Chapter 6 #3
Three young women—two of whom he vaguely recognized—moved to join them.
When one of the newcomers faced him directly, full recognition dawned.
But of course he should have expected to see Amy’s sisters at the ball, for she would not have come alone.
It was just that Amy had driven all other thought from his head.
Hannah was easily recognizable, for she had been fifteen when he last saw her.
Marianne was less so, for she had only been twelve, but those thick spiraling curls could only belong to the youngest Bridwell.
He had scarcely the time to register what their added presence might mean when Hannah stopped short in recognition. She stared at him, openmouthed.
“James Fletcher!”
Marianne released Miss Ferrin’s arm and stepped forward.
“Oh, it was you. Amy and I thought we saw you in the hotel when we first arrived, but I decided that it could not be. But is this not the most wonderful thing for us all to be reunited? We used to see you so often in Charing back when you and Amy were inseparable.” She curtsied with a dimpled smile. “How we’ve missed you.”
Aaah, blast! What am I to do now? James forced his lips to curve upward, hiding his confusion with a bow. No ready answer came to his tongue.
Marianne’s words, innocently spoken, condemned both James and Amy for their subterfuge.
Amy’s face had gone from pale to a deep red, and James felt his own cheeks flush as every gaze centered on him.
He turned desperate eyes to Isabel, who would surely not appreciate this development.
He knew her enough to know that. Her smile became fixed in place, and her eyes glittered.
“It appears I had no need to perform the introductions, then.” Isabel’s posture was rigid, her voice icy. “One of you might have told me.”
“I apologize.” Amy spoke before he could take the blame. “I should have let on that I did indeed know Mr. Fletcher. But ours was such an old acquaintance, and we were very young. I could not even be sure he would remember me.”
“It was the same for me.” James was quick to reassure Isabel as Amy looked away. “It has been many years since we last saw one another.”
“Oh?” Isabel’s smile turned brittle. “How many?”
“Six,” James replied promptly—too promptly. He had not even needed to count them to be sure. The fact could not have escaped Isabel, and she went still. He found himself holding his breath.
“He certainly has not forgotten.” A whispered voice came from behind, alerting James to the fact that they had drawn an audience.
Isabel tilted her head in the direction of its speaker, then turned back again.
“Well,” she said brightly, “six years is indeed a long time. You will see how generous I am, for I will encourage you to invite Miss Bridwell to dance the first set so you might become reacquainted and catch up on those lost years.”
“That will not be necessary,” James said, and Amy added her own protests.
“Oh, but I insist,” Isabel replied in a firm way that alarmed him. He had truly offended her. Ignoring everyone else, she turned to Hannah and Marianne. “Come. Let us take a seat on the dais and have a glass of lemonade. I am eager to hear more about your sister’s friendship with my betrothed.”
The words chilled James. This was a disaster. His eyes sought out first Isabel, who refused to meet his gaze, then Amy, who wouldn’t hold it, and finally Morry. His friend smiled sympathetically.
“You may as well dance,” he murmured. “It will break up this happy little reunion.”
James saw the sense in that ironic utterance and realized his safest course was to do as Isabel bid. She could not be reasoned with when upset, he knew from experience. Amy could—if his memories of her matched her current temperament.
“Miss Bridwell—” he began, overcoming his hesitation.
Isabel turned back, holding the younger Bridwell ladies by the arm. “You had best hurry, Mr. Fletcher, for you will miss the dance if you do not.”
He returned an uncomfortable smile, then brought his gaze to Amy. “I hope you will do me the honor of joining me in the first dance.”
“Yes. Thank you.” She sounded as stiff and uncomfortable as he felt.
Isabel gave a satisfied nod, despite a certain hauteur in her expression, and swept the two sisters away. Miss Ferrin followed in their wake.
“Miss Bridwell,” Morry said, bowing stiffly with his injured leg, “it was a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I hope we shall have many such occasions to meet.”
“I hope so indeed.” Amy’s answering smile was warm and more like what James was accustomed to seeing from her. At least she and Morry would likely deal well together. This sent another worry spiraling through him. Let them not form any sort of attachment! He was not magnanimous enough to bear it.
Morry left them and headed for the stairwell, likely deciding he would enjoy himself more in the cardroom. The first set had begun without them having time to take their places. James turned to Amy, who met his regard with doubtful eyes.
They would have to sit out the first set and talk. A daunting prospect if it meant catching up on six years’ absence. After the briefest pause, he gestured forward.
“Since we cannot join this set, I suggest we move closer to the stairwell. The air is fresher there, and we’ll have a better chance of hearing what the other has to say.”