“Yes. Thank you.” She sounded as stiff and uncomfortable as he felt.
Isabel gave a satisfied nod, despite a certain hauteur in her expression, and swept the two sisters away. Miss Ferrin followed in their wake.
“Miss Bridwell,” Morry said, bowing stiffly with his injured leg, “it was a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I hope we shall have many such occasions to meet.”
“I hope so indeed.” Amy’s answering smile was warm and more like what James was accustomed to seeing from her. At least she and Morry would likely deal well together. This sent another worry spiraling through him. Let them not form any sort of attachment! He was not magnanimous enough to bear it.
Morry left them and headed for the stairwell, likely deciding he would enjoy himself more in the cardroom. The first set had begun without them having time to take their places. James turned to Amy, who met his regard with doubtful eyes.
They would have to sit out the first set and talk. A daunting prospect if it meant catching up on six years’ absence. After the briefest pause, he gestured forward.
“Since we cannot join this set, I suggest we move closer to the stairwell. The air is fresher there, and we’ll have a better chance of hearing what the other has to say.”
Chapter 7
James offered his arm to Amy, and after a brief hesitation, she curled her hand around it. Such a simple gesture brought back a flood of memories, but he wrestled the accompanying feelings into submission. What they once shared was impossible now.
He led her toward the entrance near where Mr. Gaetano welcomed newcomers. A small group of people congregated in the open landing near the stairwell to take air. The ballroom was beginning to grow warm, but he imagined it was nothing like it would become on hot summer nights. He had not been in Spa long enough to experience it, having arrived in autumn along with the cooler weather. They found a space on the covered perimeter that was thin of crowds, and Amy looked up to study the decorated entablature, then behind her at the white-and-gold-papered walls between the colonnades. James allowed himself to gaze at her fully before realizing that she probably felt his regard and was embarrassed by it. He did not quite know how to begin. There was so much to say.
“You cannot imagine my shock at seeing you here.” When she dropped her gaze, he went on. “I had thought you married and living in Kent.”
Her face had regained its natural color underneath the powder,but he could still detect a dainty blush on her cheeks. To stand once again in her presence shook him from his usual composure. He had never inquired after Amy once he’d left his father’s house. With his father so against the match, it would only set him up for ridicule. Besides, she had had a chance to break off the betrothal in the three weeks before he left on tour but had not done so.
“No. I informed Mr. Bromley that I could not marry him in the end.” She did not elaborate, a frustrating tendency of hers. James was left wanting to know more.
“I had thought you did not wish to travel to the Continent. I distinctly remember you saying as much.” His remark sounded petulant, but that could not be helped.
“Once my father had fixed his mind on the tour, I had no choice in the matter,” she explained. “Or at least, no solution presented itself to me. I have no family close enough in affection to encumber with my prolonged visit, and my father and sisters needed someone to see to the practical matters of the journey.”
“I see.”
So Amy had remained a servant to her family.Little has changed, he thought bitterly. He looked across the room and caught sight of Isabel, who watched him from the tiered platform where she sat with Amy’s sisters. She turned away. If he were to have a harmonious betrothal, he would have to be careful not to give her cause for jealousy. Even a hint of it would upset the already precarious timbre of their relationship.
“What have you been doing in the years since we last met?” Amy’s voice brought him back to the sweet nostalgia of youth and softened the sour feelings that had sprung up. She had not lost her gentleness. “Have you spent the entire time on the Continent?”
“No, not the entire time. It is a long story, I suppose. After our final meeting...” James deemed this an unpropitious beginning and started again. “As you know, I left England for the tour my great-aunt was kind enough to arrange for me.” He refrained from adding,“The one I invited you on, although you would havenone of it.”Expressionless, she confirmed this with a nod, and he continued.
“I went to Paris and then to Venice and Rome. On my return, I traveled through Geneva and Vienna. There was nothing at home to rush back to after ... Well, Adam was training to run the estate, so I was not needed. I continued to visit the Continental cities until I grew weary of being away from England.”
“I heard nothing of your returning to Kent. But I suppose that could not be surprising given that our families are not on intimate terms.” Amy’s words were carefully chosen, at variance with how she waved her fan loosely with one hand. He wondered whether she had looked out for him and now wished fruitlessly that he had asked after her. Mrs. Waiting would not have despised him for inquiring. While he contemplated this, she continued. “I heard your parents moved to Tunbridge Wells.”
“Indeed they did. I visited them there, then decided to travel straight through to Edinburgh instead of returning to Kent.” He also chose his words with caution, not wishing to reveal how hurt he had been.
“Ah.” She nodded and withdrew into herself. A silence fell.
“Why did you wait so long to end the betrothal?” he asked suddenly.
Amy lifted her head, her eyes revealing her surprise. He had truly not meant to ask that. After all, it made little difference now.
She faced forward without returning an immediate answer, and he dragged his eyes from the stylish curl resting over one shoulder. Her powder was scented with some fresh blend of flowers that suited her. She licked her lips.
“As you know, the courtship was entirely my father’s idea, but it was not an easy thing to make my objections heard. It went further than I intended, and the announcement came as a surprise. I finally had to address Mr. Bromley directly to be heard, and even then, more than once.” Amy paused, not meeting his gaze. “Might you procure something for me to drink? My throat is dry.”
“Of course.” His spirits had plunged at her recital. The ordeal would have been uncomfortable for her. He stepped forward until he spotted a servant carrying a tray of glasses, his mind dwelling on the painful image of Amy attempting to pull out of an unwanted betrothal. His conscience rebuked him; he should have done something at the time rather than simply leave. He signaled the servant over and handed the chilled glass of white wine to her. She sipped it.
“How was it that your father was confident enough of your acceptance to make a public announcement without informing you of it beforehand?” This had plagued him on his travels. Surely Mr. Bridwell had had cause to be certain of her acceptance or he would not have made the surprise announcement at the ball.
“Every time I attempted to broach the subject of the betrothal with my father, he changed the topic so deftly I could not manage to make my wishes heard. He must have taken my reticence as acquiescence, although I do not believe he would make the same mistake again.”
