Chapter 6 #2
They were forced to halt as a group of men broke away from their conversation and inadvertently stepped in front of them. Amy glanced to her right, and in the absence of the others, one man came into view. The chandelier above him lit his features, and she took a sharp breath.
It was not only the unexpected sight of James that sent Amy’s thoughts whirling, although she had been looking for him.
It was his changed appearance. He was even finer than he had been the two times she had seen him after her arrival.
He dressed extravagantly in an ivory-and-blue brocaded justaucorps, which enhanced his blue eyes in a way she had never seen.
Those eyes had always been Amy’s favorite feature of his.
He wore the white powdered wig again, and even the buckles on his shoes were jeweled.
Her feet were suddenly heavy, as though they had turned to stone.
Miss Prexley paused to look at what had brought Amy to a standstill. Her lips parted in a smile. “I see you are taken with Mr. Fletcher. He is handsome, is he not?” She steered Amy toward him. “And to answer your question, yes. I am to be married—to him.”
She kept her eyes on Amy, who forced a smile to her own lips, murmuring something inarticulate that was meant to be “How wonderful.”
Her heart froze inside of her, sucking all the warmth from her fingers and toes and sending it shooting up into her cheeks.
She tried to comprehend this new information.
She had to comprehend it, for she could not ignore it.
James was to be married. Of course he was.
How foolish of her to think that after all these years he might have remained single out of devotion to her.
It was that naive, hidden hope in her heart now suddenly exposed that made her blink back hot tears.
She marshaled every ounce of strength to hide the surge of emotion as Miss Prexley brought her to stand in front of James.
A shift in the music heralded the start of the first set, and James was contemplating the idea of visiting the cardroom.
He had no interest in gambling, but sometimes a man wished for gentlemen’s company—especially when there was a potentially uncomfortable scene to avoid.
He was quite certain the Bridwells would come that night, and if they did, he would have to face both a past and current plight he had not had adequate time to prepare for.
Before he could settle on his next course of action, he was brought up short by an achingly familiar face entering his line of vision. Amy!
His first irrational surge of joy was doused by the sight of the woman who walked at Amy’s side.
Isabel. He might have proposed to her for practical reasons rather than for love, but he would do well to remember that she was his intended.
His suddenly dry throat presaged the wild panic that had seized him and caused his reason to flee.
Should he claim a prior connection to Amy? He had no time to decide how to behave.
“Allow me to present my betrothed,” Isabel said with a bright smile, looking at Amy rather than him as though it were her reaction that counted.
“This is Mr. James Fletcher. And this is Miss Amy Bridwell, to whom I have taken an instant liking. I am sure we are destined to be good friends this season.”
Amy’s face had gone white except for two bright spots of color on her cheeks, and her delicate throat bobbed as she swallowed.
He almost wished he had told her about his engagement that morning to save her from the shock she was so obviously suffering from now.
He had been too surprised at the sight of her to do so.
Amy darted a look at Isabel, then brought her regard to him and curtsied. “A pleasure, Mr. Fletcher.”
She would pretend she did not know him, then? It was probably for the best, for Isabel was a woman of passion and knew how to show jealousy if she felt it. He bowed and murmured something in reply, he did not know what.
“Mr. Fletcher solicited my hand in marriage two weeks ago.” Isabel turned slightly when Morry joined their conversation, and her smile slipped. Morry and Isabel did not get on well together, which bothered James even though he could understand it. They had nothing in common.
“Yes, I had the fortune to secure Miss Prexley’s hand,” James said to no one in particular, and then privately considered that it was probably the most idiotic thing he had ever uttered in his lifetime. He dared to glance at Amy, but her expression was curiously blank.
“Oh, must you look so dour when you say such a thing?” Isabel replied with a teasing pout.
James couldn’t muster a proper response to her flirtation.
After a brief pause in which she seemed to be waiting for his reaction, Isabel gestured to Morry with reluctance.
“This is Mr. Moreau. And this is Miss Bridwell.”
“How do you do?” Amy curtsied, her voice so low as to be almost inaudible. James risked another glance at her.
“Miss Bridwell,” Morry replied with a bow. An awkward silence ensued, and after a speculating look at James, he quietly drew Isabel into a stilted conversation. James knew his friend’s effort was for his own sake.