They reached the entrance to La Redoute, and a footman opened the door to allow them to enter. Sounds of conversation and a burst of gentlemen’s laughter greeted them from the tobacco room, and the clink of balls in the billiard room announced that a game was in progress. In the covered courtyard at the back, musicians played for the guests sitting at the tables there.
Their conversation was naturally forced to a halt while they greeted their acquaintances in the main hall and stopped at the entrance to the cardroom. James peered in at the crowd congregated around the faro table just as MacFirbis crowed in victory. The dealer pushed the bankroll toward him.
“Send my servant to me,” he said laughingly. “I will not be able to carry all of this.”
“You have all the luck,” Gruber cried out, clasping him on the shoulder. “I knew you would win if you carried on a little longer.”
James had no desire to see more of it, and after a glance at Morry, they left for the dining room, where coffee was being served.
“MacFirbis seems to take increasingly to the gaming tables of late,” Morry observed.
“And Gruber always at his side,” James added. “Have you heard anything further of his reputation?”
Morry shook his head. “But then, I am not always the most connected.”
“And I not at all.”
After they were seated and the servant had brought them brandy, coffee, and a selection of cakes, James placed his hat on the chair next to him. He looked at his friend steadily before coming to the issue that was at the root of it all. “I beg to disagree with you that you cannot aspire to Miss Bainesworth’s hand. I suspect she would not agree with you either.”
The faint flush that spread up Morry’s neck was the only sign that his remark had hit home. “You are biased by friendship.”
James eyed the cakes and chose one. “Perhaps. But even examining the matter from an objective point of view, you are a gentleman. You can support a wife from your military earnings, even without your uncle’s inheritance. Miss Bainesworth does not strike me as a woman who aspires to marry for rank or a greater fortune than what you can give her. It seems to me that she wishes only to be comfortable and to be with someone who will but consider her wishes. There is no one better than you for such a role.”
“But I am lame,” Morry said bitterly. “I don’t think I will ever regain the full use of my leg. I am not sure I will ever dance again. I still walk like a cripple, no matter how often I traipse up and down the streets of Spa. Can you contradict me?”
James could not. He had suspected the injury would be difficult, if not impossible, to heal completely once he had learned the details of it. However, he did believe Morry could regain a portion of his lost mobility with time and exercise.
“As to your dancing again, I cannot say with any surety. But you do not need to dance in order to woo a woman. The use of your arms will suffice.”
Morry gave a painful smile but no response.
“Just speak to her about your concerns and start from there,” James advised. “Afterward, you can see where the conversation leads.”
“Perhaps I will do so,” Morry said, his reluctance obvious.
“If she confides in you, I would take that as proof that you have advanced a fair way to winning her heart. Besides,” James reminded him, “she cannot courtyou, so you are better off speaking your heart and being rejected than saying nothing and spending the rest of your life regretting your silence—and very likely causing her to do the same.”
Morry nodded, then pointedly turned the conversation to other things.
That evening, James followed the streams of people into the Promenade de Sept-Heures with the intention of listening to the orchestra that was to play there for the first time that season. He heard the oboes and violins warming up, and before he had reached the center, they began their first lively piece. Some of the younger members of society took that as a cue to gather in an informal circle and begin dancing. Isabel spotted him and came directly to his side. If she felt any hesitation about her reception, she masked it under her smile.
“James, are you alone? Shall we not dance together? Is this not the most delightful thing, and in such agreeable weather? I have so been longing for the season to truly begin.”
James forced himself to speak civilly. “I am not of a mind to dance now. You must excuse me. You are sure to have many others soliciting your hand.”
Isabel studied him with a frown. “I hope you are not going to continue being so disagreeable. All over a stupid letter.”
James returned no response. He was too angry and heartsore to say anything benign and would not betray himself by speaking his mind.
“How can I help it if someone writes me a letter? It does not mean that I share the man’s sentiment. And yet you are punishing me for it.”
He shot her a look. At least she had admitted the letter was hers. He wondered if she realized she had done so. A thought occurred to him.
“If you did not share the author’s sentiment, why were you so eager to secret it away?” he asked, though he no longer cared to hear her answer. He was not sure he would believe it. “If you were innocent in the affair, you would have given me the gentleman’s name and your assurance that you had no intention of meeting him. Everything is done in secrecy with you, Isabel. Such concealment does not suit me.”
“Then we shall have no secrets,” she exclaimed, her exasperation evident. “I don’t see why you must be so cross.”
They stood silently watching the musicians, but Isabel was not to be ignored. She turned and peered at the white jabot he wore on his neck. “Why are you not wearing your sapphire pin? It would go marvelously with the coat you have on now, and you see that I am wearing your pearl collar. We should have matched.”
