Chapter 10 #3
Miss Prexley laughed. “Is that what you think? Why, when the weather is warm, there is all manner of things to do on the Promenade de Sept-Heures at night. There are musicals and theater shows. And those of us who are young might go up on the hills and talk or play games until late into the night.”
Amy was more shocked than intrigued by this news.
She could not see Marianne on the other side of Miss Prexley and wished her sister was walking on her own arm instead.
What kind of influence might the life here have on Marianne?
And even on Hannah, although she was of a more sober bent? “The games are outdoors—at night?”
“Well, only when it begins to grow warm,” Miss Prexley conceded.
“I see Papa and Hannah at the end of the row there,” Marianne said, slipping her arm from Miss Prexley’s. “Will you excuse me so I might tell them where we are?”
“By all means,” she said, waving her off. Amy was more than willing for her sister to go, relieved that she would not be learning of any form of entertainment that was not quite the thing.
When it was only the two of them, Amy continued her inquiry.
“Why must the games be outdoors, though? La Redoute has such a lovely interior, and I’ve heard that a new assembly hall is to open as well.
” Hannah had imparted this piece of news over their afternoon meal, claiming she had learned it from another friendly stranger at Pouhon that morning.
“Indeed there is to be. Waux-Hall is supposed to rival La Redoute in both dancing and cards.” She laughed.
“My father is quite displeased with this development, though. He was one of the early investors in La Redoute and fears that the new assembly hall will reduce his return. He has forbidden me to attend when it opens, but I shall not hold back from doing so.”
Miss Prexley stopped and reached down to remove a pebble from her shoe, then faced Amy.
Her cloak was open at the neck despite the cold, and a gold pendant hung upon her bosom.
With her fashionably shaped oval face, large eyes, and blond ringlets, she was extremely becoming.
Amy knew herself to be well-enough looking but suspected she looked haggard next to her.
Miss Prexley continued. “To answer your question, we often meet outdoors because the rooms in the hotels and private residences are beastly hot over the summer. There is nothing quite like the fresh air at night.” She breathed in and closed her eyes.
“The stars, the shadow of trees against the black sky, the sound of water rushing by in the creek. It is quite romantic.”
A flash of jealousy pierced Amy, and she looked away to hide the crease in her brows.
She and James had spent much of their courtship outdoors as well: in the picnics Mrs. Waiting organized, at the annual fair, and near the greenhouse and pond where their properties joined.
Was that how he had fallen in love with Miss Prexley?
By sitting next to her in the seductive pull of evening air?
Immediately, Amy took herself to task. No, she had no right to question James on how he conducted himself with other women.
A second, comforting thought followed—he had arrived at the end of last summer and would not likely have known her over the warm, summer months.
Amy decided to learn the most painful news at once so she might grow accustomed to the idea of James’s betrothal.
“How long did Mr. Fletcher pay you court before he offered for you?”
Miss Prexley wore a peculiar smile as she slowed her steps to examine Amy’s face.
“From the moment he arrived in Spa, although he fought against his feelings and did not begin pursuing me right away. As a matter of fact, and just between friends”—she moved forward again—“I was nearly set to marry Mr. MacFirbis. He is also extremely devoted to me and cannot help himself. He was long used to laying his heart at my feet and was incensed when James swept in at the last minute and won my father’s consent—and my heart. ”
The dull pain became a knife twisting in Amy’s own heart, and she asked quietly, “What happened?”
The path under their feet was a light gray gravel, and they turned on to the garden’s central path that led to the front entrance.
Miss Prexley stopped and faced the monastery at the opposite end.
“What happened is that Mr. MacFirbis, for all he is wealthy and inclined to give me anything I desire, is not as fine to look upon as Mr. Fletcher. And he is not set to inherit twelve thousand pounds as James is.”
A pause ensued as Amy digested this astonishing piece of information. Miss Prexley did not love James, then. She could not love him and say such a thing.
“I see.”
“Surely you must agree he is a well-looking man,” Miss Prexley said, her eyes fixing Amy’s in a way that made her feel trapped. “After all, you once had feelings for him.”
With Miss Prexley’s gaze so intent on her, Amy knew she would not be allowed to evade the question. She was, however, capable of keeping her own secrets. “My opinion is of no value. Mr. Fletcher is nothing to me now.”
Miss Prexley studied her for another moment, then lifted her head to look beyond her. Her face broke into a smile. “Why . . . here is my betrothed now.”