Chapter 7 #2
Without waiting for an answer, he held out his arm and led Amy to their position in the dance.
Once there, he remembered to look around the room for Isabel and found her on the far end, where she had added Mr. Bridwell to her audience.
Her eyes had been on James, but she averted them as soon as he looked her way.
He wondered what induced her to seek out Mr. Bridwell.
She likely had her reasons, and he couldn’t say with any confidence that it was to offer him a warm welcome to Spa.
But no—he had not questioned his future marital contentment before. He would not suspect her motives now.
“Your father is talking to Isabel,” he said before he thought the better of mentioning it. Why should that be of any concern? The music began, and he bowed before turning to take her arm and dance the six steps at her side.
“Yours is a recent engagement, I understand,” Amy said as they moved forward together, then retraced the same steps. “Do you have any notion of when you will have the wedding?”
“Not until the season has come to a close.” They spoke in what increments they could when the dance and music allowed it. “I will need to finish a project I am working on and build my list of patients. Isabel wishes to have a large wedding with great pomp.”
James creased his brows, the only sign he would allow himself to express his conflicted feelings.
He had always had trouble imagining himself the center of attention, but Isabel seemed to thrive on it.
She also took pains to advise him on his appearance and was the cause of his wearing a wig and more flamboyant colors, all of which he would have to grow accustomed to.
“I see.” Amy smiled briefly. “Women usually have specific notions about what kind of wedding they desire, so you do well to entertain hers.”
“Yes, well . . . we are to marry at the end of September, nearly five months away. After your family has left for Paris.” That particular observation was awkwardly done, and he rushed on.
“I suppose it is for the best, since I will not have enough patients to support a wife until her father retires and gives me his.”
The end of the dance brought them face-to-face. “I wish you all the happiness in the world,” Amy said.
“Thank you.” A weight settled on his chest at her words. He knew she meant it, for Amy always meant what she said. But he no longer saw as clearly as he had a mere two days ago just how such happiness could be achieved.
James handed Amy over to her father, who, somewhat to his surprise, remembered his name and asked how he did.
Then he went in search of Isabel, who had by now moved on from Mr. Bridwell to other guests assembled at the ball.
Regardless of what his feelings might be on meeting Amy again, he had a responsibility toward Isabel, for he was to marry her.
His efforts to hurry to her side had not seemed to soften any pique she felt toward him, for she made as though to send him away directly.
They must not be seen dancing together, she had explained, for they were to be married and there was nothing more tedious than husbands and wives who danced together.
He could not tell from her tone or expression how seriously she believed that dictum, besides the obvious fact that they were not yet married.
In the end, duty compelled him to give another push, and she relented and allowed him to lead her onto the floor.
However, her smiles given throughout the steps were distant and not for him.
The whole situation gave him anxiety. For one, he was not a man to be inconstant, and his feelings this evening leaned heavily in that direction.
For another, Mr. Prexley was not likely to be pleased to learn about his former attachment.
Without the doctor’s promise to hand over his patients to James, he would have no income to speak of next autumn.
When they stepped to the perimeter in between sets, Isabel assessed his appearance with a critical eye. “The color suits you, as I knew it would, but I think we must have you visit the other draper—the Monsieur Leneveu, for his selection of cloths and cuts are superior.”
“You know I care for no such thing,” he replied quietly, not wishing to irritate her further but unable to enter into her enthusiasm for mere dress.
Had he not changed his style to suit her in their courtship?
He was already regretting wearing his wig in Amy’s presence.
He doubted that particular change in his style had charmed her, for it made him look older—and probably foppish.
“That is precisely why I am the wife you require,” Isabel replied in a bright tone. “The sapphire pin at Dubovski’s would complete the look if you would but purchase it. Why, your eyes are just the same color!”
James returned a feeble smile. He knew she admired his appearance, although he didn’t consider himself anything out of the ordinary way.
She had once told him the only reason she accepted his suit was because they looked well together, and the children issued from their marriage would be so charming as to turn every head.
She had been joking, of course, but his humor did not run quite in that way.
He looked at her squarely now, appreciating her generosity on his behalf but determined to turn her thoughts in a more reasonable direction.
“My dear, I must make it clear to you that I will not be purchasing the sapphire pin. I would much rather provide a home where you will have every comfort. Servants, a plentiful table, and even those pretty gowns that become you so well.” That last bit was his best attempt at conciliation.
Her answering smile left as quickly as it came. “But truly, James, that sapphire is just the thing for you. You know I don’t come entirely without a portion. And you have a considerable expectation coming to you besides. My father would never have entertained your suit if it had not been so.”