maybes... would you consider accepting what I owe you as a husband?"

"I don't want your money."

"I wasn't thinking of money." He touched her cheek. "I miss you, Grace. Will you let me love you?"

Her eyes were dark and huge. "James..."

"To be honest, it won't matter if you deny me permission. If you talk to me, dance with me, dine with me, sleep with me, I will fall in love. I've already started. You can take this as a warning that I'm going to finish it. My question is can I speak of it to you, or should I keep it quiet?"

The colour shifted across her cheeks. "Not yet. Please."

"I don't love you... yet."

"Perhaps... ask again when you do."

It was more than he had hoped for. More than he deserved. She was giving him a chance. Joy and sorrow warred within him. She might not love him, as Demery had said, but she was not denying the possibility of it ever happening.

He gave in to temptation and reached out to run his hands through the gossamer folds of her dress. "You look beautiful, Grace."

"Thank you."

"Can I kiss you?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Only if it's goodbye."

"Until we meet again," he corrected.

"Until we meet again."

"Which will probably be tomorrow."

Grace could not quite suppress her smile. "Until tomorrow then."

He kissed her cheek. "Until tomorrow."

2022-08-19 A/N: It's a bit of a bittersweet ending, but the epilogue is still to come to, er, sweeten things up a bit.