Chapter 18
After parting ways with Amy, James could still feel the texture of her gown under his fingers.
He could see her face inches from his, her frozen stare underneath those long lashes, her lips parted in surprise.
The anticipation . . . It had taken everything in him to pull her upright and not give in to the overwhelming desire to kiss her.
It didn’t matter that in that moment a kiss had felt like the most natural thing in the world to do—or that the way his heart pounded in his chest almost demanded he give in to it.
He had not broken things off with Isabel and therefore was not free to pursue another woman.
Not even a woman who felt like the only one who truly belonged in his arms.
He had bid Amy farewell since she clearly wished for it and continued on to his rooms. The thatched roofs and partially paved streets looked the same, the merchants hauling livestock and vegetables looked the same, but his world had turned upside down.
He had finally been able to ask Amy what he had long wanted to know and understood why she had ended their relationship with such finality before he left.
In his youthful inexperience, he had been impatient with her and had not given her the time she needed to make the right decision—to give them a chance.
The exchange of confidences they had just shared caused his heart to twine more deeply with hers.
However, he could not tell her that he planned to speak with Mr. Prexley about breaking the betrothal contract. To have kissed Amy when this was not yet fait accompli would have been an outrageous, infamous act. It was a mercy he had not given in to the overpowering impulse.
He reached his rooms and changed out of his muddy stockings and breeches, wasting no time in donning something more appropriate for his visit to Mr. Prexley.
Even if he was no longer in possession of the offending letter, surely Mr. Prexley would understand his reason for ending the contract and accede to his request. As a gentleman, he must take James’s word for proof of infidelity and would do so.
This left James to grapple again with the unpleasant reflection that he no longer had any reliable income, since he would surely lose all of Mr. Prexley’s patients.
But James had become wise in one thing, at least: No good marriage could be built on purely mercenary reasons.
Within the hour, he presented himself at Mr. Prexley’s doorstep, hoping that he would not encounter Isabel again so soon.
With their betrothal already void of finer feelings, let them end the contract without sentiment and between gentlemen.
The servant admitted him into the house, which had a spacious corridor with paintings lining the wall but lacked natural light once the door was shut behind him.
He presented his card, and the servant carried it in, returning within minutes.
“Mr. Prexley will see you now.”
He led James to the library, where the physician was seated. There were two glasses on the table and an unopened bottle of Bordeaux. Mr. Prexley stood and offered him a cordial smile.
“Come in, Fletcher. I can only assume this is about accompanying me to visit my patients. I must apologize for the delay in beginning our partnership. My patients have been loath to see me end my practice and are attempting to convince me to continue on a while longer. I did not deem it an auspicious time to introduce you.”
James bowed. This was the last thing on his mind, and the reminder of his dependence only increased his agitation.
“Indeed, Mr. Prexley, it is not about that.” He wondered what would have happened to him if he were bent on marrying Isabel and had been counting on that income to support her. It did not sound as though Mr. Prexley were truly ready to retire.
The physician gestured to the armchairs as the servant uncorked the wine and poured it before leaving.
James sat and looked around him. The library walls were painted in light gold, which set off the dark book spines with gilded letters, and the quiet was interrupted by the crackling fire.
It was a peaceful room and a dreadful topic to bring up.
“This morning I was given evidence of your daughter’s .
. .” He paused, suddenly unable to think of what to say next.
In everything, he had not considered how awkward it would be to bring up the matter of a lady’s infidelity to her father.
Nevertheless, he plunged on. “It was brought to my attention that your daughter had received a letter from another gentleman who addressed her in intimate terms, showing an enduring attachment and appointing a time and place of rendezvous.”
He wondered if he should elaborate but decided against it. “As a result, I think it wise to end our betrothal, for I fear Miss Prexley’s heart belongs to someone else.” There! It was accomplished. He found it difficult to fill his lungs with air.
Mr. Prexley’s congenial expression left him, replaced by a hard look in his eyes. “You have made quite an aspersion on my daughter’s character.”
James shifted uncomfortably, but he would not back down, not even before the man’s glittering stare. “Perhaps I have, but not without good reason. I saw the letter myself.”
“And where is this letter, so that I might see the proof?” Mr. Prexley asked. “You might easily be able to believe such a thing of my Isabel, but I cannot.”
James closed his eyes briefly. He had hoped it would not come to this. That had been naive. “When I confronted your daughter about the matter, she took the letter from me and did not return it.”
Mr. Prexley raised an eyebrow that spoke its own heavy irony. “Are you not stronger than she? Were I in your shoes and desirous of ending a betrothal that was no longer palatable to me, I would have made certain I remained in possession of the proof.”
James answered stiffly, “She folded the letter and placed it somewhere where I could not retrieve it.”
This piece of information had the opposite effect he had hoped for. Mr. Prexley studied him in a speculative way, much like his daughter often did, then appeared to relax. He shrugged.
“It seems we have little to discuss, then. There is no proof of any wrongdoing on my daughter’s part, at least not that I have seen with my own eyes, and therefore I do not absolve you of your responsibility.
” Mr. Prexley spoke lightly, but his words were no less ominous.
“And if you think to cry off, you may be sure I will sue you for libel for smearing my daughter’s name.
You will not have a single patient left to you in all of Spa. ”
James brought an astonished gaze to him. This was one outcome he had not imagined—that Mr. Prexley would not let him go.
But was not his current predicament due entirely to his own foolishness?
He had been so eager to win Isabel’s hand, he had shown Mr. Prexley a copy of the testament that named him as his great-aunt’s heir.
The Prexleys had accepted his suit based on that one fact alone, and Mr. Prexley was now bent on keeping him solely because of the inheritance he was to receive.
The future sealed him into a crypt where there was no light.
If Mr. Prexley had his way, James would be forced into a loveless marriage.
How would he come about? He could leave Spa had he not invested so much in his baths, but he had put his entire fortune there.
Besides, the city of Spa had become home to him.
“You do realize that I am in possession of a mere expectation, Mr. Prexley? I have a copy of my great-aunt’s will, but at any time, she might change it.
” He hid his desperation with a calm tone and attempted a different tactic.
“Have you not considered that you might do better in the way of sons-in-law?”
“I have.” Mr. Prexley reached for his snuffbox and flicked it open before taking a pinch.
“However, I chose you for your handsome settlement that seems more than likely to come into your possession. Besides, I am of the mind that Isabel should marry soon, and I have no wish to draw out the process in having her established.”
James did not return an answer, and Mr. Prexley glanced at him.
“If you were thinking of MacFirbis—yes, he has an independence that would be attractive indeed had your offer not come along. But his is nothing compared to the kind of life she might have married to you and would certainly have none of the other provisos you agreed to in the contract.”
James could only berate himself again for having been so foolish as to play his hand openly with the Prexleys. All because he was so keen to have Mr. Prexley’s patients now and worry about his expectation later.
Mr. Prexley crossed one leg over the other and reached for his wine. He sipped it and set the glass down with careful deliberation. “Therefore, as I have said, I do not absolve you of your promise.”
It required only a stunned moment of comprehension before James stood.
“I shall not trouble you further, sir. I will take leave of you now.” He bowed and moved toward the door, realizing too late his lapse in etiquette, for he would be opening the door to another gentleman’s house.
A tinkling bell sounded from behind him where Mr. Prexley sat, and the library door opened.
“Show Mr. Fletcher out. Our visit is at an end.”
James gathered his hat and cane and stepped outside of the Prexleys’ house.
He walked a short distance before his steps slowed, and he was overtaken with a sense of bleakness he had not known since the day he watched Amy’s betrothal unfold before his eyes.
Circumstances had brought her into his life once again, but he was thwarted in his ability to pursue her.
It seemed the cruelest twist of fate that they should reunite only to have all possibility of marrying at long last crumble before their eyes.