Epilogue
After a period of one month, Amy became Mrs. Fletcher in a quiet ceremony in Spa.
They were surrounded by her family, the Vroomens, and the Ferrins.
George and Becky Moreau had married only a fortnight earlier, and as they had given up any notion of travel in favor of a quiet week spent in one of the nearby hamlets, they returned to Spa in time to join the wedding festivities.
Also in attendance were the Princess Orlova and her children—a fact which caused Amy’s standing in society to rise and with it, James’s.
He asked Amy whether she would wish to travel after their wedding, but she only shook her head and said she had done more than enough traveling to be content for a while.
The surprise guest at the wedding was James’s mother, who had arrived in Spa one week before the ceremony.
He had been sitting with Amy and her sisters, having tea at Waux-Hall, which opened for breakfast after the ritual of drinking the waters.
As this was directly on the route from the Sauvenière, Mr. Prexley and the other investors of La Redoute had argued against it, yet their concerns fell on deaf ears.
Les bobelins were too charmed by the elegant rooms of Waux-Hall and demanded more of it.
It was Amy who saw Mrs. Fletcher first. She had just taken a bite of bread and coughed in surprise from having inhaled at the wrong moment.
James was all concern for her, but she waved him off until he finally followed her gaze and saw his mother standing at the entrance, searching the faces in the crowd.
He stood suddenly, and his chair fell backward, clattering on the floor.
That was when Mrs. Fletcher spotted him and moved toward the back of the room, her eyes landing on Amy. She could not read his mother’s thoughts in the look.
“Mother,” James said, leaning down to kiss her cheek.
“James,” she replied, then turned to acknowledge Amy. “Miss Bridwell.” She didn’t appear to recognize Hannah or Marianne, for she did not address them.
Amy stood and dipped into a curtsy. “Welcome to Spa, Mrs. Fletcher.”
James helped his mother into a chair. “I am delighted to see you, Mother, but I must own to my surprise. Did Father come with you?” He had vacated his seat beside Amy and sat in the free chair next to his mother.
“No, he has used this time to visit the estate and help Adam with the elections. I have come with your Aunt Sarah and her husband.” For the first time, she noticed Amy’s sisters. “Good afternoon, Miss Hannah, Miss Marianne.” They murmured a greeting in return.
“When we went to your brother’s estate,” his mother continued, turning back to him, “Mrs. Waiting informed me that the Bridwells were also in Spa, although she apparently did not know of your betrothal. I learned of it from a Mr. Gaetano.”
“It is too soon for anyone in Charing to know of it. My betrothal is of a recent date.” After what seemed to be a tense pause, he added, “I hope you will wish us happy.”
Mrs. Fletcher patted her son’s hand, but it was a moment before she spoke.
“I do. I was not in favor of your father separating the two of you, but then it seemed that Miss Bridwell had determined to marry someone else.” She glanced at Amy with a look that seemed apologetic, then back at James.
“When that did not occur, you remained abroad, and I did not push the matter. I am happy for you both.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” Amy said, blinking back tears. That was unexpected.
“I have also come with news that I preferred to deliver in person rather than have you learn of it by letter. And I may as well say this in front of Miss Bridwell, since you are soon to be family.” After acknowledging Amy with a nod, she turned back to James.
“The latest copy of the will that left my aunt’s fortune to your brother was contested and found to be invalid.
” Shifting uncomfortably, she added, “It appeared to be forged.”
She dropped her gaze, unwilling to say more, and Amy exchanged a glance with James. Was this the work of his brother?
“I see.” He did not press her for more details, which Amy assumed was just as well. The admission seemed to have taken much from Mrs. Fletcher, and the truth would be out soon enough.
“I will ask for more tea to be brought,” Hannah said, getting to her feet, and Marianne engaged Mrs. Fletcher in soothing, mundane conversation about her journey that appeared to restore her.
After Mrs. Fletcher had taken tea, Amy invited her into their plans for the wedding and watched James’s mother grow more animated.
The matter of how long the Bridwells would stay in Spa was easily resolved.
Their rooms at the H?tel de Lorraine had already been taken by someone else, but James managed to find them a comfortable situation in the town center that did not require going up and down stairs every day.
It was on the ground floor of a private house with a charming garden in the back.
With this new arrangement and the continued warm weather, Mr. Bridwell conceded that Spa was not damp after all, at least not all of the time.
In fact, it was a capital place to be, and every good Englishman should begin his tour with the city of Spa.
The baths he continued to practice religiously until he swore by them, eventually deciding to remain throughout the season and not remove to Paris until the end of October.
This news pleased everyone, especially Hannah, for it meant they would no longer be traveling to Aix-en-Provence.
Once the Bridwells were settled in their new rooms, Amy sat with Hannah and Marianne and assisted them in planning out the itinerary for the remainder of their tour.
They would have time to write to Mr. Eckert with their plans to remain longer in Spa, and he would have time not only to adjust the dates on their hotels, but also to reply with the confirmation that all was in order.
She reminded her sisters of all the responsibilities they would have to take on that their father would not likely think of.
Most of all, she was given time to grow closer to them before they would be parted and allow them to rejoice with her over her happy change in situation.
The day after Amy’s engagement was made public, Frances bravely asked her how soon she should be ready to remove to her new situation, now that Amy was to be established as a married woman.
It took a moment for Amy to understand that she expected to leave the Bridwells and stay on in Spa as her lady’s maid.
“Oh, Frances. You still love Bertie, do you not?” Amy asked, touched by her maid’s loyalty but knowing Frances had no desire to extend her time away from England—or her time away from Bertie.
The maid nodded, lifting her apron to wipe her eyes, which caused Amy’s own eyes to fill.
“You must stay with the family, of course. And with Bertie. I will find someone who will do. She won’t replace you, but I am sure to land on someone suitable as a lady’s maid. ”
This pronouncement caused Frances to praise Amy’s generosity through ungainly sobs and the mangling of her apron.
It was not difficult for Amy to convince her father to let Frances continue on as her sisters’ maid alongside Eunice.
In fact, it had not occurred to him that she might stay.
She then persuaded her father to permit Bertie and Frances to marry when they returned to England.
“For you know very well that if they marry, they will not quit your employ, and you will be comfortable and well taken care of in your old age,” she told him. Mr. Bridwell could not fail to see the reasoning in that and graciously acquiesced.
The morning of her wedding, Amy’s new maid styled her hair, twisting curls around her finger to train them with a touch of pomatum and deliciously scented powder, all the while speaking a soothing French that Amy was beginning to understand.
The effect was charming and just what Amy would hope to look like as a bride.
Standing in her shift and under-petticoat, she stood and allowed the maid to lace her into her stays and tie the panniers into place.
She followed this with a silver-embroidered stomacher, over-petticoat, and gown of white satin, an ensemble that James had once told her was so pretty it stole the wind from his lungs.
She was determined to steal it again on the day of her wedding, then restore it in breaths of contentment every day for the rest of their lives.
Flanked by her family, she set out to marry James.
The carriage brought them the small distance to the church, and as she stepped out of it and joined her family on the street, the door to the church swung inward and revealed Mr. Gaetano, who bowed.
Despite her nerves, the surprise of seeing him there caused her to swallow the laughter that had bubbled up.
Was he a clergyman, too, in all of his roles?
She suspected he had seen her chuckle, though, for a flash of humor appeared in his eyes.
“Good afternoon Mr. Bridwell, Miss Bridwell, Miss Hannah, Miss Marianne. The warden is ill today and asked me to step in,” he explained, smiling and gesturing for them to enter. As Amy passed, he said, “It is a fine day for a wedding, Miss Bridwell.”
“It is,” she agreed, then turned ahead to where James waited for her. A shaft of sunlight pierced the blue-and-white stained glass and rested on him. All went still as he turned to look at her.
It was indeed a fine day for a wedding—a fine day to marry James Fletcher.
It seemed ordained, as though he had always been undeniably hers.
Amy walked forward on her father’s arm and took her place at James’s side.
She glanced at him and saw a beaming smile that matched her own, his face bathed in blue-and-white light, eyes shining with happiness.
Together, they turned and faced the rector, who held open the Book of Common Prayer.
“Dearly beloved friends,” he began.
Amy allowed the familiar words to wash over her while sending up a whisper of gratitude.
Thank you for bringing James back to me.
Thank you for letting him be the one I am fortunate enough to love for the rest of my days.
Thank you. The sun shifted, now sending fragmented light onto the rector’s face as though to coax her to heed the marriage vows.
She was to promise James her heart, her body, her devotion, and he was to speak those same promises to her. She didn’t want to miss a single word.