Chapter 18 #3
“If you did not share the author’s sentiment, why were you so eager to secret it away?
” he asked, though he no longer cared to hear her answer.
He was not sure he would believe it. “If you were innocent in the affair, you would have given me the gentleman’s name and your assurance that you had no intention of meeting him.
Everything is done in secrecy with you, Isabel. Such concealment does not suit me.”
“Then we shall have no secrets,” she exclaimed, her exasperation evident. “I don’t see why you must be so cross.”
They stood silently watching the musicians, but Isabel was not to be ignored.
She turned and peered at the white jabot he wore on his neck.
“Why are you not wearing your sapphire pin? It would go marvelously with the coat you have on now, and you see that I am wearing your pearl collar. We should have matched.”
He had noticed the necklace and assumed it was an attempt to soften his heart.
It would not work. “I have decided to return the pin. It was an extravagance I can ill afford.” It would receive only a fraction of the price, but his money was becoming too tight for this to weigh with him.
Besides, he no longer wished to wear anything so flamboyant.
That had been a short-lived alteration to his style but did not accord with who he was.
“You are determined to make me angry,” she said, her eyes flashing. “I am going elsewhere, for there are many who are always glad of my company.”
He watched her stalk off and saw her expression transform as soon as she met Lambert.
She greeted him, her face now wreathed in smiles.
James watched them in a somewhat clinical manner, noting the absence of emotion in his breast. How he would marry this woman and live with her, he could not begin to fathom.
He turned back to the opening of the Promenade, where the Bridwells were now entering the park, and went over to greet them. After all, he could not ignore his own neighbors.
“Good evening, Mr. Bridwell.” James bowed, then greeted the three daughters, his eyes settling on Amy last. Had he been successful in breaking things off with Isabel, he might have begun to renew his suit. This was an unhelpful thought, and bitterness and regret welled up in him.
Mr. Bridwell returned the greeting and claimed he was in search of a seat before continuing on. Hannah and Marianne left to walk at their father’s side, and James turned to Amy.
“Your father is not vexed with me, I trust?” he asked.
“No, merely in pain.” She did not sound angry anymore, but the distance between them was as far as ever.
They walked toward the central alley, skirting the dancing, and followed Mr. Bridwell in his search for a place to sit.
James wished he could tell Amy something of his trials.
He wished he could tell her that he had attempted, and with good reason, to extricate himself from his disastrous engagement.
He could not, however, for he had failed.
Amy appeared somber at his side, as though she sensed the hopelessness of his situation.
She could not have, but she likely imagined him to have flirted with her on their return from Annette and Lubin’s with no intention—or freedom—of behaving in a more proper manner toward her. That would not raise him in her esteem.
“My father has determined that we will leave Spa early,” Amy said.
Her words pulled James out of his own worries and sent the breath out of his lungs. He was not going to see her again, was he? He would lose her even before he was forced to wed someone else.
“Why?”
“Papa thinks that the waters in Spa are not all they claim to be. He first considered Spain as a new destination, and then today had the idea to try Aix-en-Provence before we go to Paris, despite the fact that it is days of travel out of our way. There are many arrangements to be made if that is indeed what we must do.” She sighed, adding, “I did try to talk to him about consulting you and trying the baths, but he said that if Mr. Hughes could not find a cure for him, he was in doubt that someone much younger could do so.”
“I see.” James had not thought his life could get any worse. So they were leaving. He remembered a time when he could think of a hopeful solution to about any predicament. That optimism seemed to have vanished forever.
He lifted his eyes and saw Lambert disengage from Isabel and walk over, smiling, to Amy’s sisters. The painter said a few words to Marianne and pulled her into an impromptu dance of several steps, leaving Hannah to sit with her father. Amy must have seen it too.
“Perhaps it is for the best that we leave early.” She turned her gaze from Marianne and Lambert to him. “I had better go and see to my father.”
“Yes.” James could not let her go without saying something more—something of a supportive nature. “If I can do anything for you or your father, please let me know.”
She turned back, unsmiling. “Thank you.” She left without saying anything else, for she likely thought as he did. What could he do for either of them, roped as he was into a betrothal with someone else and too young to give Mr. Bridwell confidence in his medical expertise?
The answer was nothing.