Chapter 7
James offered his arm to Amy, and after a brief hesitation, she curled her hand around it. Such a simple gesture brought back a flood of memories, but he wrestled the accompanying feelings into submission. What they once shared was impossible now.
He led her toward the entrance near where Mr. Gaetano welcomed newcomers.
A small group of people congregated in the open landing near the stairwell to take air.
The ballroom was beginning to grow warm, but he imagined it was nothing like it would become on hot summer nights.
He had not been in Spa long enough to experience it, having arrived in autumn along with the cooler weather.
They found a space on the covered perimeter that was thin of crowds, and Amy looked up to study the decorated entablature, then behind her at the white-and-gold-papered walls between the colonnades.
James allowed himself to gaze at her fully before realizing that she probably felt his regard and was embarrassed by it.
He did not quite know how to begin. There was so much to say.
“You cannot imagine my shock at seeing you here.” When she dropped her gaze, he went on. “I had thought you married and living in Kent.”
Her face had regained its natural color underneath the powder, but he could still detect a dainty blush on her cheeks.
To stand once again in her presence shook him from his usual composure.
He had never inquired after Amy once he’d left his father’s house.
With his father so against the match, it would only set him up for ridicule.
Besides, she had had a chance to break off the betrothal in the three weeks before he left on tour but had not done so.
“No. I informed Mr. Bromley that I could not marry him in the end.” She did not elaborate, a frustrating tendency of hers. James was left wanting to know more.
“I had thought you did not wish to travel to the Continent. I distinctly remember you saying as much.” His remark sounded petulant, but that could not be helped.
“Once my father had fixed his mind on the tour, I had no choice in the matter,” she explained.
“Or at least, no solution presented itself to me. I have no family close enough in affection to encumber with my prolonged visit, and my father and sisters needed someone to see to the practical matters of the journey.”
“I see.”
So Amy had remained a servant to her family.
Little has changed, he thought bitterly.
He looked across the room and caught sight of Isabel, who watched him from the tiered platform where she sat with Amy’s sisters.
She turned away. If he were to have a harmonious betrothal, he would have to be careful not to give her cause for jealousy.
Even a hint of it would upset the already precarious timbre of their relationship.
“What have you been doing in the years since we last met?” Amy’s voice brought him back to the sweet nostalgia of youth and softened the sour feelings that had sprung up. She had not lost her gentleness. “Have you spent the entire time on the Continent?”
“No, not the entire time. It is a long story, I suppose. After our final meeting . . .” James deemed this an unpropitious beginning and started again.
“As you know, I left England for the tour my great-aunt was kind enough to arrange for me.” He refrained from adding, “The one I invited you on, although you would have none of it.” Expressionless, she confirmed this with a nod, and he continued.
“I went to Paris and then to Venice and Rome. On my return, I traveled through Geneva and Vienna. There was nothing at home to rush back to after . . . Well, Adam was training to run the estate, so I was not needed. I continued to visit the Continental cities until I grew weary of being away from England.”
“I heard nothing of your returning to Kent. But I suppose that could not be surprising given that our families are not on intimate terms.” Amy’s words were carefully chosen, at variance with how she waved her fan loosely with one hand.
He wondered whether she had looked out for him and now wished fruitlessly that he had asked after her.
Mrs. Waiting would not have despised him for inquiring.
While he contemplated this, she continued.
“I heard your parents moved to Tunbridge Wells.”
“Indeed they did. I visited them there, then decided to travel straight through to Edinburgh instead of returning to Kent.” He also chose his words with caution, not wishing to reveal how hurt he had been.
“Ah.” She nodded and withdrew into herself. A silence fell.
“Why did you wait so long to end the betrothal?” he asked suddenly.
Amy lifted her head, her eyes revealing her surprise. He had truly not meant to ask that. After all, it made little difference now.
She faced forward without returning an immediate answer, and he dragged his eyes from the stylish curl resting over one shoulder. Her powder was scented with some fresh blend of flowers that suited her. She licked her lips.
“As you know, the courtship was entirely my father’s idea, but it was not an easy thing to make my objections heard.
It went further than I intended, and the announcement came as a surprise.
I finally had to address Mr. Bromley directly to be heard, and even then, more than once.
” Amy paused, not meeting his gaze. “Might you procure something for me to drink? My throat is dry.”
“Of course.” His spirits had plunged at her recital.
The ordeal would have been uncomfortable for her.
He stepped forward until he spotted a servant carrying a tray of glasses, his mind dwelling on the painful image of Amy attempting to pull out of an unwanted betrothal.
His conscience rebuked him; he should have done something at the time rather than simply leave.
He signaled the servant over and handed the chilled glass of white wine to her. She sipped it.
“How was it that your father was confident enough of your acceptance to make a public announcement without informing you of it beforehand?” This had plagued him on his travels.
Surely Mr. Bridwell had had cause to be certain of her acceptance or he would not have made the surprise announcement at the ball.
“Every time I attempted to broach the subject of the betrothal with my father, he changed the topic so deftly I could not manage to make my wishes heard. He must have taken my reticence as acquiescence, although I do not believe he would make the same mistake again.”
“But then why did you not object that night? Or break off the engagement immediately afterward?” He had never been able to understand it and had only drawn the conclusion that she had been a willing party.
That she was a woman who would marry for convenience rather than love.
After all, Mr. Bromley had one point in his favor. He was not living on expectations.
“How could I do so? Every set of eyes was on me that night.” She looked at him reproachfully.
“And afterward, my father remained deaf to my attempts to explain my wishes. It was not any different with Mr. Bromley. It was as though I did not exist. As though I was speaking to the air. I had no choice but to continue until it truly grew too unbearable . . .”
She had been weak.
“I cannot understand your dragging such a thing out. Marriage is final.” His outrage escaped in a whispered hiss.
“Do I not know it? But my decision to marry”—she challenged him with her gaze before turning to stare ahead—“or not to marry should not concern you. After all, we broke all ties and have not communicated since. You did not write.”
Did not write? How could he have? He tugged her arm until she faced him, then gently removed her empty glass from her hand before he caused her to drop it, already regretting his show of passion.
He spoke his next words with great deliberation.
“A man does not write to a woman engaged to someone else. You should have let me know your heart was free.”
Amy stilled, her lips drawing into a firm line. “A woman does not send letters to a gentleman who has not invited her to such intimacy and in fact has left her without a word.”
If she had said, “to a gentleman with whom one does not have an understanding,” he would have had a ready retort, for they had surely had an understanding.
But to this he could make no answer. He had left her with the belief that he was indifferent to her fate.
After a moment, he lifted his finger to a passing servant and numbly placed the empty glass on the tray. A silence fell, and she broke it.
“Besides, I hardly think your father or anyone in your family would have given your direction to me had I asked. Without it, I would not have known how to reach you.”
They both went silent as the minuet being danced to Handel’s Water Music came to a flourishing finish.
It would take time to make sense of this shift in perspective of how his affair with Amy had ended.
Even if she had pulled out of the betrothal earlier, he would still have needed to leave for his tour.
After all, how could he have languished on her doorstep in Kent with no independent wealth or profession—and this against his father’s approval—hoping that a source of income would suddenly present itself?
Only a wastrel would do such a thing. At least by going on tour he had pleased his father and great-aunt.
Had things been different, with his continued education and profession, he could have applied for her hand again with more to offer.
Alas, such ruminating was futile, for it was all too late.
The couples were leaving the floor open for the next set. He glanced at her, but there was nothing else that could possibly be said at this point.
“Shall we take our places?”