Chapter 23
James had learned the value of careful consideration.
It prevented one from offering a proposal for mercenary purposes to another whom he did not love.
It also prevented one from offering noble but impractical—if he were being truly honest with himself—proposals to a woman he loved.
Eventually, though, a man had to make a decision if he did not want to watch life drift idly by.
The day after Morry’s visit, James came to the conclusion that his friend was right.
He could not lose this chance to share his heart with Amy, even though he could not immediately offer her marriage.
As he had been avoiding society, he had seen only Mr. Bridwell at the Tonnelet baths each morning.
There, he had kept his discourse professional, advising him on length of time and gentle stretches he might do while he sat in the hot mineral water.
As Mr. Bridwell kept his own remarks strictly to the matter at hand, James had not felt he could broach the subject of his daughter.
Amy must surely know that his engagement was at an end since Spa was buzzing with the news. She must also have learned that Isabel was now betrothed to MacFirbis, who would make her a much better husband than James ever could. At the very least, he seemed to truly adore her.
Not until he headed to Amy’s hotel early in the afternoon did it occur to him that his hesitation might have hurt her.
If she knew about the broken engagement, she must be wondering what had kept James from coming to pay her a call.
The thought hurried his steps and made him even more eager to make his feelings known.
He knocked on the door to their suite and was admitted by a maid he vaguely recognized from Kent.
Mr. Bridwell was in the anteroom with his valet on hand to assist him with his cloak, and he turned to receive James.
“You have at last paid me a call, Mr. Fletcher. I was wondering when you would do so. I am afraid I cannot meet with you now. I have an appointment with Mr. Batowski in the tobacco room at La Redoute.”
James suffered a small setback at Mr. Bridwell’s remark so far removed from the subject that occupied his mind.
He had not anticipated that Amy’s father must expect him to visit as any physician would with his patients.
He had been too consumed with thoughts of Amy in relation to himself that he had not fully viewed Mr. Bridwell in the light of a patient.
He managed to cover his confusion as he bowed.
“Forgive me, Mr. Bridwell. I should indeed have come to visit you earlier. I wished for you to have the chance to see for yourself if the baths were conducive before I did so. I regret to have come at an inconvenient time.”
“Yes, ’tis most unfortunate.” Mr. Bridwell took his hat and cane. “While I enjoy the baths, I cannot say I have derived any true benefit. I believe I am somewhat better, but with the cold, damp air one finds in Spa, I am not sure I have made any true improvement.”
James knit his brows. From his own observations, he thought Mr. Bridwell was moving with more ease than he had before. “I am sorry to hear it.”
“It is not your fault,” Mr. Bridwell assured him with a kindly air.
“Thank you. I promise to send word first before I visit the next time.” As Mr. Bridwell turned to leave, James added, “Might I stay and call on Miss Bridwell? I should like to have a chance to speak with her.” He held his breath, hoping his request would be granted.
He had never openly expressed his interest to Amy’s father before.
“Marianne,” Mr. Bridwell called out. James turned and saw Amy’s sister sitting in the corner of the room, sketching an arrangement of fruits on the table. He had not perceived her there. “Go and tell your sister that Mr. Fletcher desires an audience with her.”
Marianne obeyed, and Mr. Bridwell returned his attention to James. “It is well you do so now, for we are to leave in the space of two days.” He did not remain long enough to see James’s look of consternation, which was just as well.
They were truly leaving, then. Since Mr. Bridwell had said nothing, not even that morning, James had persuaded himself that the baths had changed his mind.
He stared blankly at the cold bricks of the fireplace, trying to picture life in Spa without Amy in it.
The vision was bleak. Disappointment gnawed at him, but it only increased his determination to speak to her.
He would not permit her to fade out of his life the way he had before, not if it depended on him.
The remnants of a tea tray had been left on the low table next to the sofa, and he sat in front of it. Within minutes, Amy came into the room and stopped short at the entrance, a hesitant smile on her face.
“Amy.” James stood, realizing he had used her Christian name. She would know why he had come, then. All the better. After an infinitesimal pause, he walked over and bowed.
“Good afternoon.” She appeared composed, except for the tremor in her fingers when he took her hand in his. “Will you be seated?”
He released her hand and followed her back to the sofa, where he sat beside her. She eyed the teapot and reached forward to feel whether it was still hot. It was a nervous gesture, and she did not meet his regard.
“You must have heard the news,” he began.
“About Miss Prexley?” Her gaze flitted to him, then away again. “I hope you are not too disappointed.”
His own nerves found relief in a laugh. “Disappointed? No, not at all. More like vastly relieved.”
She dared to look at him again, a smile hovering but not quite making an appearance.
He reached out, grazing her skirt as he took hold of her hand again, squeezing it then releasing it. The brief touch did not satisfy, but he had to refrain from claiming affection before he had spoken to her. He must not set the cart before the horse.
“I wished to tell you on many occasion that I have long desired to end the betrothal with Miss Prexley, however, I could not speak of it to you while I was still engaged. That day we visited Annette and Lubin’s cottage, I had just received evidence of good cause that would allow me to end the contract and tried to do so without delay.
” He paused as the events of that day flashed through his mind and set his mouth in a grim line.
“Things did not turn out as I hoped, and I was forced to continue on. It was not until I was squeezed out of the inheritance that Miss Prexley was willing to release me from the contract.”
Amy absorbed this with a dip of her chin. “I am sorry about your inheritance, James. We had a letter from Mrs. Waiting.”
“I suppose I am not surprised that word has spread in Charing.” He was not sure whether he should elaborate on his feelings on the matter. He was not precisely sorry, for it had been the key to freeing him from Isabel, but it also meant he was currently in no position to offer for Amy.
“And now Miss Prexley is engaged to Mr. MacFirbis. We heard the news this morning,” she said, daring to meet his gaze again. This time she held it a little longer—wary, but listening.
He itched to pull her into an embrace, but such a thing would not be proper when he could not openly declare for her. Their meeting was as difficult as he knew it would be, which was why he had not rushed to see her.
“I think she and Mr. MacFirbis will suit. I am glad for them both. As for myself, I have long known that she would not be the proper wife for me. It is only unfortunate that the courtship went as far as it did.”
“I do understand what that is like,” Amy said with a small laugh. The reminder that she had also allowed herself to be persuaded to an improper match somehow comforted him, and it gave him the courage to speak. A noise from another room in the apartment reminded him that they were not alone.
“Despite the six years that have passed since we last met, my feelings for you have gone through very little change. They were merely . . . buried.” He saw a softening in her expression, but she waited for him to continue without giving any sign of her thoughts.
What did he expect? That she would start professing her sentiments when the lie of his betrothal negated what he had just said? He rushed on.
“My reasons for proposing to Miss Prexley had little to do with any tender emotion. Once I thought I had lost you, I assumed that any chance I might have for a love match was over, for I could not seem to interest myself in another woman. I always compared them to you.”
James was glad to be able to explain himself at last. To bring everything into the open.
His chest ached from long-suppressed love for Amy—ached as those feelings came rushing back as strong as ever.
There was a warmth in her large brown eyes that did nothing to tame it, and he wished for nothing more than to lean in and kiss her.
“I offered for her because I needed to make a living, and my trust was completely swallowed up in the Tonnelet baths.” He forced himself to smile, despite the weightier feelings. “It was a risk, but I was certain of their effectiveness—and still am.”
Amy nodded, watching him. He exhaled, knowing he had to make a clean breast of it if they were to build a solid foundation for their future.
“I also foolishly told Mr. Prexley of my expected inheritance, which was the only reason for Isabel accepting my suit. He was on the point of retiring and indicated that he would be open to handing over his patients at the end of the season were I to marry his daughter.” James flushed with embarrassment at the admission, but he would keep nothing from her.
“This was my reason for proposing to her initially, although I hoped we might deal well together.”
“I understand.”