“Yes, he has his diploma from the Faculty of Medicine in Edinburgh,” she answered, silently objecting to his view of physicianshaving a lower status in England. Even if it were so, they should not. She wondered not for the first time if her father had had an inkling of their attachment when she was younger.
He continued in a voice that carried. “You two were friends once, weren’t you? It is a shame he is engaged to Miss Prexley now. He might otherwise have considered marrying you since you are both from Kent, and it is such a superior shire.” He sighed. “Ah well.”
By then they had reached their hotel, and Amy was not required to give an answer. She could not have returned one even if she had wished to.
This morning, they added to their tour of the sources the Géronstère, which—apart from the stone monument erected—was in a natural setting, surrounded by trees, with large rocks upon which to sit. This was a more palatable water than the Sauvenière and purportedly had different properties that complemented Mr. Bridwell’s ailment. Afterward, they all returned home in a rather dispirited manner instead of taking their meal at La Redoute, as Mr. Hughes had taken Mr. Bridwell to task for not following his instructions, and their father had not dared to show his face at his usual table when ten o’clock came around. Fortunately, the post had arrived to distract them, bringing with it their first news from England.
Mr. Bridwell set down the letter and took a sip of his chocolate. “Mrs. Waiting has written with news of Kent. I will let you read the letter yourselves, for it will surely interest you.” He gestured to Amy. “Bring me my paper and pen. I shall respond to her straightaway. She will be wishing for my news.”
Hannah had managed to remain in the parlor with everyone for an hour after drinking the waters despite her desire to be at her books. Now, her mouth opened in indignation. “Papa, you know you are not to write letters or to read anything in the mornings. You yourself said that we must not tax ourselves intellectually after drinking from the source.”
“So I did.” He paused for a moment reflecting on this inconvenience before brightening. “But then, last night’s full moon has afforded me with special acumen that must be expressed. You need not fear for me, my daughter, although I cherish your solicitude.”
Hannah returned no reply but within minutes had quietly withdrawn to her room.
“Here you are, Papa.” Amy handed him the paper, the inkwell, and hisplume. She took Mrs. Waiting’s letter and sat down to read it while she drank her chocolate. To learn the news of friends far off would be one of her pleasures while on tour. And now she would have interesting things to write back as well.
My dear Mr. Bridwell, the letter began.
My dear Miss Bridwell, Miss Hannah, and Miss Marianne—
By now, you must have reached your hotel in Spa. ...
Amy read slowly, savoring every word along with her sips of chocolate. It was thicker and sweeter, made with more ground chocolate and creamier milk than what was to be had in England. This eased the long wait until noon somewhat, although she tried not to think of how she could have had both chocolateanda light meal had they gone to La Redoute.
According to Mrs. Waiting, Mr. Forrester and Miss Jemimah Tomlinson, a young couple she had known to be sweet upon each other, had indeed announced their betrothal. The Buchanans had given birth to a healthy boy of nine pounds, an astonishing feat considering how small Catherine was. Mr. Adam Fletcher, eldest son of the MP—at the name, Amy’s breath stilled—had increased his wealth through fortunate investments and was even now putting his name forward to represent one of the boroughs in their county, following in his father’s parliamentary footsteps. No one knew what had become of his brother James, Mrs. Waiting wrote.
Adam was five years James’s senior and therefore had notfrequented the youthful society in Charing. By the time they were ensconced in Mrs. Waiting’s drawing room for games or supper balls, Adam was in London for the season. He returned after James had left for his tour, and given the stiff way he had greeted Amy, she suspected he had been made privy to James’s tendresse for her. James had once told her that his parents held high expectations for both of their sons, although the pressure for Adam was greater.
She set the unfinished letter on her lap as she mused over Adam’s political career. It appeared that James’s brother was doing a fine job of meeting his parents’ expectations on his own. She could not help but accuse him of hastening James on his path to marriage by not writing to tell him her wedding had been called off. She tried to think well of Adam despite this.
The room flooded with morning sunshine as a cloud released the sun from captivity, and Amy looked through the window, blinking against the light. Plunged in the past, she now thought of that dark period after James had left. It had taken everything in her to go against both her father and Mr. Bromley, a man her father’s age, and refuse to marry him. She found her courage in imagining that James would hear of it and rush back to her. That, of course, had never happened.
Amy finished the letter and folded it, putting an end to her daydreaming as Marianne began to set up her paints. Their youngest sister always blatantly disregarded any idea of enforced rest after drinking the waters. Mr. Bridwell was caught up on his reply, allowing his pen to sweep across the page in his epistle to Mrs. Waiting.
“Marianne,” she said, “you will not have much time to paint before we are to break our fast.”
Her sister had changed into an old gown she used for painting, and it was covered in splotches of dark green and black paint. She did not look at Amy as she set the brushes up in a line.
“I wish to finish the painting of the Capuchin garden. I wasinspired by Mr. Lambert’s tableaux in the dining room, and I would like to be ready when he asks to see it.”
Amy gave up attempting to convince her. There was nothing to occupy her hands as she sat back and stared in front of her. It occurred to her that she was the only one who was strictly following Mr. Hughes’s orders to attempt nothing after drinking the waters. The irony made her lips curl up. Only slightly, though, since she had no one to share it with.
By the time they had dined and the hour for the Promenade had drawn near, Amy was more than ready to go out. Frances assisted her into an ivory linen gown patterned with flowers and clocked stockings in a similar tone. She covered herself with a stylish short black cloak and her ivory calash. Although it was still weeks before summer, the breeze carried a renewing warmth, and the creek flowing down the mountainside near the monastery had gained in volume.
The Parc de Quatre-Heures was a grassy plain wide enough for light riding or walking, banked on the left by a steep hill. She and her sisters set a slow pace to allow for their father to keep up behind them. He had refused the escort of his valet but had latched on to Mr. MacFirbis, who, although he listened politely, did not seem overjoyed to be thus sequestered. With the temperate weather, the park was a popular choice that day as people stopped to greet those they knew.
Rebecca Bainesworth arrived after them but soon caught up to Amy and her sisters. “Have you heard about the new assembly hall that is to open in three weeks? Do you plan to attend?”
Amy glanced at her sisters. They had walked by the outside of it, which was much prettier than La Redoute, and were keen to see the inside. “We do indeed. It might be a crush, though, for I understand the ballroom is smaller than La Redoute.”
“My mother is on friendly terms with one of the investors.”Rebecca’s voice had an edge to it that Amy could not quite decipher, but it was gone almost before it could be noticed. “A visit has been arranged for all the investors and their friends tomorrow. I can ask to have an invitation extended to you if you wish it.”
“I should like it very much,” Marianne said promptly.
“As would I,” Amy volunteered. To visit a celebrated hall before its opening would be a privilege she would not have in a larger city such as London.
“I have promised to accompany Papa to dig for fossils at the base of the hill, so I shall have to miss it.” Hannah’s voice sounded wistful. “Is it true that the investors of La Redoute are feeling threatened by another assembly hall? For my part, I can only think the addition will add value to Spa’s society.”
