Chapter 24 #3
He was almost at the hotel when he crossed paths with Morry.
One glance beyond him to the entrance of the hotel showed that the Bridwells’ carriage was not in front of it.
Had they left? But then reason took over.
It was more likely that they hadn’t had the trunks brought down, for it was not yet two o’clock.
At least from his vantage point, he could see if she or anyone from her family exited the hotel.
Morry greeted him, his expression unusually serious. “Did you hear the news about MacFirbis?”
“I did. He’s ruined. Lost his entire inheritance,” James confirmed, belatedly realizing how callous he sounded over the man’s misfortune. It was only his anxiety to see Amy that made him respond in such a way.
Morry shook his head. “The man had twenty-five thousand, and it all went in the course of one night. Rather, I understand he had been steadily losing, and the remainder was swallowed up in last night’s game.
How is that possible?” When James said nothing, Morry held up a hand.
“Don’t tell me. I know. And now Miss Prexley is short of a betrothed again.
” His natural kindness made it so he could see the irony in a situation while still exuding compassion.
“I cannot offer my condolences to Miss Prexley, of course. Such a thing would be impossible. But if there is some way I can render her a service, apart from engaging myself to her again,” James added wryly, “I will do so.”
Morry nodded. “You are a good man.”
He did not tarry, finally telling his friend that he wished to catch Amy before the family left, and Morry scolded him for not speaking up earlier.
He hurried to the hotel entrance, where the servant opened the door for him.
As he strode across the corridor, he glanced into the dining room to make sure they were not taking a last meal there.
Then he took the steps two at a time until he reached the next level, where he went to knock on the door to their suite.
Mrs. Mercy, the Bridwells’ housekeeper, answered the door, and he exhaled in relief. He was not too late.
She recognized James and dropped into a curtsy. “Good afternoon, Mr. Fletcher.” In the brief pause that followed, her brows drew together, and he experienced a strong foreboding. “I am sorry to tell you this, but you have missed Mr. Bridwell. The family is gone.”
A strange ringing sounded in his ears. “Gone? Gone where?”
Nothing made sense. If the Bridwells were gone, why would the housekeeper still be in Spa? He grasped at a straw of hope. Perhaps they had just gone out in Spa and had decided not to set out for Paris quite so soon.
“They have taken only what is necessary for the first part of the journey, for Mr. Bridwell wished to see a ruined castle before going to Liège. They ate their meal early and left directly afterward.”
“Ah.” It took a moment for James to digest the news, then he dropped his head, brooding.
He could not believe he had missed her entirely.
Seconds ticked by, and he could not seem to move his feet.
The housekeeper waited somewhat hesitantly.
She could not invite him in, but he was reluctant to leave.
His mind worked too sluggishly to make sense of the fact that he had truly been too late.
“When will you join them?” he asked at last.
“We leave in two days, sir. The rest of the servants, that is. We will travel with the trunks and meet them in Reims.”
“Very well.” James frowned. “Tell Miss Bridwell I came to call when you see her, will you? No”—he stopped himself—“I will return in an hour or two with a letter and ask that you deliver it into her hands as soon as you see her.”
“I will, sir.” Mrs. Mercy curtsied, and James took his leave.
He began the forlorn walk to his rooms, picking his way through the mud.
His heart felt thick and heavy as though it were encased in mud.
He had missed Amy, had allowed her to slip out of his grasp for the second time in his life.
He couldn’t believe he had lost her again.
Had he done well to let her go without a proposal?
It took him a minute to reflect on this, and he came to the same conclusion: I have nothing to offer her.
I cannot propose to her under those conditions.
As he neared the inn, James thought back to the necklace.
It might be a trifle, but he would give it to her.
It would be just the thing. He could leave it in the safekeeping of the housekeeper, along with the letter he would write.
And he would be bolder about his intentions.
The topaz was only a small token, but it was something tangible.
It was time to begin his courtship through the means of letter writing.
It would only be the shadow of a courtship, but it would have to do.
He would pour his soul into those letters so she was not left in the dark about his feelings.
At least it would save him from injudicious kissing.
James paused for a moment, allowing his mind to dwell on that. . . .
He would be serious about it, and regular. And he would count how many letters he would have to post before he could finally set off himself to find her, propose, and bring her back to Spa. In this case, the fewer written meant victory.