He glanced down at the letter addressed to Isabel in a masculine scrawl. It was not done by a hand he recognized, and the sight of it gave him an odd feeling. Although he trusted Annette’s intentions, he wondered if she was trying to give him a message about his betrothed. He looked up at her and received nothing but an open expression in return.
“Thank you. I will see that she receives it.”
When the washerwoman left, he sat and examined the letter, whose seal had already been broken. He hesitated mere seconds before deciding he would read it. After all, if she was receiving letters from an unknown gentleman, he had a right to know as her future husband. The missive was brief, its contents dated three days prior.
Chère Isabel,
I simply must speak to you. You have certainly accepted both my gift and my kisses willingly enough. But now you are holding me off, and I can no longer eat or sleep. Meet me in the Capuchin gardens on Thursday in the area we both know. I shall want my answer then.
Yours in agony, M—
A sudden surge of anger seized James, and he resisted his first urge to crumple the letter in a ball and throw it into the fire. The letter, too detailed for him to believe Isabel innocent, offended all honor. It spoke of kisses and gifts and rendezvous spots known to them both. Unless it was written by a deranged man who conjured attachment out of thin air, Isabel was being unfaithful to him—and this when they had yet to marry.
He did not love her. He supposed he’d thought he did when he proposed, but now knew with a certainty he did not. His entirecourtship had been carried out with an object in view—to earn his place in Spa and secure his future. Any thoughts of seeking a true companion, one whom he could love and cherish, had been a secondary plan. After the pain of ending things with Amy all those years ago, James had settled on marriage for practical purposes as being the logical next step. He might not love Isabel, but he was hurt and angry all the same. He did not like being treated the fool.
And although he knew he needed to address the situation, it was not a simple matter of finding the opportune time to do so. He suspected once he and Isabel spoke, the discussion would grow heated, and this could not be done in public view.
The carriage bumped and lurched over the rough incline, with Morry and Isabel carrying on an unspoken truce for his sake, he supposed. James scarcely responded to the commonplaces as he wrestled with how he was to confront Isabel with what he had learned. She did not appear to notice his unhappiness—or if she did, she only grew more voluble. Morry, however, darted him more than one glance. Although James had still not decided how or when to confront Isabel by the time they arrived, he had the letter in his pocket and would wait to see what opportunity he was given.
He exited Morry’s carriage before turning to help Isabel alight. She looked at him inquisitively as she set her hand in his but did not push him to express his thoughts. James stayed in place to help Morry, but his friend swatted his hand away.
It was a perfect day for the pastoral luncheon, even if one could not feel quite certain the weather would hold. James was far from entering into the spirit of the occasion and stared unseeing at the guests already gathered, his mind on the letter.
Morry stopped to speak to his groom as the Ferrins’ carriage pulled up behind them. James greeted them, then brought Isabel on his arm to the tables laid out and took in the assembled crowd. His eyes landed on MacFirbis first and narrowed in speculation. There was no doubt that he was the “M” who was attempting towoo Isabel from underneath his nose. The day, already promising to be an unpleasant one considering his upcoming confrontation, only soured.
Behind MacFirbis were Lambert and Gruber, who had been spending increasing time in each others’ company. James’s eyes skirted to the first carriage in the line and came to rest on Amy helping her father out. She was not looking at him, but Hannah was. She gave the ghost of a smile and curtsied before meeting Isabel’s gaze and repeating the curtsy.
Morry had moved over to the Bridwell carriage from the other side. Now he appeared from the front, escorting Miss Bainesworth on one arm and using his cane with his other hand. At least the day had brought this boon for his friend. Amy finally turned her head in James’s direction and smiled, though it didn’t reach her eyes. Like her sister, she also greeted Isabel from afar with a curtsy. It served to remind him of how well-mannered she was, how good. None of the Bridwell sisters were the type to snub another lady—or be unfaithful to the man they were betrothed to.
Lubin raised his hands and welcomed the assembled guests, indicating the benches and two tables that had been set out for them. As everyone moved in that direction, James wished Isabel had not held on to his arm so tightly. Of all the times for her to abandon the opportunity to be the center of attention and cling to him, it had to be today, when he could scarcely speak a civil word to her.
He must be certain beyond the shadow of a doubt that she was a willing participant in the assignation, but something told him she was. The evidence in the letter was damning, and even if it weren’t, how else would another man have enough confidence to write such a letter to an engaged woman? And if the letter had been of no account, would she not have told James of it? Or discarded it? No, the fact that she had kept it meant the letter held some importance for her.
But there were other things to consider beyond simply confronting Isabel. Although such direct proof would release him from his obligation to marry her, he could not feel any relief over the freedom it would provide. He did not yet have a solution for how he was to earn a living now if he did not marry Mr. Prexley’s daughter. The physician would never turn his patients over to James upon his retirement and would very likely destroy James’s reputation in Spa, for he had even more prominence than Mr. Hughes or Mr. Vroomen. And of course, there was still the unpleasant business of breaking things off with Isabel.
The table arrangement appeared haphazard, but given that James had seen the princess speaking to Lubin, he suspected it was orchestrated. The two children he had learned were the princess’s went off to eat with the servants on the grass. At his table were seated Miss Marianne, the Ferrins, Lambert, Isabel, the princess, and MacFirbis. Amy’s family party was broken up by Mr. Gruber and contained the more pleasant company of Miss Ferrin, the Polish scholar Mr. Batowski, Miss Bainesworth, and Morry. Isabel chose the spot on the bench right next to James, and he moved over to make room. It would not do to give in to his first instinct and send her away.
Lubin brought out beer for the gentlemen and lemonade for the ladies. Following this came the platters of food. The cheeses were all made of sheep’s and goat’s milk, and the fruits were strawberries, cherries, and early apricots. They ate off of humble ceramic plates that held the thick slices of bread. A balmy breeze lifted a lock of hair that had fallen on James’s forehead, and the sun declared itself the temporary victor over the clouds. He would have enjoyed the moment immensely were it not for the fact that his need to confront Isabel shrouded every thought.
Perhaps he should propose they return on foot. He tried to remember what sort of shoes she was wearing but could not recall. It would be a simple matter of asking Morry if he would not mind going back alone. Or perhaps Miss Bainesworth mightaccept to switch carriages? No, James thought, he would not play matchmaker. He would be an ill hand at it.
The conversation flowed around him, relieving him of the obligation to participate. With such a large party, little was required other than to give the occasional remark or smile. He glanced discreetly at Amy, sitting at the other table. The breeze also pulled at the loose curls around her face, giving her a windblown, romantic look. Unlike some who powdered their hair with a heavy touch to absorb the pomade, she only wore enough to keep it clean and scented. Abergèrestraw hat sat on top of her curls, tilted at a jaunty angle and tied with red ribbons under her chin. She had the fullest, most kissable lips underneath an upturned nose, and he allowed himself to dwell on those for only a minute.
Mr. Gruber was seated at her side and was seemingly using all of his efforts to charm. James could tell she did not like him by the way she pulled away when they conversed and returned only polite, fleeting smiles to his sallies. It made him want to go and sit between them, to intercept their conversation—and proximity.
After the meal, Mr. Bridwell sat with others on the rocks jutting from the low hillside, whose form had naturally smooth, dished tops that made for comfortable chairs. Morry offered his arm to Miss Bainesworth, indicating with his cane another place on the short hill where it was possible to sit. James’s eyes were drawn back to Amy, who faced away from him and was talking to Mrs. Ferrin. She was easy to spot in a gown patterned with dark red cherries and green sprouting branches, perfectly suited to their setting. She turned her face his way, and he averted his eyes.
It was time to find Isabel and discover a way to confront her about the letter. Now that the meal was over, any disagreement they had could be covered up by an excuse that one or the other was feeling ill and wished to return to town early. When he looked around, he found Isabel talking to MacFirbis, and his jaw tightened. Of course! MacFirbis had never gotten over his wish to marry her and had pressed his fruitless courtship by penning aletter inviting her to an assignation. Come to think of it, he did indeed look as though he was in agony.
The sight of Isabel flirting right in front of him with the very one who was attempting to woo her was more than James could bear. Still, upon examining his heart, he could not find jealousy there. She had clearly encouraged the man, and who wished for a wife like that? It went against the grain for James to hand victory to an opponent, especially when it meant he would give up his living as well, but he could not marry an unfaithful woman. MacFirbis could have her—if he could manage to keep her.
Isabel’s flirtation grew more outrageous with broad smiles and teasing. Not far from them, Lambert did the same but with Marianne. James frowned and glanced at Amy to see if she had noticed, or if her father was aware of the dalliance. Neither had appeared to see what was happening, especially now that Hannah and Amy were speaking to the princess and Mr. Bridwell was in full discussion with Mr. Batowski. Amy’s father could not pull his mind from an intellectual debate once he was engaged in it. James had no choice but to go and intervene.
Lambert made Marianne laugh, and she covered her lips with her fingers, her deep blush proclaiming how much his charm affected her. The painter would all too easily take advantage of such an open and engaging personality as the young and innocent Marianne. James advanced in a casual manner, not wishing to cause a scene, which would only make things worse. He passed by Isabel on his way to reach Marianne.
“Mr. Fletcher, you have come to escort me to a seat at last.” Isabel’s voice was animated and her color high, as was often the case when she was surrounded by men. “I feared you were going to ignore me the entire picnic. Might I remind you that we are to be married? Those who do not have such an honor are paying me more court than you.”
He returned a feeble smile by way of answer, finding it impossible to match her flirtatious tone. “I will indeed, if you will bepatient for just a moment.” He turned forward again to pursue his goal, and Lambert lifted his eyes to James as he approached. “Miss Marianne, allow me to bring you to rejoin your sisters.”
