Once Mr. Bridwell had signed the list so indispensable to Spa society, Amy and her sisters followed their father into the ballroom, where they stopped to watch the people milling in front of them. She swallowed the nervous lump in her throat as a few strangers glanced her way. How dreadful to have no acquaintances. She did not wish for James to see her so awkwardly situated.
The room was full without being packed, and as the dancing had not yet begun, people gathered in groups of three or four. Heavy gold velvet draperies were tied back from the tall windows, revealing ivory curtains underneath. It was just as well that they had not changed the draperies for a lighter set. There was enough of a crowd to keep out the frosty night air, but the cold would seep in between the window frames and chill those standing close to them.
“Good evening, sir.”
Amy turned when she heard her father’s voice, relieved to find that Mr. Gaetano, faithful in his role as the master of ceremonies, had presented their father to an English gentleman and his wife. Her father gestured to Amy and her sisters.
“Mr. and Mrs. Ferrin, these are my daughters. Miss Amy Bridwell, Miss Hannah, and Miss Marianne.”
Mrs. Ferrin was considerably younger than her husband, and she sent Amy and her sisters a warm smile. “I hope, Mr. Bridwell, that you will not mind if I bring your daughters to meet some of the other young ladies? I should not like for them to suffer the awkwardness of having no acquaintances.”
“That is excessively kind of you,” Amy answered. Her father did not appear to have heard the offer and was asking Mr. Ferrin about his snuffbox.
Marianne clasped Amy’s elbow and leaned in to whisper, “What a relief. I feared we would adorn the chairs on the dais all evening.”
They followed Mrs. Ferrin over to a group of four young ladies, where she performed the introductions, singling out Miss Josephine Ferrin as her stepdaughter. After they exchanged pleasantries and explained how they had come to Spa, the fairest of them, Miss Isabel Prexley, turned and enveloped Amy in a bright smile, as if she were the only one of consequence.
“Miss Bridwell, I hope you will take a turn about the room with me? There are too many of us here to talk comfortably, and I am sure the others won’t mind.”
Amy could not hazard a guess as to why she was chosen for the honor, but Miss Prexley did not give either her or anyone else a chance to respond before leading her away, her arm firmly tucked in Amy’s.
“In this way, we may see who has arrived. I cannot bear to stand all night in some stuffy corner where nothing happens. I will be sure to present you to some of the people here, for I know everyone.”
Amy noticed the male heads turning their way, both young and old, and she was not deceived about what—or who—had caused them to turn to look. It did not bother her that Miss Prexley was prettier than she was. If only she would be kind.
“How are you enjoying your stay in Spa?” Miss Prexley asked but did not wait for an answer before inclining her head to agentleman and leading Amy over. “Good evening, Mr. Lambert. You must not watch my every movement in this way. I am an engaged woman, you know, and quite devoted to my betrothed. Miss Bridwell, allow me to present to you Mr. Lambert. He is a renowned painter in Spa.”
“A pleasure, Miss Bridwell,” Mr. Lambert replied, extending his leg as he bowed. He was handsome, Amy thought, and possessed a grace that must please. His gaze snapped back to her companion. “And I know very well you are engaged, fair tormentor. It is the day I stopped living.”
“You are a naughty man to lay that at my feet,” Miss Prexley replied with mock severity. “And I shall punish you by leaving now and continuing on with my friend.”
Amy was swept away at her side without having had time to exchange more words with Mr. Lambert—not that she wished for it. Miss Prexley was engaged to be married, and yet she could flirt so! Before Amy’s doubt about Miss Prexley’s constancy could become fixed, her new acquaintance turned to her.
“I don’t believe Mr. Lambert knows how to engage in any other conversation than flirtation. You must not mind us if we treat each other with a freedom that appears unbecoming. We are old friends. I grew up in Spa, and he has been coming to it for many years.”
“I understand,” Amy said, softening under such frank speech. She must not be so quick to judge.
Miss Prexley went on. “Spa society does not stand terribly on ceremony. I should know, since I have lived here my whole life.” She lifted her fan and nodded a greeting to another fair-skinned gentleman, who bowed somberly in return, his regard fixed on Miss Prexley. Perhaps he, too, was disappointed that she was engaged to someone else. “I hope we might truly become friends.”
“I hope so too.” Amy would not turn away an offer of friendship in a town where she had no acquaintances.
She was momentarily distracted by the bustle of newcomersand the motley fashions in the crowd. One woman had what appeared to be a bowl of fruit pinned into her elaborate hairstyle. Another wore a gown with excessively large panniers on either side.She must have to turn to fit through some doorways, Amy thought, amused. The gentleman with her wore both breeches and coat cut of a shiny puce silk with yellow embroidered edges and a profusion of ruffles at his throat.
Amy tore her eyes away from the couple, conscious of her manners and the need to continue the conversation. “You are to be married, then, I hear? Allow me to congratulate you.”
They were forced to halt as a group of men broke away from their conversation and inadvertently stepped in front of them. Amy glanced to her right, and in the absence of the others, one man came into view. The chandelier above him lit his features, and she took a sharp breath.
It was not only the unexpected sight of James that sent Amy’s thoughts whirling, although she had been looking for him. It was his changed appearance. He was even finer than he had been the two times she had seen him after her arrival. He dressed extravagantly in an ivory-and-blue brocaded justaucorps, which enhanced his blue eyes in a way she had never seen. Those eyes had always been Amy’s favorite feature of his. He wore the white powdered wig again, and even the buckles on his shoes were jeweled. Her feet were suddenly heavy, as though they had turned to stone.
Miss Prexley paused to look at what had brought Amy to a standstill. Her lips parted in a smile. “I see you are taken with Mr. Fletcher. He is handsome, is he not?” She steered Amy toward him. “And to answer your question, yes. I am to be married—to him.”
She kept her eyes on Amy, who forced a smile to her own lips, murmuring something inarticulate that was meant to be “How wonderful.”
Her heart froze inside of her, sucking all the warmth fromher fingers and toes and sending it shooting up into her cheeks. She tried to comprehend this new information. She had to comprehend it, for she could not ignore it. James was to be married. Ofcoursehe was. How foolish of her to think that after all these years he might have remained single out of devotion to her. It was that naive, hidden hope in her heart now suddenly exposed that made her blink back hot tears. She marshaled every ounce of strength to hide the surge of emotion as Miss Prexley brought her to stand in front of James.
A shift in the music heralded the start of the first set, and James was contemplating the idea of visiting the cardroom. He had no interest in gambling, but sometimes a man wished for gentlemen’s company—especially when there was a potentially uncomfortable scene to avoid. He was quite certain the Bridwells would come that night, and if they did, he would have to face both a past and current plight he had not had adequate time to prepare for. Before he could settle on his next course of action, he was brought up short by an achingly familiar face entering his line of vision.Amy!
His first irrational surge of joy was doused by the sight of the woman who walked at Amy’s side. Isabel. He might have proposed to her for practical reasons rather than for love, but he would do well to remember thatshewas his intended. His suddenly dry throat presaged the wild panic that had seized him and caused his reason to flee. Should he claim a prior connection to Amy? He had no time to decide how to behave.
