Chapter 11
James turned onto the central path of the Capuchin gardens and walked toward the opening at the far end.
Watching Miss Bainesworth and Morry so at ease gave him a glimmer of hope.
This chance meeting would do both of them good.
James knew Morry felt his infirmity keenly, although he hid it behind a cheerful countenance.
The saber wound he had suffered during battle had cut his thigh and partially severed the tendons, and this had not healed as quickly as Morry—or his physician—could have liked.
The good-natured humor Morry habitually showed in front of gentlemen required more effort in front of the ladies.
To speak on easy terms with a woman—and to one who took no notice of his affliction—was precisely what he needed.
James suspected Miss Bainesworth was equally in need of friendship with a man who was noble in temperament and good, her rather exalted status notwithstanding.
He would walk quietly at their side twice as long if it might help their friendship to flourish.
However, the weather was chilly, and he was longing for a cup of hot tea.
He wondered if he would cross paths with Isabel and be able to present her with the necklace.
He would otherwise have to pay a visit to her house, which for some reason he was reluctant to do.
With a start, he realized that most of their courtship was carried on out of doors and in the public eye. Did he not long to be alone with her?
Mr. Adrian Gruber, the Austrian who made claims to nobility, crossed James on his other side, walking with MacFirbis, and James nodded a greeting to both.
Although Gruber’s reputation carried hints of disreputability, James did not know enough to give him the cut.
All he knew was that the man was frequently at the gaming tables where there were big wins and losses.
No one could tie the losses to him specifically, since he rarely won a significant sum outright.
But whenever a gentleman lost a large sum, Gruber seemed to be standing at his side.
As for MacFirbis, James knew that any chance of them forming a friendship would be forever at an end since he had stolen Isabel from under MacFirbis’s nose.
He had not done so with malicious intent and had not had any indication that Isabel returned the man’s regard.
Ah well, he thought. One cannot have everything one desires in life.
The cold had not deterred people from strolling through the gardens.
Despite the steep hill that bordered one side of the more popular Parc de Quatre-Heures, the Capuchin gardens were better sheltered from the wind.
James took in the crowds milling on the avenue toward the gate, and his gaze landed on Amy’s graceful form positioned directly in his path.
It set his heart beating before his gaze drifted to the woman at her side—the sight doused his ardor like a plunge in a cold stream. Isabel.
Both ladies turned to look at him, and he dropped his gaze, frowning.
It did not feel right to see Amy and Isabel in any way connected.
Or at least beyond what could not be helped.
It was an uncomfortable juxtaposition of his two lives.
He had once loved Amy—had been prepared to be fiercely true to her until death took him.
He could remember the way his stomach dove then floated weightless when he had kissed her.
He had never experienced such a sensation again, and the years hadn’t dulled the memory.
It had taken all this time to recover from his disappointment of losing her—or so he had thought.
Even when he had been ready to move on, he had merely chosen a bride for practical purposes and not for love.
He had committed himself to Isabel, however, and as a man of honor must make the best of his promise. Still, it was like vinegar on the teeth to see them together.
With Morry’s slow pace, it was a long moment before they reached where Amy and Isabel stood. Miss Bainesworth would have her introduction to Amy after all.
“Good afternoon, ladies,” he said, bowing.
Morry did the same, and the women murmured their greetings in return.
“May I present to you the Honorable Miss Bainesworth, who is recently arrived in Spa.” He peered around Morry, adding, “Miss Bainesworth, I believe you know Miss Prexley. And this is Miss Amy Bridwell.”
The three women curtsied. While Isabel shifted her gaze between him and Miss Bainesworth, making no efforts to greet her with any warmth, Amy focused on the young woman standing at Morry’s side.
“How do you do? I am recently arrived in Spa as well and am delighted to make your acquaintance.”
“As am I.” Miss Bainesworth showed none of the reticence she had when he’d promised to introduce her to Isabel.
His betrothed had still not said a word of welcome, and he was perplexed.
In general, Isabel showed at least the barest civility, particularly to those of noble rank.
He wondered if there was something between them that had caused animosity.
Amy then turned to Morry, carrying the conversation with grace. “Good afternoon, Mr. Moreau. It hardly seems possible that we have met for the first time only two days ago. So much has happened since then.”
Smiling, he switched his cane to the other hand. “Is that not so? We bobelins rise early to take the waters, then stay up late for dancing. In Spa, two days fit into one.” This provoked one of Amy’s natural laughs that had once brought James so much pleasure.
His throat closed suddenly as he fell prey to memories that crashed against his current circumstances. Stop. Stop thinking of Amy in any but the most distant of terms.
Miss Bainesworth had allowed her arm to slip from Morry’s as they formed a circle, and a silence now fell as Amy glanced beyond him to the monastery.
The gardens would not be open for much longer, and James felt he should give Isabel the necklace he had purchased for her.
At the same time, he could not be the first one to break away from a group that included Amy.
It was like resisting a drink from a cool stream when one had long been thirsty.
Mr. Bridwell rounded on to their path with his two daughters, and James performed the introductions when the two parties converged.
Mr. Lambert then appeared from a side alley and, having spied the small gathering, made his way over to them with an engaging smile.
His eyes settled briefly on Isabel before moving over to Marianne, where his gaze lingered.
James tightened his lips in a straight line.
He did not like the idea of Amy’s sister being pursued by the likes of Lambert.
“We meet again.” Mr. Lambert walked over to her. “Have you finished your sketch, Miss Marianne?”
She went pink and nodded. “I have enough to capture the scene, but the details will come when I paint.”
“Naturally.”
James thought he detected unease in Amy as she watched Mr. Lambert engage with her sister. Isabel also stood by, curiously silent, her attention fixed on Mr. Lambert and Marianne.
“I shall hope to have the honor of dancing with you at our next assembly,” Mr. Lambert was saying to her. “For we artists must not consign ourselves only to work. One must have a bit of diversion.”
“With pleasure, sir,” Marianne replied, her open expression too pure for such cynical society, James thought.
“Mr. Lambert,” Isabel called out in a bright voice, waiting until he had turned back. “My father has spoken to you about painting my portrait as a wedding gift, has he not?” Turning to James, she added, “You will not object, I hope, if I speak with Mr. Lambert about my portrait?”
“No, of course not,” he replied.
He hadn’t realized that Mr. Prexley had commissioned something from Mr. Lambert for their wedding.
It was a generous thing to do, considering that some of Lambert’s paintings fetched over two hundred pounds.
Although, he reflected, he wasn’t sure he wanted to look at Lambert’s painting every day in his marital home, even if it was a portrait of Isabel.
It would call to mind how many hours he had spent staring at her.
James watched them walk a short distance from the group, Isabel’s hand set demurely on Lambert’s arm.
Marianne joined her father and Hannah, who were conversing with Morry and Miss Bainesworth. Amy turned to them, but James was unable to resist the opportunity to speak to her.
“I assume Spa is your first stay on the Continent?” he called out before she had taken two steps. “Where else do you plan to visit?”
She turned back, her ivory bonnet framing cheeks flushed with cold.
“We stayed two weeks in Brussels, but this will be our first stay of a longer duration. Afterward, we leave for Paris, and then Rome. My father chose Spa for our first stop so he might benefit from the healing waters. He is being advised by Mr. Hughes.” She looked as though she would say more but stopped when James raised an eyebrow. “You do not approve of Mr. Hughes?”
“I should not be so free with my opinions,” he confessed, regretting his lapse. “It is only that Mr. Hughes sometimes recommends practices I find outdated.”
“That does not sound good.” She caught her lip in her teeth. “Who would you recommend?”
“If someone wished for an older, more experienced physician than myself, I would have to recommend Mr. Vroomen. And of course, everyone in Spa knows that Mr. Prexley is an excellent physician,” he hastened to add, guilty that he had not mentioned him first.
“Are you a physician, then?” she asked, her surprise revealed in her eyes. But of course she could not have known that fact. His interest in medicine had come near the end of his tour.
“Yes. I have completed my medical training in Edinburgh.” Her initial look of curiosity turned to contemplation, and the approval in her glance warmed him.