“But then why did you not object that night? Or break off the engagement immediately afterward?” He had never been able to understand it and had only drawn the conclusion that she had been a willing party. That she was a woman who would marry for convenience rather than love. After all, Mr. Bromley had one point in his favor. He was not living on expectations.
“How could I do so? Every set of eyes was on me that night.” She looked at him reproachfully. “And afterward, my father remained deaf to my attempts to explain my wishes. It was not any different with Mr. Bromley. It was as though I did not exist. As though I was speaking to the air. I had no choice but to continue until it truly grew too unbearable...”
She had been weak.
“I cannot understand your dragging such a thing out. Marriage isfinal.” His outrage escaped in a whispered hiss.
“Do I not know it? But my decision to marry”—she challenged him with her gaze before turning to stare ahead—“or not to marry should not concern you. After all, we broke all ties and have not communicated since. You did not write.”
Did not write? How could he have? He tugged her arm until she faced him, then gently removed her empty glass from her hand before he caused her to drop it, already regretting his show of passion. He spoke his next words with great deliberation. “A man does not write to a woman engaged to someone else. You should have let me know your heart was free.”
Amy stilled, her lips drawing into a firm line. “A woman does not send letters to a gentleman who has not invited her to such intimacy and in fact has left her without a word.”
If she had said,“to a gentleman with whom one does not have an understanding,”he would have had a ready retort, for they had surely had an understanding. But to this he could make no answer. He had left her with the belief that he was indifferent to her fate. After a moment, he lifted his finger to a passing servant and numbly placed the empty glass on the tray. A silence fell, and she broke it.
“Besides, I hardly think your father or anyone in your family would have given your direction to me had I asked. Without it, I would not have known how to reach you.”
They both went silent as the minuet being danced to Handel’sWater Musiccame to a flourishing finish. It would take time to make sense of this shift in perspective of how his affair with Amy had ended. Even if she had pulled out of the betrothal earlier, he would still have needed to leave for his tour. After all, how could he have languished on her doorstep in Kent with no independent wealth or profession—and this against his father’s approval—hoping that a source of income would suddenly present itself? Only a wastrel would do such a thing. At least by going on tour he had pleased his father and great-aunt. Had things been different, with his continued education and profession, he couldhave applied for her hand again with more to offer. Alas, such ruminating was futile, for it was all too late.
The couples were leaving the floor open for the next set. He glanced at her, but there was nothing else that could possibly be said at this point.
“Shall we take our places?”
Without waiting for an answer, he held out his arm and led Amy to their position in the dance. Once there, he remembered to look around the room for Isabel and found her on the far end, where she had added Mr. Bridwell to her audience. Her eyes had been on James, but she averted them as soon as he looked her way. He wondered what induced her to seek out Mr. Bridwell. She likely had her reasons, and he couldn’t say with any confidence that it was to offer him a warm welcome to Spa. But no—he had not questioned his future marital contentment before. He would not suspect her motives now.
“Your father is talking to Isabel,” he said before he thought the better of mentioning it. Why should that be of any concern? The music began, and he bowed before turning to take her arm and dance the six steps at her side.
“Yours is a recent engagement, I understand,” Amy said as they moved forward together, then retraced the same steps. “Do you have any notion of when you will have the wedding?”
“Not until theseason has come to a close.” They spoke in what increments they could when the dance and music allowed it. “I will need to finish a project I am working on and build my list of patients. Isabel wishes to have a large wedding with great pomp.”
James creased his brows, the only sign he would allow himself to express his conflicted feelings. He had always had trouble imagining himself the center of attention, but Isabel seemed to thrive on it. She also took pains to advise him on his appearance and was the cause of his wearing a wig and more flamboyant colors, all of which he would have to grow accustomed to.
“I see.” Amy smiled briefly. “Women usually have specific notionsabout what kind of wedding they desire, so you do well to entertain hers.”
“Yes, well ... we are to marry at the end of September, nearly five months away. After your family has left for Paris.” That particular observation was awkwardly done, and he rushed on. “I suppose it is for the best, since I will not have enough patients to support a wife until her father retires and gives me his.”
The end of the dance brought them face-to-face. “I wish you all the happiness in the world,” Amy said.
“Thank you.” A weight settled on his chest at her words. He knew she meant it, for Amy always meant what she said. But he no longer saw as clearly as he had a mere two days ago just how such happiness could be achieved.
James handed Amy over to her father, who, somewhat to his surprise, remembered his name and asked how he did. Then he went in search of Isabel, who had by now moved on from Mr. Bridwell to other guests assembled at the ball. Regardless of what his feelings might be on meeting Amy again, he had a responsibility toward Isabel, for he was to marryher. His efforts to hurry to her side had not seemed to soften any pique she felt toward him, for she made as though to send him away directly.
They must not be seen dancing together, she had explained, for they were to be married and there was nothing more tedious than husbands and wives who danced together. He could not tell from her tone or expression how seriously she believed that dictum, besides the obvious fact that they were not yet married. In the end, duty compelled him to give another push, and she relented and allowed him to lead her onto the floor. However, her smiles given throughout the steps were distant and not for him. The whole situation gave him anxiety. For one, he was not a man to be inconstant, and his feelings this evening leaned heavily in that direction. For another, Mr. Prexley was not likely to bepleased to learn about his former attachment. Without the doctor’s promise to hand over his patients to James, he would have no income to speak of next autumn.
When they stepped to the perimeter in between sets, Isabel assessed his appearance with a critical eye. “The color suits you, as I knew it would, but I think we must have you visit the other draper—the Monsieur Leneveu, for his selection of cloths and cuts are superior.”
“You know I care for no such thing,” he replied quietly, not wishing to irritate her further but unable to enter into her enthusiasm for mere dress. Had he not changed his style to suit her in their courtship? He was already regretting wearing his wig in Amy’s presence. He doubted that particular change in his style had charmed her, for it made him look older—and probably foppish.
“That is precisely why I am the wife you require,” Isabel replied in a bright tone. “The sapphire pin at Dubovski’s would complete the look if you would but purchase it. Why, your eyes are just the same color!”
James returned a feeble smile. He knew she admired his appearance, although he didn’t consider himself anything out of the ordinary way. She had once told him the only reason she accepted his suit was because they looked well together, and the children issued from their marriage would be so charming as to turn every head. She had been joking, of course, but his humor did not run quite in that way. He looked at her squarely now, appreciating her generosity on his behalf but determined to turn her thoughts in a more reasonable direction.
“My dear, I must make it clear to you that I will not be purchasing the sapphire pin. I would much rather provide a home where you will have every comfort. Servants, a plentiful table, and even those pretty gowns that become you so well.” That last bit was his best attempt at conciliation.
Her answering smile left as quickly as it came. “But truly,James, that sapphire is just the thing for you. You know I don’t come entirely without a portion. And you have a considerable expectation coming to you besides. My father would never have entertained your suit if it had not been so.”
Only two weeks ago, James had counted himself fortunate that Mr. Prexley had chosen him as a son-in-law over MacFirbis and every other determined suitor. The other young physician was wealthier than James at present and, after completing his training, would be just as competent. Well, perhaps notquiteas competent—not with Mr. Hughes as his mentor. The tide turned in James’s favor the moment he showed Isabel’s father the copy of his great-aunt’s will that named him heir. From that moment, both Mr. Prexley and Isabel had begun to favor James’s suit. At the time, he had been mildly uncomfortable that only the promise of a great inheritance had swayed Mr. Prexley, and in consequence Isabel. Now it was his principal regret. He preferred that any woman wishing to marry him would do so forhim.
