“I have another reason for wishing to see my thermal baths succeed. The Bridwells—I believe you have met them—are friends from Kent, and I have an understanding with the eldest daughter.”
A sudden fear overtook him that Mr. Vroomen would deem him fickle in nature, and he rushed on to say, “Our attachment preceded my engagement with Miss Prexley but ended due to a contretemps. I had believed Miss Bridwell to be already married and consider myself most fortunate to find out she was not.” He left unsaid how fortunate he considered himself to have escaped marrying Isabel.
“That is excellent news, James. Allow me to congratulate you.” Mr. Vroomen stood and reached out to shake his hand. James stood and returned the gesture automatically, but as he regained his seat, his smile fell.
“The family is leaving today, however. Mr. Bridwell thinks that the atmosphere in Spa is not propitious for his health. As I cannot yet support a wife, I am...” He looked down at his hands. “Well, I am forced to make us both wait longer until I can build a sustainable income. We have decided to correspond by letter until such a time.”
Mr. Vroomen picked up his cup and took a sip of tea before setting it down, everything done in careful movements. “You have always led with your mind rather than your heart, James. Placed duty over affection. You’re an honorable man.”
Mr. Vroomen was describing the James he had become and not the James he once had been. He knew there was a caveat in those words, but in the pause, felt obliged to respond. “Thank you.”
“Perhaps it is time to follow your heart, eh? How many years have you been estranged from Miss Bridwell, this woman who appears to be your first love?”
The advice provided James a sore temptation. It was difficult for him to resist, since it accorded with his own desires, and especially since Amy was on the verge of leaving. He would have only a few minutes of private conversation with her today and one last embrace—this if he were lucky. But he should not give in to his temptation. He needed to think reasonably.
“We have not seen each other for six years before this.”
“Six years is a long time. Why should you wait any longer?” His mentor folded his hands on the table and gave him one of his most piercing stares.
“Mr. Vroomen, Itrulyhave nothing to live on.” A laugh, pathetic in nature, escaped him as he thought about how close he was to having Amy for his wife—of convincing her to stay—even if reason warred against the idea. “Although,” he conceded, “today’s list of people trying the baths shows promise that Iwillhave an income from them. It is just too soon to tell how much or when. One cannot build a life on hopes.”
Mr. Vroomen steepled his hands on the table, always answering at his own pace as though the dictates of time had no mastery over him. “In addition to Mrs. Morewell, I received today an inquiry from a Belgian gentleman, and another from a Parisian, both expressing their desire to travel to Spa this season for a cure. As one is traveling for his rheumatic complaint and the other for fatigue, I will recommend they consult with you.”
James’s anxiety about the time had only increased, and he feared that if he waited too long, he would not see Amy before she left. But Mr. Vroomen had been more than helpful toward James’s goal of independence, and he was grateful.
“Thank you,” he replied in heartfelt accents.
Mr. Vroomen nodded and lifted his cup to his lips, raising a set of bushy brows over the rim. “It is nothing. I have enough patients for now.” He silently pushed the paper with Mrs. Morewell’s direction across the table toward James. “However, my advice to you is not to spend too much time waiting for the perfect conditions to fall into place before you begin pursuing matters of the heart. Those do not always wait.”
Mr. Vroomen’s words followed James as he finally excused himself and set out for the Hôtel de Lorraine, the urgency to see Amy now sharp.Matters of the heart do not always wait.What if he missed her? What if she thought he did not care because he had not visited before she left? He would not make the same mistake again and allow distraction to ruin their chances.
He was almost at the hotel when he crossed paths with Morry. One glance beyond him to the entrance of the hotel showed that the Bridwells’ carriage was not in front of it. Had they left? But then reason took over. It was more likely that they hadn’t had the trunks brought down, for it was not yet two o’clock. At least from his vantage point, he could see if she or anyone from her family exited the hotel.
Morry greeted him, his expression unusually serious. “Did you hear the news about MacFirbis?”
“I did. He’s ruined. Lost his entire inheritance,” James confirmed, belatedly realizing how callous he sounded over the man’s misfortune. It was only his anxiety to see Amy that made him respond in such a way.
Morry shook his head. “The man had twenty-five thousand, and it all went in the course of one night. Rather, I understand he had been steadily losing, and the remainder was swallowed up in last night’s game. How is that possible?” When James said nothing, Morry held up a hand. “Don’t tell me. I know. And now Miss Prexley is short of a betrothed again.” His natural kindnessmade it so he could see the irony in a situation while still exuding compassion.
“I cannot offer my condolences to Miss Prexley, of course. Such a thing would be impossible. But if there is some way I can render her a service, apart from engaging myself to her again,” James added wryly, “I will do so.”
Morry nodded. “You are a good man.”
He did not tarry, finally telling his friend that he wished to catch Amy before the family left, and Morry scolded him for not speaking up earlier. He hurried to the hotel entrance, where the servant opened the door for him. As he strode across the corridor, he glanced into the dining room to make sure they were not taking a last meal there. Then he took the steps two at a time until he reached the next level, where he went to knock on the door to their suite.
Mrs. Mercy, the Bridwells’ housekeeper, answered the door, and he exhaled in relief. He was not too late.
She recognized James and dropped into a curtsy. “Good afternoon, Mr. Fletcher.” In the brief pause that followed, her brows drew together, and he experienced a strong foreboding. “I am sorry to tell you this, but you have missed Mr. Bridwell. The family is gone.”
A strange ringing sounded in his ears. “Gone? Gone where?”
Nothing made sense. If the Bridwells were gone, why would the housekeeper still be in Spa? He grasped at a straw of hope. Perhaps they had just gone out in Spa and had decided not to set out for Paris quite so soon.
“They have taken only what is necessary for the first part of the journey, for Mr. Bridwell wished to see a ruined castle before going to Liège. They ate their meal early and left directly afterward.”
“Ah.” It took a moment for James to digest the news, then he dropped his head, brooding. He could not believe he had missed her entirely. Seconds ticked by, and he could not seem to move his feet. The housekeeper waited somewhat hesitantly. She could notinvite him in, but he was reluctant to leave. His mind worked too sluggishly to make sense of the fact that he had truly been too late.
“When will you join them?” he asked at last.
