“We are in Theux. Someone might see us here,” she said.
“Come back to the room,” Mr. Lambert suggested through gritted teeth. “Let us carry on this conversation in private or someonewill.”
Amy turned to face her sister. A brief silence followed, then she heard them retracing their steps toward the refuge of their private room. Mr. Lambert stopped short just before entering, his regard fixed on Marianne. She raised her chin, eyes narrowing, challenging him to say something.
“What—” Miss Prexley snapped before she turned and saw the Bridwells. A momentary flash of chagrin lit her face before this was hidden, and she pulled herself upright. “Oh, are you visiting the château? We are meant to do the same but have not at all planned our itinerary.”
Amy looked at her steadily without deigning a reply, and two spots of color appeared on Miss Prexley’s cheeks. She gave up attempting to fabricate and marched back into the private room with Mr. Lambert on her heels, slamming the door behind them. Mr. Bridwell raised his eyebrows and took a drink from the tankard.
“I am not sure they mean to return to Spa,” Hannah whispered. “Her intended—I mean her intended after James—was ruined last night and has left posthaste. She can hardly go off with Mr. Lambert alone and return to Spa with her reputation intact.”
“Perhaps we ought not to speculate,” Amy said gently, her eyes still on Marianne. She worried how her sister was taking this unexpected encounter. “Although it is true I do not think either will return, at least not today or any time soon.”
“Can we leave?” Marianne asked. They had hardly touched their meal, but Amy could understand her unwillingness to staywhen Mr. Lambert must pass by their table again if he wished to go out. Any further time spent where they were increased the risk that he would do so while they were still sitting here.
Marianne looked at her father. “Can we return to Spa for the night and choose a different direction?” she pleaded in hushed tones. “I don’t think I can face going to Liège when I am not sure who we will see there.”
Their father agreed to this with surprisingly little resistance. “That is a very reasonable solution, my dear. Perhaps I was too hasty in leaving Spa, but I did not wish to see you suffering anymore. Amy, do inform the innkeeper that we will not be finishing our meal. Do you have money enough?”
“Yes, Papa.” She went to discharge the bill, hardly knowing what to think about this development. Hardly allowing herself to contemplate the fact that in going back, she would see James again. Even if it was only for another day or two while they made plans, there would be a proper leave-taking, and she would have a better idea of how he felt.
Mr. Bridwell informed a stoic Ambrose of where they were headed, and they piled into the coach with the valet climbing up on the box seat next to the groom. They started out, and their father sank back into the squabs with a placid look on his face. “Waux-Hall opens tonight.”
This announcement was met with a considering silence. Amy had pushed the event out of her mind with their departure, but now she saw that if they hurried to dress, they would have time to go to it.
“Will we attend?” Hannah asked, a small smile lighting her face. “I did wish to. I only hope our gowns will not be too wrinkled from having been packed.”
“Of course we must attend. All of Spa will be there.” Mr. Bridwell folded his arms, closed his eyes, and sighed. “Once I spotted the kestrel flying above the artillery tower, I should have known we would have to abandon our journey for the day.”
James dressed for Waux-Hall with a heavy heart, still grieved with himself for not putting off his other engagements so he might see Amy before she left—for not going straight from the Tonnelet to her without even stopping in his rooms. He walked to Waux-Hall, although the distance was a little more than a mile. A warm breeze flitted through the branches and carried the smell of linden blossoms as he joined the progression of other members of society, eager to see inside the new assembly hall. The opening ball was held late by Spa standards. Night had not yet fallen, but dusk was approaching.
He had dressed with discretion, and it felt more like himself. He still wore the new coats Isabel had coaxed him into purchasing but settled on plain buckles on his shoes. And his hair was free from the constraints of the wig, his thick locks tied back with a dark blue ribbon. He decided that nothing but the need to present himself at court would compel him to wear one again.
He reached the iron fence, and the crowds filed through the three open points of entry, the center of which was a double gate. The tall mullioned windows on the upper floor provided a clear view of the candlelit ballroom, where some were already circling within, presumably admiring the decorations there. Few had been privileged enough to see the new hall before it opened as he had.
James hardly heard or noticed the people around him. The knowledge that Amy was not here brought a powerful sense of loss. This dispiriting thought trailed him into the cardroom, which held only two gentlemen sitting down to a quiet game of piquet. It seemed the others were all too intrigued by the newness of the ballroom to wish for play—or they had been made wary by MacFirbis’s misfortune and found the temptation easy to resist.
James returned to the main hall and looked up at the frescoabove the stairwell, his eyes landing on Cupid, whose stretched bow pointed its arrow straight at him.
“Yes, yes, you have done your part,” James muttered at the mischievous winged god, remembering how far he had come since the last time he was here. “But I cannot seem to do mine.”
He followed the crowds up the curved staircase and through the vestibule directly to the ballroom. Morry and Miss Bainesworth stood on the other end of it, but they looked happy, and he did not wish to disturb them with his morose state of mind. There were others he was on nodding terms with, but none he could call a friend. He came to a halt in front of the decorative pilasters between two arches, questioning whether he wanted to be there or whether he should give it up and return to his rooms. Two women walked in front of him speaking at full volume, their words easy to decipher.
“Mr. Lambert has run offas wellas Mr. Gruber, and Miss Prexley is nowhere to be found. You will see that her father does not come tonight from the shame of it. Mark my words, she has run off with Lambert. Clara saw them exiting one of the alcoves together in the Capuchin gardens yesterday. They hadevidentlybeen engaged in a rendezvous there.”
James went still as the import of the words reached him. Despite everything, it was difficult to believe Isabel could be capable of such foolishness—that she would be willing to ruin her own reputation simply because she could not settle on one suitor. His mind went back to the letter the washerwoman had given him. Its author had signed it with anMthat James had always assumed was for MacFirbis. But Lambert’s first name was Matthieu, and if anyone were to pen such a passionate missive, it must be him. James shook his head, not wanting to think about Isabel anymore.
The women moved on, and others took their place near him, speaking of inconsequential matters. He felt lost in a sea of frivolity and frowned. What was he doing alone like this, not even making a push for his future? It was not that he envied Lambertor wished to take a page out of the man’s book. But when had he become such a dull dog? All duty and honor but no passion? He remembered Morry’s words and glanced over at him now.
“Well, if I can get thedaughter of a baron to agree to be my wife when I cannot even walk down the street without theassistance of a cane, you can surely find a wayto convince Miss Bridwell to be yours.”
Why had he let Amy leave again without even making an attempt to convince her to stay—or, more to the point, why wasn’t he searching for a way to marry her despite the obstacles, as he had done all those years ago? His mind now turned over Mr. Vroomen’s words from earlier that day.
“My advice to you is not to spend too much time waiting for the perfectconditions to fall into place before you begin pursuing matters of the heart. Those do not always wait.”
James blinked as the words resounded in his mind. The conversations around him became an unintelligible din as clarity struck. He should not be here, not without Amy. He could not bear another assembly of talking and dancing without a sight of her, without being able to speak to her, to hug her. ... In fact, he could not bear another day without Amy in it. He simplyhadto find a way to marry her, even if it meant knocking on every door in Spa with the offer of his services.
His breath quickened with the realization, and a new determination seized him. He would go after her tonight. With any luck, he would reach Liège before they left it. He would beg Mr. Bridwell for his approval if he had to. He hoped he wouldn’t have to use her dowry in the early months until he had a living and would do everything to avoid it. But if it came to that, he would pay back every shilling into a trust for their future children so Amy knew without a doubt he had married her for her sake alone. Only that she would be in his life and at his side.
