Chapter 13
James suffered from a troubled conscience.
It had come upon him slowly in the weeks Amy had been in Spa and had been strengthened when he had seen her in the Parc de Quatre-Heures.
He was coming to the conviction that he had not done right by her all those years ago.
After the shock of their first meetings, he was left to sort through what could have brought her to Spa and back into his sphere.
In those encounters, he had viewed himself in the light of the party wronged.
After all, it was what he had strongly believed the night of Mrs. Waiting’s ball, and nothing in the course of the years following it had altered his perception.
Had he not proposed to her? Had he not defied his father and offered Amy his heart and his hand despite all obstacles?
He had! And she had repaid him by calling his plan foolish and then publicly accepting to marry another man.
However, James was becoming increasingly dissatisfied over the way he had handled the affair of his youth.
There was an element of injustice, he found, when he looked back on his accusation and treatment of her.
He could now own that she had been waylaid by the announcement the night of Mrs. Waiting’s ball.
Even a woman twice as forthright as she would have found such public pressure difficult to counter, and Amy had always possessed a reserved nature.
James had never admitted to her, or even to himself, that the predicament she had found herself in had been difficult to overcome.
And he had never apologized for giving up so easily. The hurt he felt six years ago had caused him to act in a hotheaded manner, and in the impetuousness of youth, he had shoved her entirely out of his mind. Now, having had some years to mature, he had come to view the situation differently.
It would be good to apologize to Amy, he decided. He could not repair the past, but it would bring a sense of closure to the attachment he had shared with her. With this done, he could move forward and build a life in Spa with his betrothed.
Isabel wore his pendant whenever he saw her, but the memory of their conversation in the Capuchin garden removed any contentment he might otherwise feel.
Her supposed jest that she was waiting for his great-aunt Mary to die had been the most offensive, but even her request for another piece of jewelry after he had just bestowed one upon her had been difficult to swallow.
He had to remember that she was still young and deserved forbearance until she matured.
The fact that she scarcely traveled outside of Spa had left her with insecurity, he reasoned, which likely caused her to act in such a way.
If he treated her with more attention, she was likely to outgrow this.
Their friendship and intimacy would surely deepen with careful cultivation, would it not?
James decided he would attempt to spend more time with Isabel and see if they might begin working toward a greater understanding.
He was on the point of leaving his rooms and going to La Redoute to that end.
If she was not there, he would seek out the company of gentlemen and perhaps a game of cards.
The light repast taken in his own rooms might be a frugal choice, but with no patients to visit, he was eager for company.
When he exited onto the street, Morry was just reaching the entrance to his inn. He smiled when he saw James. “The very man I came to find.”
“I am glad to hear it, for I was going out in search of some amusement.” James pushed the door closed. “What is it?”
Morry gestured in the direction of the watermill at the base of the H?tel Waldeck.
“My aunt and uncle have a carriage waiting near the bridge to take us to visit Waux-Hall, if you are so inclined. They have invested in the project and are to be given a tour of the nearly finished hall. I thought you’d like to come. ”
“I would indeed.” James adjusted his pace at Morry’s side. “I cross the hall nearly every day on my way back from the sources. If the inside is as pleasing as its exterior, I believe it will become very popular.”
“More divertissements in Spa must always be welcome, I suppose.”
They reached the carriage, and James greeted Mr. and Mrs. Dearden, Morry’s aunt and uncle, with whom he had exchanged words only a handful of times.
They spoke of the thaw in the weather and how the Promenade de Sept-Heures was likely to resume its evening concerts soon.
This led to speculation on how frequently there would be outdoor concerts now that there was a new assembly hall.
The carriage circled around the back of Waux-Hall and drove along the curved, treelined driveway, depositing them under the covered passageway.
James helped Mrs. Dearden to alight and followed the older couple through the nearest doorway.
Sounds of other visitors echoed from within the empty hall, and they walked toward it, stopping at the foot of a large wooden stairwell with a decorative iron balustrade. Two gentlemen stood beside it.
“Mesdames et messieurs!”
One of the men called everyone’s attention and waited until the groups milling in other rooms returned to the main hall.
Miss Bainesworth appeared through one doorway, followed by Marianne.
James’s heart stilled at the sight of the latter, for it meant Amy might also have come.
When she entered the hall last, their eyes locked.
“Mesdames et messieurs,” the gentleman said again.
“As promised, we will begin the tour of Waux-Hall, a privileged early view for those with enough foresight to invest in this excellent establishment, and for their particular friends. You must not expect all the rooms to be ready in time for the June twelfth opening. We will pass through them, but our attention will be centered on the ballroom, which is nearly completed.”
James glanced at Amy again, but she had her eyes on the speaker. Neither Mr. Bridwell nor Hannah was present. Perhaps he would be given a chance to speak to her here. It seemed as good a place as any, for it was away from the prying eyes of her father and Isabel.
“Allow me to present to you the architect of Waux-Hall,” the man continued. “Monsieur Renoz.” There was a polite round of applause as a middle-aged man with a prominent nose and youthful expression stepped forward.
“Je vous remercie,” he said before switching over to an accented English as he invited them to step outside in front of the assembly hall. They followed dutifully, piling outdoors, where a balmy temperature and timid sun greeted them.
The crowd had separated naturally into groups, and James found himself close enough to Amy that he could move toward her without it appearing to be by design.
He stepped to her side and smiled. “Were you invited through Miss Bainesworth’s connections?”
She nodded, then inclined her head to Lady Spencer. “Her mother is there speaking to her friend, who is the largest investor in the project. And you?”
“Mr. Moreau’s aunt and uncle extended the invitation.”
The architect called their attention to the front edifice, and as James was unsure how he was to continue with what he wished to say to Amy, he focused his attention to the features Mr. Renoz was indicating.
The area in front of the edifice had a neat lawn and circular courtyard, and the whole was surrounded by spruce and elm trees.
The building’s central pavilion protruded and was flanked by ornamental turrets, its walls curving back to attach to recessed annexes on both sides.
The architect explained how he had designed the construction with a theme of three, as both the central pavilion and the two annexes had three windows on each floor, even if those in the middle were much larger.
After adding that he would be building a wing on the right side and covering it in white stucco to match the facade, he gestured for the crowd to follow him back inside.
“We have not had much occasion to speak since the night at La Redoute,” James said, staying resolutely at Amy’s side. “I was wondering how you are enjoying Spa.”
Her smile reached her eyes, much like how she had once been with him.
“I like it very much. It is human-sized, if you understand what I mean. There is a comfortable variety of things to do and enough interesting people. I cannot help but think one does not easily grow bored here. What is it like in the winter?”
James thought about the winter months as they entered the curved wooden door on the left annex. “I have been focused on building my bathing structure at the Tonnelet—it is one of the sources—which meant I did not participate in many things of a social nature this past winter.”
They returned to the main hall, crossing in front of a statue of Minerva, the goddess of wisdom, and he added, “Spa is quieter in those months, though. La Redoute reduces the number of assemblies it holds since few prominent families remain throughout the winter. Entertainment is achieved in a more private setting among friends.”
“I see.”
The architect called their attention to the fresco on the ceiling of the main hall, which showed three women reclining on a sunlit cloud, each playing an instrument or holding a laurel wreath.
The painting was airy with luminous yellow-and-cream clouds and a lovely blue for the sky.
At the clouds’ base was Cupid with his bow drawn, an arrow pointing straight at them.
James studied Amy as she looked up at it.
“We will climb these stairs to reach the ballroom,” Mr. Renoz said as he led the way.
After climbing a few steps, Amy remarked, “Waux-Hall has a different feel to it than La Redoute. It is beautiful and elegant in its way, but with the smaller size it seems somehow more intimate.”
“Perhaps the ballroom has some surprises in store for us,” he said, allowing her to walk closest to the decorative iron railing as they went up.
The wooden steps, which curved in the middle, were broad enough to allow five people to climb abreast. He was determined to speak to her about his regrets and not lose this opportunity, but he hardly knew how to begin and once again remained silent.
At the top, the architect led them through the spacious vestibule and through the grand arches that gave access into the main ballroom.
This, James thought, equaled even La Redoute in elegance, despite its more intimate size.
Four marble chimneys graced the four corners, each decorated with ornate medallions and mirrors that tricked the eye and doubled the room in size.
Chandeliers would light the paintings on the ceiling at night, and people murmured their approval as they turned to admire the room’s entirety.
“The célèbre Mr. Henri Duprez himself painted the ceiling,” Mr. Renoz announced, then began to point out the gods and goddesses of Olympia grouped on imposing clouds. It seemed as though the painter, in his zeal, had included every last one of the Roman deities.
James decided that he would have to make his own opportunity, and he touched Amy’s arm and stepped back from the others, indicating that he wished to say something. She stepped back with him.
His breath hitched when their gazes locked again. It must have been from nerves. “I hope you are not too interested in what the architect is saying, for I have something of a confidential nature I wished to say to you.”
She glanced around the room before answering. Others were speaking quietly in groups, but the majority of the people listened to Mr. Renoz. “You may tell me what it is you wished to say.”
“Right.” He swallowed. It was better to be out with it. “I have come to the conclusion that I owe you an apology, Miss Bridwell.”
Her brows furrowed, and she gave a tiny shake of her head. “I do not follow. For what?”
Mr. Renoz was now leading the crowd to the farthest fresco, which contained Minerva, Mars, and Hercules, explaining how Hercules was clothed in the lion skin of Nemea. They would not be overheard.
“I have reproached you these years when I should not have.” Although her eyes were steady on his, he could see she did not understand, and it forced him to continue.
“I have always laid the blame for the end of our courtship at your feet, for I considered myself to have fought for our future in my willingness to defy both of our families while you did not. I was angry that you accepted Mr. Bromley’s suit, and it caused me to shut you out entirely.
That is why I never inquired after you, when I would have learned that you had ended the betrothal. ”
She looked away, saying softly, “I do not hear an apology.”
Invoking their past brought to the surface emotions he had long suppressed. It was not easy, but it was true he had not apologized.
“I did not consider the difficulty you would have faced in rejecting the public proposal at the time. You were young and have always been concerned with keeping your father happy, besides.”
The architect’s voice boomed in the empty room as Mr. Renoz pointed to the largest fresco in the center, which featured a bearded Jupiter. A few people glanced back their way. James would have to bring their confidences to an end if he did not wish to draw remark. He turned back to Amy.
“Although it is too late to remedy the situation, I feel compelled to apologize for giving up on our courtship—on you—so easily.”
Amy pinched her lips together and cast her gaze down. He saw her throat bob as she swallowed. “You left without a word and did not write. You did not inquire after me again. I can only draw the conclusion, then as now, that I was unimportant to you.”
His spirit went into revolt at her words, but he could not show her even a fraction of what he felt—of what he had felt for her—now that he was engaged and it was all in the past.
“You were important to me. I did not show it because I assumed when you accepted Mr. Bromley that my feelings were not returned. I was hurt,” he said. She nodded once, silent. “I hope you will make allowances for a man’s pride.”
“I do.” She glanced at Mr. Renoz, who was leading the crowd forward to the smaller salon on the opposite end of the ballroom. “I forgive you, James. You may rest easy and marry Miss Prexley in good conscience.”
She had called him by his Christian name as she once had.
Amy moved forward to join the crowd, and James stayed where he was, frozen with feelings he could not identify.
She had been perfectly gracious. She had accepted his apology and seemed to understand his motivations at the time.
Now, as she said, he could marry Isabel with his conscience clear. Then why did he feel so dissatisfied?