Chapter 16
After having taken leave of Miss Bainesworth, Morry walked toward James, leaning on his cane, a buoyant look on his face. Although James had plenty of his own problems, he could not help but smile at the sight.
“You appear more cheerful than you did when we arrived,” he observed. “Might I inquire into the reasons for that?”
“You may not,” Morry said. “But I am indeed more cheerful.”
“Good!” He slowed his pace as he accompanied Morry to the carriage. “Isabel and I will not be returning with you. We will walk, as there is something we must discuss.”
Morry halted his steps and turned to face James, his gaze searching. “I thought something was not quite right with you today. Might I inquire into the reasons for that?”
Despite the circumstances, James saw the humor in having his question thrown back at him. And Morry had become a good friend in the short time they had known each other. If this were the sort of thing men discussed, he would share it with him.
“You may not.”
They walked toward the row of carriages, which had been joined by a fourth. Mr. Batowski was assisting the princess into his carriage, and her children scrambled in after her. The Bridwells stood beside theirs, along with Miss Bainesworth, whom he surmised had come with them.
“Why do you not invite Miss Bainesworth to ride in the carriage with you, since we are not to avail ourselves of it?”
Morry sent him a look, his eyebrow cocked. “I had not thought you to play matchmaker.”
James laughed. “Far be it from me to attempt such a thing. Still, I believe I shall propose the idea before the Bridwells’ carriage departs.”
“Because I move too slowly? Thank you for throwing that in my face,” Morry called from behind.
James smiled to himself as he headed toward Miss Bainesworth and Amy. They had just bid farewell to Miss Ferrin and her parents, who were sending their carriage off to return on foot.
He stopped in front of Miss Bainesworth, for some reason unable to meet Amy’s gaze. “Miss Prexley and I have given up our seats in the carriage with Mr. Moreau. Would you care to take our place?”
Only then did he allow himself to look at Amy, but she had moved over to her family carriage and was speaking with Hannah, who was about to climb in. He turned back to Miss Bainesworth. “One carriage is nearly empty and the other full to bursting,” he coaxed with a smile.
A tiny crease appeared between her brows as Morry arrived at James’s side. “I do not wish to trouble Mr. Moreau. I can walk with the Ferrins, if it is any trouble.”
“Please do not leave me to the solitude of my thoughts,” Morry protested. “If you would be more at ease, we might ask one of the Miss Bridwells to ride with us as well.”
“Oh no, it is not that,” Miss Bainesworth said. “I am perfectly at ease in your company, and I should not like to divide their family.”
“It is settled, then,” James said, glancing over at Amy, who was now helping her father into the carriage. “I will inform the Bridwells of the change in plans.” It was only an excuse, but it allowed him to take a proper leave of Amy.
When he arrived at her side, she stopped and faced him. There was something difficult to read in her expression.
“Forgive me for interrupting,” he said. “I wished to tell you that Miss Bainesworth will be traveling in Mr. Moreau’s carriage, so you need not wait for her.”
“Thank you, Mr. Fletcher.” Her face was tinged pink, and she didn’t quite meet his gaze. It bothered him to hear her formal tone, which matched the formal address.
“Look.” Marianne had gone to thank Annette and Lubin and now arrived at their side. She indicated the Ferrins walking toward the wooded path. “Josephine and her parents are returning to town on foot. Do let me go and join them.”
Amy peered at the group across the grassy plateau, and James followed her gaze. Lambert had already started ahead with MacFirbis and Gruber and was no longer in sight. The risk of Marianne being importuned by them appeared minimal. Amy must have thought so too because she nodded.
“Hurry, then, before they are out of sight. Please give me a signal that they will accompany you to the hotel.”
Marianne darted off, running as though she were still a girl. Her calash with the firm rim fell backward still tied around her neck, and it bounced off her back in her haste, but she paid it no heed. James used the ensuing pause to take his leave.
“Good day, Miss Bridwell.” He turned to her father and sister and bid them both farewell as Marianne reached the group nearing the trees. She turned back to Amy with a broad smile and lifted her hand in a wave, nodding yes.
“Good day, Mr. Fletcher,” Amy replied and climbed into the carriage, shutting the door.
He had no choice but to leave and face the unpleasant task before him. By the time he had reached Isabel, she was now standing alone by the tables, her mouth drawn in displeasure.
“I thought you wished to talk to me, James. Yet here you are speaking to Miss Bridwell. Is she the one you wish you were marrying?”
“Come, let us walk,” James said, ignoring the outburst, his spirits plagued and heavy.
The relationship, which had once seemed reasonable, now felt glaringly wrong.
How had he ever thought a marriage for practical purposes but without a shared love could work?
He could only imagine he’d taken momentary leave of his senses to have approached Mr. Prexley in the first place.
He held out his arm, unwilling to begin their discussion right away.
Truly, he did not know how to begin at all.
In silence, they crossed the open field toward the path that led downhill through the woods.
He could feel her indignation as she walked stiffly at his side, but although they were now far from anyone else, he waited until they were under the cover of the trees.
It was not a simple matter, and he would need to show her the letter, which he could hardly do while they walked.
They reached the shade of the branches and were instantly enveloped in the quiet of the woods.
“Are we to walk the entire way to town without exchanging a single word?” she asked in a voice ready for argument. It was all that was needed to begin, and he slowed his steps.
“I was given a letter that belongs to you, I believe,” he said. He had decided not to say who had given it to him for fear that retribution might fall on Annette. “The person in question had reason to fear it might be urgent and thought I could deliver it to you more quickly.”
“What letter?” she asked sharply.
He stopped. The woods, normally so peaceful and full of life, had grown still, as though all of nature expected a storm to break.
He pulled the letter out of his coat pocket and held it up, watching her face for a reaction.
He was given one. A dull color rose on her cheeks, and her eyes showed a mix of anger and embarrassment.
Apparently, she did not like to be challenged.
“If you please, I wish to see this letter you say is mine.” Isabel held out her hand, and James placed the letter in it. She unfolded it and skimmed its lines. He watched her in silence.
“I do not know who is writing me such drivel—or even if it is meant for me. There are surely other women in Spa named Isabel.” She looked up at him defiantly as she folded the letter back in three. He did not believe that for a minute.
“If it is not yours, then I will find its owner.” James held out his hand to take the letter back. Later, he would turn the incident over in his mind and realize there had been wiser ways to handle it.
In a flash, Isabel folded the letter twice more and shoved it neatly inside the bosom of her gown, meeting his gaze with a challenging one of her own.
His jaw fell open. It was a vulgar thing to do and showed . . . he was not sure what. Desperation? Deceit? Guilt. Certainly not any quality he would wish to have in a wife.
“Isabel—”
“What?” she threw back at him. “It is my letter, as you have said, even though it has not come to my attention before now. Why should I not keep it? I should not wish you to use it to defile my name. I would not put such a thing past you.”
Troubled, James fixed her with his regard, and she glared back before averting her gaze.
“The letter is quite specific,” he said with thinly veiled patience. “It speaks of kisses and tokens. It speaks of places you know. This is not the letter of a man writing to a woman of whose heart he is unsure.”
“You may have written it yourself to pull out of the contract. Now that you have seen Miss Bridwell again, you are looking for ways to end our betrothal. And she makes sheep’s eyes at you every time you are not looking. I won’t have it.” Isabel turned and strode forward.
After a stunned moment, James followed. He tried to marshal his thoughts but there was too much to comprehend at once.
For one, Isabel had stripped him of any ability to retrieve the letter.
He should have held on to it firmly for proof, for he could not easily end the engagement if she did not release him.
He had no evidence to show her father that he had cause, and he could hardly shove his hand down her bodice.
Then there was her remark about Amy staring at him that he would do well to put out of his thoughts. It was likely spoken out of jealousy. A fury began to build in him, one he carefully contained.
“Isabel, if you have developed a tendresse for another man, I wish you would tell me. It is better to end things now, rather than entering into a marriage where there cannot be fidelity.”
“I have not developed feelings for any man,” she replied. Then, seeming to realize what she had said, corrected herself. “Not for anyone but you.”
“Then give the letter to me if that is so. If it means nothing to you.” If she gave it to him, he could begin to trust that she had no intention to play him false. Or if she had at first, that she had chosen a better path. He would not break an engagement on such terms.
She did not answer right away, and he felt her calculations, which was not a good sign. “You might wish to use it against me—even though I have never seen this letter before in my life,” she added.
“I am willing to trust you if you give me the letter. I vow to forget all about the incident if you do.” It was the most honorable thing he could think of to show his good intentions.
If she gave it to him, he would not use it to incriminate her.
He would put it in the fire and allow them to start fresh.
“Why must you harp on and on about a stupid letter?” Isabel slipped and nearly fell on a muddy section of the path. He grabbed her arm to steady her, then adjusted his posture to something more gentlemanly, swallowing his bitterness. She was not going to give it to him.
She placed her hand on his arm and lifted her chin as she inhaled. “There is no use in us fighting over misunderstandings. We will do much better to make the best of our situation.”
James was saved from responding to such an unanswerable sentiment, given the root of their misunderstandings, by the sight of Lambert coming in the opposite direction up the hill.
“Mr. Lambert,” Isabel called out, her voice transformed into airy lightness. “Why have you returned?”
“I have left my gloves behind,” he said, acknowledging James with a nod. James returned it, unable to think of anything but his consuming desire to get away from Isabel. He needed time to think.
“You are in luck, sir,” Isabel replied, all signs of her discontent gone.
“I have your gloves in my pocket. I saw them on the table after you left and knew them for yours.” She released James’s arm and reached into the pocket tied around her waist and pulled out a pair of gentleman’s gloves.
Lambert stepped forward and took them, expressing his thanks as he bowed.
Watching this, James knew he had to be away from Isabel at all costs. He needed to breathe and think through the unanswerable situation he was in.
“I will leave you—” Mr. Lambert began.
“Your forgetfulness puts me in mind of my own,” James said, without giving himself time to think. “I believe I have also left my gloves at the farm. I must return and see if they are there. Mr. Lambert, would you escort Miss Prexley to her house?”
Lambert’s dark brows crept toward his hairline as though he thought James a fool for allowing his betrothed to walk with another man.
Perhaps it was foolish, but he did not fear for Isabel in Lambert’s company the way he did Marianne.
Marianne was still innocent, besides being unattached.
Everyone knew Isabel was engaged to be married and therefore unavailable as an object of seduction. At least, he tried to reason as such.
Her mouth tightened, a sign she was likely irritated at his high-handedness.
It was also irregular, but he knew Isabel had always been allowed to walk with gentlemen in the parks without an escort.
Spa society was more informal. The truth was, he could not be in her presence another minute.
Not until he had composed himself and sorted through what options were still open to him.
“Of course,” Mr. Lambert replied when he had regained his speech. “I will take great care of Miss Prexley.”
“Thank you. I will take leave of you both, then. Miss Prexley.” James bowed to Isabel with perfect correctness. “Lambert,” he added with a bow. Then he left without another glance.
The cut of his coat restrained his movements as he strode uphill, and his lungs heaved for air.
He loosened the lace jabot tied at his throat, then tugged at it until it came off.
He strode upward until his breath came fast, and he began to transpire.
He stopped and pulled off his justaucorps and tossed it over his arm before realizing there was no point in going farther, now that he was out of eyesight and alone in the woods.
There must be a solution to this imbroglio he now found himself in.
If there was, he would find it, but oh, what a desperate fix he had plunged himself into by engaging himself to a pretty face with no heart.
A small boulder was just out of sight in the trees, and he left the path and walked over, dropping onto it.
His plight was proving one from which he was hard-pressed to extricate himself.
Isabel showed no signs she intended to release him from his promise, despite his obvious reluctance to keep it, and he dared not contemplate why that was.
It could only be for the inheritance he was supposed to have and not for any other reason.
Certainly not for love. And yet, if he forced the separation, he would look like a louse and would find it extremely difficult to build a successful practice in Spa.
He might not even be able to earn the most basic living.
It seemed that whichever way he looked at it, he was entirely at point non plus.