Chapter 15
James had already visited the celebrated farm of Annette and Lubin once—the ones whose folklore increased after author Marmontel wrote a moral tale about them.
The pique-nique last autumn had been less idyllic than the famed description had promised, but James had been ready to be charmed and was.
He gladly accepted Morry’s suggestion to go and was gratified when his friend extended the invitation to Isabel.
He was looking forward to the chance for his friend and future wife to grow their acquaintance.
Now that the day had arrived, there was none of the lightness he had hoped for because of the interview he had just had. This had brought more than a sense of anger; it had brought unexpected pain.
That morning, Annette—not the celebrated Annette of the farm, but the humble Annette of the laundering services—returned his freshly laundered clothes and surprised him by handing him a letter and explaining in French, “Please forgive me, monsieur, for I don’t mean to be stepping above my station.
I discovered this letter in the pocket of Mademoiselle Prexley’s gown when I laundered it this week, and her maid has not returned to settle the bill.
I feared it might be urgent. May I give it into your care?
” Annette had been solicitous of him since he had treated her elbow, although she was careful not to overstep.
The subject of his upcoming marriage was not unknown to her.
He glanced down at the letter addressed to Isabel in a masculine scrawl.
It was not done by a hand he recognized, and the sight of it gave him an odd feeling.
Although he trusted Annette’s intentions, he wondered if she was trying to give him a message about his betrothed.
He looked up at her and received nothing but an open expression in return.
“Thank you. I will see that she receives it.”
When the washerwoman left, he sat and examined the letter, whose seal had already been broken.
He hesitated mere seconds before deciding he would read it.
After all, if she was receiving letters from an unknown gentleman, he had a right to know as her future husband.
The missive was brief, its contents dated three days prior.
Chère Isabel,
I simply must speak to you. You have certainly accepted both my gift and my kisses willingly enough. But now you are holding me off, and I can no longer eat or sleep. Meet me in the Capuchin gardens on Thursday in the area we both know. I shall want my answer then.
Yours in agony, M—
A sudden surge of anger seized James, and he resisted his first urge to crumple the letter in a ball and throw it into the fire.
The letter, too detailed for him to believe Isabel innocent, offended all honor.
It spoke of kisses and gifts and rendezvous spots known to them both.
Unless it was written by a deranged man who conjured attachment out of thin air, Isabel was being unfaithful to him—and this when they had yet to marry.
He did not love her. He supposed he’d thought he did when he proposed, but now knew with a certainty he did not.
His entire courtship had been carried out with an object in view—to earn his place in Spa and secure his future.
Any thoughts of seeking a true companion, one whom he could love and cherish, had been a secondary plan.
After the pain of ending things with Amy all those years ago, James had settled on marriage for practical purposes as being the logical next step.
He might not love Isabel, but he was hurt and angry all the same. He did not like being treated the fool.
And although he knew he needed to address the situation, it was not a simple matter of finding the opportune time to do so. He suspected once he and Isabel spoke, the discussion would grow heated, and this could not be done in public view.
The carriage bumped and lurched over the rough incline, with Morry and Isabel carrying on an unspoken truce for his sake, he supposed.
James scarcely responded to the commonplaces as he wrestled with how he was to confront Isabel with what he had learned.
She did not appear to notice his unhappiness—or if she did, she only grew more voluble.
Morry, however, darted him more than one glance.
Although James had still not decided how or when to confront Isabel by the time they arrived, he had the letter in his pocket and would wait to see what opportunity he was given.
He exited Morry’s carriage before turning to help Isabel alight. She looked at him inquisitively as she set her hand in his but did not push him to express his thoughts. James stayed in place to help Morry, but his friend swatted his hand away.
It was a perfect day for the pastoral luncheon, even if one could not feel quite certain the weather would hold. James was far from entering into the spirit of the occasion and stared unseeing at the guests already gathered, his mind on the letter.
Morry stopped to speak to his groom as the Ferrins’ carriage pulled up behind them.
James greeted them, then brought Isabel on his arm to the tables laid out and took in the assembled crowd.
His eyes landed on MacFirbis first and narrowed in speculation.
There was no doubt that he was the “M” who was attempting to woo Isabel from underneath his nose.
The day, already promising to be an unpleasant one considering his upcoming confrontation, only soured.
Behind MacFirbis were Lambert and Gruber, who had been spending increasing time in each others’ company.
James’s eyes skirted to the first carriage in the line and came to rest on Amy helping her father out.
She was not looking at him, but Hannah was.
She gave the ghost of a smile and curtsied before meeting Isabel’s gaze and repeating the curtsy.
Morry had moved over to the Bridwell carriage from the other side.
Now he appeared from the front, escorting Miss Bainesworth on one arm and using his cane with his other hand.
At least the day had brought this boon for his friend.
Amy finally turned her head in James’s direction and smiled, though it didn’t reach her eyes.
Like her sister, she also greeted Isabel from afar with a curtsy.
It served to remind him of how well-mannered she was, how good.
None of the Bridwell sisters were the type to snub another lady—or be unfaithful to the man they were betrothed to.
Lubin raised his hands and welcomed the assembled guests, indicating the benches and two tables that had been set out for them.
As everyone moved in that direction, James wished Isabel had not held on to his arm so tightly.
Of all the times for her to abandon the opportunity to be the center of attention and cling to him, it had to be today, when he could scarcely speak a civil word to her.
He must be certain beyond the shadow of a doubt that she was a willing participant in the assignation, but something told him she was.
The evidence in the letter was damning, and even if it weren’t, how else would another man have enough confidence to write such a letter to an engaged woman?
And if the letter had been of no account, would she not have told James of it?
Or discarded it? No, the fact that she had kept it meant the letter held some importance for her.
But there were other things to consider beyond simply confronting Isabel.
Although such direct proof would release him from his obligation to marry her, he could not feel any relief over the freedom it would provide.
He did not yet have a solution for how he was to earn a living now if he did not marry Mr. Prexley’s daughter.
The physician would never turn his patients over to James upon his retirement and would very likely destroy James’s reputation in Spa, for he had even more prominence than Mr. Hughes or Mr. Vroomen.
And of course, there was still the unpleasant business of breaking things off with Isabel.
The table arrangement appeared haphazard, but given that James had seen the princess speaking to Lubin, he suspected it was orchestrated.
The two children he had learned were the princess’s went off to eat with the servants on the grass.
At his table were seated Miss Marianne, the Ferrins, Lambert, Isabel, the princess, and MacFirbis.
Amy’s family party was broken up by Mr. Gruber and contained the more pleasant company of Miss Ferrin, the Polish scholar Mr. Batowski, Miss Bainesworth, and Morry.
Isabel chose the spot on the bench right next to James, and he moved over to make room.
It would not do to give in to his first instinct and send her away.
Lubin brought out beer for the gentlemen and lemonade for the ladies.
Following this came the platters of food.
The cheeses were all made of sheep’s and goat’s milk, and the fruits were strawberries, cherries, and early apricots.
They ate off of humble ceramic plates that held the thick slices of bread.
A balmy breeze lifted a lock of hair that had fallen on James’s forehead, and the sun declared itself the temporary victor over the clouds.
He would have enjoyed the moment immensely were it not for the fact that his need to confront Isabel shrouded every thought.
Perhaps he should propose they return on foot.
He tried to remember what sort of shoes she was wearing but could not recall.
It would be a simple matter of asking Morry if he would not mind going back alone.
Or perhaps Miss Bainesworth might accept to switch carriages?
No, James thought, he would not play matchmaker. He would be an ill hand at it.