While James was being publicly denounced by Sir William, Grace was sitting on a bench in the churchyard where her father had been buried and thinking very quietly. It was the first really fine day of the year, and she had gone for a solitary walk before somehow ending up here. The last time she had been here, she had been able to recall none but the most unpleasant, angry memories of her father. Now, oddly, she found it hard to remember much about him at all. She sat there for a long time, trying to remember, until eventually she realized her mother would be getting worried, uncurled from her seat, and went home.

She was taking off her gloves and bonnet in the hall when the maid Eloise came down the stairs and saw her.

"If you please, Miss Follet, they've all gone off to Mr Redwood's," she said. "They went half-an-hour ago. Mr Redwood sent his coach for them. I was to tell you as soon as you got home."

"Thank you, Eloise." Grace started to unclip her cloak. "Could you send me up some tea?"

"No, Miss. I mean, you're to go after them. Mrs Follet left a note."

Now, Grace saw the folded letter on the entry table. It was quite brief, and written by Alice, not her mother.

G.

Mr Redwood summons us to conference. "A crisis has eventuated and requires expedience in its management." What a way of saying a pot's over-boiled! Mother is too of a fret to put hand to pen, so I write for her. She has told the groom to keep the horses ready and wants you to follow us to the Redwoods' — with expedience.

A.

Grace wondered what the problem was — money, she thought vaguely. Or perhaps, since Emma and Alice had been summoned as well, something to do with the wedding party. She sighed, put on her gloves and bonnet again, and went out to the stables.

When she knocked on the door of the Redwood's house, she was led straight up to the drawing room. The moment she entered, she knew that something was very wrong indeed. Everybody was there — Mrs Follet, Emma and Alice, Mr and Mrs Redwood, and James, though at first she did not see him, because he was hunched motionless in a chair, his head in his hands.

"What's wrong?" she said. "James?"

He looked up, his face so pale that his blue eyes seemed almost black, and shook his head.

"I told you!" Alice said, her own cheeks scarlet. "I told you when you first got engaged to him! You wouldn't listen!"

"It's not true," said Emma. "You can't possibly believe such a horrible thing!"

Alice merely looked contemptuous, then her gaze slid to Grace and faltered to the floor.

Grace looked helplessly at Mr Redwood. "What is happening?"

Mr Redwood, sitting upright in a hard chair, his stick held across his knees, gestured to a tray of glasses and a decanter on the table. "First, would you like some sherry, Grace?"

"What is happening?" Grace repeated. She ignored the sherry tray and went instead to James and touched his shoulder. "What isn't true?"

He took her hand in both of his, almost pleadingly. She had never seen him look so hurt before. It made her own heart ache.

"I was at Tattersall's today." His voice was hoarse. "There was a... I found out... In front of everyone, Sir William Balley accused me of— of fathering his daughter's illegitimate child." He shook his head helplessly. "She gave him my name, Grace. Catherine Balley says it was me — I've never met her."

Grace stared down at him, paralysed by confusion. For a moment, she did not understand, and when she did, she could not see why it mattered. Perhaps James read doubt in her face. He pulled her hand to his heart.

"I don't understand why she did it," he said. "But they believe her. From what I saw at Tattersalls, the rumours must have been growing all winter. All of London thinks I fathered a bastard on a virgin and walked away." He pressed his face into her hand. "I'm sorry."

She stared down at the back of his head and the lean muscles of his neck, tense and rigid. "I don't understand."

"James has been slandered," Mr Redwood said. "Grossly slandered by malicious liars and a ravening fool. His reputation is likely beyond repair."

"He didn't do it," Mrs Redwood said, "so I don't see it matters what people think. The right people will think rightly, and the wrong will think wrongly. It has always been the way."

"Yes," said Mr Redwood. "And when the wrong outnumber the right, injustice is done."

James shivered.

Grace sank slowly down onto the arm of his chair. She still did not quite understand. Catherine Balley had named James the father of her baby. It was too absurd to be understood. Why would Catherine Balley have done such a thing?

Out of the blue, the memory came to her of the scene in James's room in Ellen's house. Demery — that tall, gloomy-looking man — had challenged James to a duel, accused him of fathering a bastard with the woman Demery would have married, and James... James had...

"You didn't tell him it wasn't true. You didn't tell Demery you didn't do it."

James laughed weakly. "I don't think it would have made a difference, Grace. The woman herself named me the father." He sat up a little straighter and met her eyes, half-afraid. "You don't..."

"I believe you. Of course I do." She reached for his hand. "You would never."

James's fingers laced through hers. "No one outside this room will believe me." His gaze went to Alice. "Not even all inside this room."

Alice poured another glass of sherry and would not look up.

"It doesn't matter," Grace said. "These rumours don't make a difference to me, James."

"But they do." He pulled his hand from hers. "Today, I was given the cut direct by half-a-dozen men I would have called my friends. Society scorns me, Grace. It damns me and scorns me. It will do the same to my wife." He looked away. "Your sisters, even."

"No." Grace shook her head. "No."

"That is, indeed, the crisis we find ourselves in," Mr Redwood said. "Until now, Grace, I would have said that our respective interests were in accord, that marriage would be advantageous for you both. Now, the advantage must be all on James's side. He will recover some small measure of respectability through marrying you, and you will gain his blackened name. Your sisters also will be stained by the connection. Their future prospects will be narrower."

"I don't believe it can be all that bad," Mrs Follet said bravely. "Alice is very pretty, and Emma... I am quite sure that Emma's sweetness of temperament will make only the most right of men fall in love with her, and such a man would not be put off by false rumours."

Emma flushed until her spots stood out white against the red of her cheeks. "I can't help my looks."

"And there is nothing wrong with my temperament," Alice said haughtily. "I never saw the sense in being shy and retiring."

"I meant no insult," Mrs Follet said hastily. "I mean only to say that... that Grace need think only of herself in this decision."

"In what decision?" Grace said. "There is no decision to be made. This scandal will make no difference, except that..." Her heart fluttered, but anger gave her the spirit to overcome fear. "Except that we must marry quickly. Before it gets worse."

James sat up straight for the first time since she came in. "Do you mean that?"

"I am quite sure."

Mr Redwood leaned back in his chair and regarded Grace through narrowed eyes. "It has not been five months since your father's death. You are not yet out of mourning, my dear. But I suppose you would not be the first bride to marry in a mourning gown. That will hardly be what will raise eyebrows."

"It is not... not quite ideal," Mrs Follet said. "But if that is what you believe, Grace, then I would not stop you."

"Far better to marry quickly," Mrs Redwood agreed. "Marriage ever has been the safest protection against scandal."

"We are shutting the stable door after the horse is bolted, I am afraid," Mr Redwood said. "However, it would do some repair, I believe." He drummed his fingers on his bony knee. "I have one apprehension, Grace, which I am sure your mother feels too, even if she does not speak of it."

"What is it?"

"Your father, were he alive, would no longer approve of this marriage."

That was true. Grace looked down at James, then, with a long sigh, went and poured herself a glass of sherry. She looked back at James's pale face, poured a second glass, and brought it to him. He muttered his thanks and drank it in two swallows. Some of the colour came back to his cheeks. Grace sipped her own more slowly. It settled uneasily in her belly, perhaps because of the guilt she felt thinking of her father. Mr Redwood was right: Mr Follet would not have approved. Had the scandal broken while he was alive, he would have done his best to end the engagement. He was too cynical to have believed James. He probably would have suggested James marry Catherine Balley and put things right.

Grace's guilt sharpened into sudden anger. "Were my father alive, I would not let him stop me. I can be even less expected to bend to a dead man's wishes."

Mrs Follet looked shocked, and Grace's anger subsided into guilt again.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I'm sorry. But it makes no difference. I must either marry James or not, and knowing that he is innocent, I must marry him."

Mr Redwood nodded slowly. "I cannot say I am not relieved. It is not only for James's sake; I would be very sad were I unable to call you my daughter-in-law."

Mrs Follet tried to smile. "Yes, dear. I am happy only to see you happy."

Alice scowled and Emma looked unsure. James stood up, with such abruptness that Grace jumped.

"I need to speak to you alone," he said. "Come with me."

She followed him into the passage. As soon as the door was closed behind her, he put his hands on her shoulders and looked her intently in the eyes, searching for something.

"Thank you," he said. "You didn't have to say that."

"I'm not just saying it. If I marry you, a little of the damage will be undone. Marriage will make you look a little less disreputable. And I believe that the truth will one day be known, James. Not everyone will believe this slander. Not if you tell them otherwise."

James shook his head. "You didn't have to say it. You don't." He trailed his grip down her arms to her hands. "I don't want to rush you, Grace. I don't want you to marry me tomorrow because you think it's best for me." His eyes were strangely bright. "I want you to marry me because you want to be my wife."

She held his hands, her heart trembling. If he kissed her now— If he touched her—

Instead, he spoke, very softly:

"I told you, didn't I, that I've a bad habit of falling in love?"

Grace's heart leapt in alarm. "James. Don't. I— I can't."

His hands, in hers, went stiff. He slid them from her grip and took a step away. She knew by the look on his face that she had wounded him. She hadn't meant to, and she wished to say sorry, but she could not speak, because her heart was racing so fast that the thoughts in her head would not settle into tangible speech.

At last, James said, "Very well. I won't."

Grace's heart continued to race. She did not know why she was so afraid. Not afraid of James, no. A little nervous of marrying him, yes. But terrified of the words he had almost said.

"It's not fair on you," he said in a low voice, looking anywhere but at her face. "These past few months, we've been growing closer, but I can see you're not sure about me. You shouldn't have to marry me before you are. You don't have to. The world will not end if we remain engaged a few months longer. Even a year. As long as you need."

Grace's heart slowed at his words, but she shook her head. "It will be worse for me too, if we do not marry. Either I show my support for you by marrying you, tell the world that I do not believe these lies, or I break the engagement and as much as admit I believe them. And I don't believe them." She took a deep breath. "And I don't want to break our engagement. I am quite sure about that."

James looked conflicted. "That's hardly a resounding yes."

"Fine. I want to marry you." The words were out, a little stumblingly, but out all the same. "It always was a marriage of convenience, James. That we're... growing close doesn't change that. And for matters of convenience, we should marry quickly, rather than wait until I am out of mourning."

James winced. "Yes. Of course. I... I'm afraid I was beginning to forget that." He gave her a rueful look then held out his hand to her. "Come here. Let me kiss you."

She came, and he wrapped his arms around her and kissed her hair and brow. He didn't seem to want more than that right now, but the warm ache pooled between her thighs in response to his touch anyway. Her cheeks grew hot.

"I do want to marry you," she said, softly and not stumbling this time. "It is not all convenience, James. But I can't... I'm not..."

"I know." He kissed her hair again. "Darling, I know."

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2022-07-17 A/N: Ah, James, you're scaring her off! You gotta go slow with those emotions!