“We leave in two days, sir. The rest of the servants, that is. We will travel with the trunks and meet them in Reims.”
“Very well.” James frowned. “Tell Miss Bridwell I came to call when you see her, will you? No”—he stopped himself—“I will return in an hour or two with a letter and ask that you deliver it into her hands as soon as you see her.”
“I will, sir.” Mrs. Mercy curtsied, and James took his leave.
He began the forlorn walk to his rooms, picking his way through the mud. His heart felt thick and heavy as thoughitwere encased in mud. He had missed Amy, had allowed her to slip out of his grasp for the second time in his life. He couldn’t believe he had lost her again. Had he done well to let her go without a proposal? It took him a minute to reflect on this, and he came to the same conclusion:I have nothing to offer her. I cannot propose to her under those conditions.
As he neared the inn, James thought back to the necklace. It might be a trifle, but hewouldgive it to her. It would be just the thing. He could leave it in the safekeeping of the housekeeper, along with the letter he would write. And he would be bolder about his intentions. The topaz was only a small token, but it was something tangible.
It was time to begin his courtship through the means of letter writing. It would only be the shadow of a courtship, but it would have to do. He would pour his soul into those letters so she was not left in the dark about his feelings. At least it would save him from injudicious kissing. James paused for a moment, allowing his mind to dwell on that....
He would be serious about it, and regular. And he would count how many letters he would have to post before he could finally set off himself to find her, propose, and bring her back to Spa. In this case, the fewer written meant victory.
Chapter 25
Hurried along by their father, who had decided at the last minute to make a stop on the journey to Liège that involved exploring a ruined castle, Amy and her sisters settled into their familiar carriage at the one o’clock hour and started forth. She tried to accustom herself to the fact that they were once again in transit and ignore the sinking feeling that she had not been able to see James one last time. Should she worry that he had not tried to visit after he had not found her on the Promenade? Was it because he was unsure of her? She had no desire to suffer the way she had all those years ago when she had been slow to break her engagement and he had not remained in Kent long enough to urge her to it.
When her heart would not ignore such despondent musings, she attempted to bolster them in a different way. She would simply not allow herself to be cast down over having to leave without seeing him. After all, she knew him well and suspected he was punishing himself for kissing her without having officially proposed, when really he should not make a fuss over such a thing. He had always been an honorable man. Even in his youth, he had been noble.Thatquality had never been lacking.
She had once accused him of possessing too much youthful impetuosity. Now she wished more of it were in evidence.
Although Liège was in the opposite direction from Paris, Mr. Bridwell had decided to stop there for their first night. They had not visited the city on their way to Spa, and he had learned that it was worth the visit, besides the fact that the winds favored this particular direction today. Amy consoled herself with the idea that it would also give the servants a chance to finish packing and start out behind them without too much of a lag.
The Château de Franchimont was a fortified castle of note, and although Amy was not in a touring mindset, she had no good reason to object to the stop. It mattered not where they went since any direction took her away from James.
The distance was a mere seven miles from Spa, and after a ride of little more than an hour, the Bridwells alighted from the carriage at their destination. Amy glanced up at the ruined castle sitting on the hill. The walls appeared to be waist-high in some places and taller in others, but all five of the artillery towers were still in place.
They climbed the path up the hill, and their father began describing the history of the fortress and why its aura made the visit imperative as his valet rushed forward to take his elbow. When they reached the top and began to walk its circuit, Mr. Bridwell pointed out the dungeon, the chapel, and where the living quarters had been, inviting them to imagine what it must have been like.
Amy listened with half an ear, walking alongside Marianne, who paused from time to time to examine the outline made by the ruins or the view beyond it. Since their departure from Spa, her sister had grown more cheerful, as though in distancing herself from the city and its memories she had been able to throw off the heavy chains of imposition. For this reason alone, Amy could be glad of having left their first destination behind. It was the only reason, though. To her surprise, it was not just James she missed, but also their rooms there and the friends they had made. Even the quaint routine of touring the sources and following it with breakfast had grown on her.
Hannah and their father stopped to measure the width of the walls, and Amy was left alone with Marianne. She decided to broach the subject on her mind. “You are glad to leave Spa, I believe. You seem to be.”
Her sister reflected on this before answering. “I truly enjoyed Spa. If only I were not afraid of running into Mr. Lambert at every turn, I would have been quite content to stay.”
“No one knows of what happened,” Amy reassured her. “No one but James and his friend Mr. Moreau, who is betrothed to our friend Rebecca. If she has chosen him for her husband, it speaks to his character.” Amy did not mention Mr. Gaetano, believing him to be the discreet man he had shown himself to be.
“I know that.” They picked their way over a border of collapsed stones with purple campanula growing from its cracks. “But Mr. Lambert is obviously aware, and I could not bear for him to give me thatknowinglook as he did the time I ran into him on the Promenade.”
In the end, it was the fear of repeating this experience that had caused the Bridwells to remain home the night before rather than going to hear the orchestra play on the Promenade de Sept-Heures. Amy slipped her arm through Marianne’s as they trailed behind their father and Hannah on the descent toward the carriage. They had seen everything there was to see.
“There is an inn that will serve us a light repast in the hamlet of Theux,” their father said, turning back in his steps to address them. “We can go on from there to Liège and arrive before nightfall.”
They agreed and returned to the carriage, with both Marianne and Amy lost in their thoughts, while Hannah applied again to her father to stay longer in Paris. She feared he would not be willing to ride back north following Aix-en-Provence as they would have come so close to the Italian border there. He appeared to be listening, but Amy knew from experience that this look could be deceiving.
At the inn, they requested a private room and were told it was being used by a newlywed couple but that they could be placed at the table located in the alcove next to it, which was tucked behind a slanted timber beam. There they would have a degree of privacy and a pretty view of the woods from their window. They approved the plan and went to sit, with Hannah and Mr. Bridwell by the window and Marianne and Amy closest to the alley leading to the private room.
They placed an order for tea for the three sisters and beer, which their father had grown fond of while in the Low Countries. The servant then brought out a plate of cheese and sausages, served with fresh bread and fruit. The fare was tasty and even managed to lift Amy’s spirits. She would see James again. Surely he would write to her without delay, and she would hear from him as soon as they reached Paris. He must have been held up by his baths that morning, which was why he had not come. And then, they had left earlier than planned.
They had only just begun to eat when Amy heard voices coming from inside the private room that sounded like the newlyweds were already engaging in a disagreement. She smiled to herself, hoping they would work things out, for fighting so soon in their marriage did not bode well for the future.
The voices grew louder, and though muted by the thick door, she discerned English words. She glanced at her sisters just before the door burst open, almost hitting Amy’s shoulder.
“We should have pushed on to Liège instead of stopping here.”
“It is not my fault for having no time to prepare for our journey. I did not know you had accepted to come until this morning—” The gentleman was now in full view of the public taproom and stopped short, appearing to realize he’d said more than was intended, especially as it gave their cloistered meeting a hint of the clandestine.
Amy had not recognized either of the angry voices and was facing away from the couple, but she knew something was wrongfrom the way Marianne’s face drained of all color. Startled, she turned and saw the back of a gentleman who, with his particular style of dress, was unmistakably Mr. Lambert. She peered around him and saw Miss Prexley rounding back on him, goaded by some grievance. Neither had perceived the Bridwells.
