An Indecent Gambit

Chapter Thirty-Two: Until Tomorrow

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."