They parted ways with an agreement to meet the next day, and James arrived in his lodgings, where he discovered a letter sitting on the console in the entryway. The servant who cleaned his rooms must have received it for him and left it there. He stared at the writing, thinking that it looked like Isabel’s, although she had sent him only one written note in all of their courtship. He flipped it over and found Mr. Prexley’s seal.
His breath left him, and he brought the letter over to the armchair, which he sank into. Dare he hope she had thought the better of holding to their engagement despite his lack of inheritance? No, it could not be. It was more likely to be a threat or something of that nature. He broke the seal and spread the letter out.
10th June 1770
Honored Sir,
Yes, I do address you formally, Mr. Fletcher, for I am releasing you from an engagement that has become unpalatable to you. You have shown me in several ways that you do not wish for this betrothal anymore. Well, I have decided that neither do I. You have lured me into an engagement under false pretenses. My father and I are now convinced that the document you showed us proving your inheritance was fabricated. He will send a notice to theGazetteabout our rupture, but do not think you shall be spared, for it will be clear where the fault lies. My father will reveal the false circumstances behind your bid for my hand.
As for myself, I can only be thankful that I was given a view of your true nature in time to free myself from a life of poverty. Do not expect me to acknowledge you in the streets, for I shall not do so. Everyone will know you for the trumpery piece you are.
In the hopes that truth will prevail, I remain, etc.
Miss Isabel Prexley
James dropped the letter and sat for a long moment, scarcely able to credit what he had read. He breathed in deeply. That was the end of it, then. The worst mistake he had ever made in his life—after allowing Amy to drift away without making a push to save her from her own disastrous engagement. Fortunately, she had extricated herself from that bad bargain in time. Only by chance had he done so as well, although he had no doubt that Isabel and Mr. Prexley would carry out their threat to ruin his name. Perhaps his character would speak for itself. He could only hope so.
And then there was Amy. He could pursue her now. He had held himself back for so long that it was difficult even to contemplate this possibility. He sat musing over the idea, but after applying a bit of common sense, he began to see it wouldn’t be quite so simple.
It mattered little if his heart was free to offer her; he still could not offer his hand without anything to live on. The income from Mr. Vroomen’s patients, even shared, would save him from his most pressing debts, but the finished construction of his baths had come much later than expected. He had not had the time to build a regular clientele as a result, and he could not think of what to do to remedy this. The difficulty in seeing his way through it all kept James in a state of languor, which went on into the evening. It then settled on him like a winter frost.
Over the course of the next three days, James fought against the desire to declare his feelings to Amy now that he was free. Each time he stopped short from doing so when he remembered he could not offer her marriage, for it would condemn her to a life of poverty. His fear of being carried away by his feelings—of confessing his love to Amy when he knew he shouldn’t—kept him from going to places where he might run into her. It meant he scarcely left his rooms, except to visit the Tonnelet and his handful of patients. He saw Mr. Bridwell there each morning, and they discussed his health, but James dared not pay anothervisit to his hotel for fear of seeing Amy. He was still wrestling with this seemingly impossible dilemma when a knock came on the door to his rooms, and he went to answer it.
“Morry!” James stepped back in surprise, then opened the door wider. “You are very welcome, of course, but as you can see, my rooms are quite humble, which is why I haven’t invited you in before now.” Although he had a separate bedroom, his small sitting room held only an armchair by the fireplace, a desk, and a small table with very little room to walk in between.
Morry disregarded that with a wave of his hand as he entered. “I am sponging off my relatives, so I can hardly complain of modest living quarters.”
“You are hardly sponging off them,” James retorted, pulling out one of two spindle-back chairs from the small table. “You are their only nephew, besides being your uncle’s heir. What brings you all the way to my room?”
“I had to come in search of you. You are not to be found anywhere these days.” Morry raised an eyebrow. “Do not tell me your heart is broken over the failed betrothal, for I shan’t believe it.” Before James could speak, he added, “And don’t tell me that a sense of disgrace keeps you to your rooms.”
“I won’t tell you either, then,” James said as he poured them each a glass of Pouhon water before taking his seat. “I have much on my mind.”
“Hmm.” Morry took a sip and set his glass down. “Mr. Vroomen told me that your baths are now completed and ready to use. I aim to try them myself.”
James considered whether it might make a difference in Morry’s case. “It certainly cannot hurt. However,” he cautioned, “I am more confident of their effects on rheumatic complaints and less so on injuries. I do believe the hot bath might give you more mobility, so there is that.”
“I will settle for more mobility, for I will need it.” Morry glanced up, a smile lurking in his eyes. “I am to be a married man.”
James went still as the words penetrated his own fog of worries, then his face split in a grin. He reached over and offered his hand for Morry to shake. “That is most excellent news. She accepted you, then?”
“I am the happiest man alive.”
James leaned back in his chair, the smile still on his face. He had needed good news such as this to cheer him. “Was I not right in saying you had nothing to fear in offering for her?”
“You did.” Morry gave a cheerful little salute. “And it is a good thing I did not give way to fear, for I have learned that her home life is really not suitable for her temperament. She brought me to see her father while her mother was out—he was a military man in his day and was predisposed to approve of me. He gave me his blessing, particularly as it means she is to stay in Spa.”
“But her mother does not approve?” James asked cautiously, feigning ignorance.
Morry’s sigh whistled through his teeth as he shook his head. “Lady Spencer would parade Becky all around Paris and put her up to the highest bidder to gain more connections if she had her way. But now she will be under my protection.”
James tilted his head, smiling. He could not have imagined a better resolution. It highlighted the pain of his own situation, but he tried to shake that off. “I wish I had something to offer you besides water. We should go to La Redoute to celebrate.”
“In time.” Morry fiddled with the head of his cane that leaned on the table beside him. “Why did you not tell me that you and Miss Prexley were no longer betrothed? I had to read it for myself in today’s copy of theLiège Gazette.”
James leaned back and folded his arms, his smile gone. “It is not exactly the sort of thing one wishes to dwell upon.”
“No, of course not, but to friends? And did you know that she is to marry MacFirbis?”
