Waltz With a Stranger (21 page)

“Lady Talbot,” Amy began, “that painting over the fireplace—is that one of Thomas Sheridan’s works?”

Aurelia glanced toward the painting, which showed a lighthouse poised like a shining white column against a seascape of vivid blues and greens. Sparsely detailed but striking.

“Why, yes,” her hostess confirmed. “You have a good eye, my dear.”

Amy shook her head. “I saw this painting, or one very like it, in Mr. Sheridan’s studio.”

“I don’t doubt it’s the same one,” Lady Talbot replied. “James purchased it and had it sent down last week, with specific instructions on where it was to be hung. It replaced a rather stodgy classical painting of Hades abducting Persephone, as I recall. This is far more pleasing.”

“Mr. Sheridan is a very talented artist,” Amy declared, with an enthusiasm that surprised her twin. “I’ve commissioned him to paint my portrait as a wedding gift for James.”

“An excellent idea. I understand that Mr. Sheridan is to arrive next week. Do you mean to sit for him then?” At Amy’s nod, she added, “There are several rooms here that might serve as a studio. At any rate, you’ll find plenty of likely settings for your portrait at Pentreath.”

The drawing room door opened then, and the men came to join them. As Lady Talbot busied herself over the coffee service, Aurelia slipped away to examine the tapestry, which depicted a brightly clad procession bearing torches, sheaves of wheat, and bushels of fruit—a celebration of the harvest, by the looks of it. She admired the workmanship, then drifted over to the gleaming Broadwood piano, every bit as fine as the Érard in their Grosvenor Square house.

She was standing over the keyboard, idly wondering if the piano was in tune, when she sensed his presence just at her shoulder. “You must have read my mind, Miss Aurelia. I was hoping I might prevail upon you and Amy to honor us with a song.”

Aurelia glanced up at him. He’d been the perfect host tonight, showing no sign of the strain that must be taking its toll on him. But perhaps there was a hint of weariness about his fine dark eyes. “I would be happy to oblige, Lord Trevenan.” She ran an admiring hand over the top of the piano. “This is a beautiful instrument. Has it been in the family for many years?”

He nodded. “It belonged to my grandmother, originally. Aunt Judith and my cousin Jessica are the only ones in the family who play now, so the piano’s been sadly neglected of late. But my aunt tells me it has been recently tuned. I would be delighted to hear it in regular use.”

Music—it seemed little enough comfort to offer, but Aurelia was ready to give it all the same. “Of course,” she said at once. “Is there anything you particularly wish to hear tonight?”

“I am happy to leave the choice up to you and Amy,” he replied. “But there are a number of songbooks in that bookcase over there, if you care to look through them.”

She smiled. “Thank you. I’ll do just that.”

“Then I’ll send Amy over to help you look.” He began to move away.

“Lord Trevenan?” She kept her voice low, even as the words practically leapt out of her. “I hope—all is well with you,” she ventured as he turned back, his expression quizzical.

“Perfectly well, Miss Aurelia. But I thank you for your concern.” His smile did not quite reach his eyes. “I’ll send your sister to you now.”

She could not help watching as he walked away. If only there was something she could do to help him. But he seemed determined to handle this alone—she only hoped he could weather the storm. Stifling a sigh, she turned to the bookcase to begin her search.

Constant you are,

But yet a woman; and for secrecy,

No lady closer…

—William Shakespeare,
1 Henry IV

Much to Aurelia’s surprise, Mariette responded to her light tap on Amy’s door the following morning. Mademoiselle was indisposed, the maid informed her in a low voice, and—given the nature of her particular ailment—likely to remain in bed for the rest of the day.

Aurelia grimaced in sympathy, easily deciphering her meaning. Amy always had a much harder time than she with her monthly courses. She’d be most comfortable in bed, with hot bricks at her back and a pot of some soothing tisane close by. Fortunately, Mariette seemed to have things well under control, and a breakfast tray had already been requested from the kitchen.

Feeling oddly exposed without her twin beside her, Aurelia went down to breakfast alone. She located the breakfast parlor without difficulty: a cheerful little room with butter-yellow walls and windows facing east into the sunrise.

Lady Talbot—currently the sole occupant of the room—looked up from her place at the table and smiled a greeting. “Good morning, Miss—Aurelia, is it not? You must forgive me,” she added as Aurelia nodded confirmation, “you and your sister are so very alike.”

If it was a lie, it was a kind one at least, Aurelia thought as she smiled back. “Amy finds herself a bit under the weather this morning and will be taking her breakfast in bed.”

“Oh, dear!” Lady Talbot sounded genuinely concerned. “I hope it is not serious?”

Aurelia shook her head. “She will be fine, with time and a bit of rest.”

“Ah. I am glad to hear it.” To Aurelia’s relief, Lady Talbot inquired no further as to the nature of Amy’s indisposition; perhaps she suspected the cause, in any case. “The breakfast dishes are laid out on the sideboard. Pray help yourself.”

“Am I the first one down?” Aurelia inquired, picking up a plate from the table.

“You are the first I’ve seen of your family today,” Lady Talbot informed her. “However, James has already breakfasted and gone out riding. He’s always been an early riser.”

Aurelia hardly knew whether to ask about the other guests. She supposed it was too much to hope for that the Durwards might have come to their senses and decamped during the night.

As if reading her thoughts, Lady Talbot said, “Helena and her husband have opted to have trays sent to their chambers.”

Opted…somehow Aurelia doubted the choice had been left entirely up to the Durwards, but she was relieved not to be confronting that seething hostility first thing in the morning. She couldn’t help wondering, though, how long Lady Talbot could persuade her niece to keep away from the rest of the house party. Short of locking her in her room or throwing her in a dungeon—and Pentreath did not seem to be equipped with the latter.

Banishing such unpleasant thoughts, she approached the heavy mahogany sideboard, where an array of silver chafing dishes—kept warm by the flames of spirit lamps—awaited her attention. One held porridge, blessedly unlike the lumpy mess that was too often produced by their own cook back in New York. Others held eggs, boiled and coddled, sausages, kippers, streaky bacon, and tender ham fried crisp at the edges. There were a few more exotic dishes as well, such as kedgeree and deviled kidneys. Aurelia couldn’t help wrinkling her nose a bit at the latter. She had never understood the English passion for kidneys and other such organ meats, although she thought they did breakfast splendidly in every other respect.

“If there is something you would like but do not see on the sideboard, you have but to ask and it will be prepared for you,” Lady Talbot suggested.

“Oh, no—this all looks wonderful!” Aurelia assured her hastily. “I can’t imagine needing anything more. I should become the size of a featherbed if I ate this well all the time.” She helped herself to coddled eggs, ham, and a small portion of kedgeree, then sat down opposite her hostess. Everything tasted as good as it looked, she discovered on the first delicious mouthful.

Lady Talbot passed her the toast rack. “How did you sleep, Miss Aurelia?” she inquired.

“Very well, thank you.” Aurelia took a slice of toast and spread it with strawberry preserves, bright as rubies in their cut-glass bowl. “I think I even heard the sea in the distance.”

“You can indeed.” Lady Talbot smiled reminiscently. “I would hear it myself every night when I was a girl, sleeping in that chamber. The sound is better than a lullaby.”

“I was wondering if I might perhaps have a closer look at the sea today,” Aurelia said, pouring herself a cup of tea from the silver service on the table. “What would be the most direct route down to the beach? Lord Trevenan mentioned that there was a staircase.”

“Yes, the north staircase. The pitch is not too steep, and there is a banister to hold on to, but the climb does take a while if you are unused to it. You might be better off leaving by the main gateway and making your way down to the cove, though it will take somewhat longer.”

Aurelia shook her head. “I would prefer to chance the stairs, thank you. I daresay the exercise will do me good.”

“I see you have an adventurous streak, my dear.” To Aurelia’s surprise, Lady Talbot sounded almost pleased, rather than disapproving.

“Oh, Amy’s the daring one in our family,” Aurelia replied. “I simply have a great fondness for the sea. When we’d go to Newport during the summer, I would often be the first one up and about.” Sitting on the veranda in the mornings, breathing in the bracing salty air…and waiting—or rather, hoping—for Charlie to wander by, she remembered suddenly. The summer before her accident, they had contrived to meet several times in just such a fashion.

She had not thought of Charlie since they’d left London; he seemed very far away just now, and she was glad of it.

“I have never been to America myself,” Lady Talbot remarked, “but I have heard that Newport is considered quite the hub of Society there in the summer. Much as Torquay has become here. Is Newport a very exclusive place?”

“Indeed—almost excessively so,” Aurelia confessed. “Nearly every prominent family goes there, and so do those aspiring to prominence.” She thought of their own status: accepted but not wholly welcome among the more established clans, never entirely certain whether their company would be embraced or rebuffed. “I suppose it’s not too different from London during the Season: a whirl of activities, and a very strict code of conduct. Drives to the casino and tennis matches in the morning, sea-bathing just before noon, luncheon aboard someone’s yacht, afternoon promenades along Bellevue Avenue, then perhaps a formal dinner followed by a dance. And then up the next morning to start it all over again.”

“Gracious, how exhausting!” Lady Talbot exclaimed. “Even in my day, I’m not sure I’d have had the stamina to endure such a giddy round.”

Needs
must
, Aurelia thought, remembering the desperate quest for respectability that drove so many who flocked to Newport each summer. Aloud she suggested, “Perhaps the sea air has something to do with it.”

“Perhaps, though there’s no shortage of sea air in Cornwall and things are considerably quieter here. I don’t doubt that Newport is lovely, but it does sound a bit regimented.”

Aurelia smiled. “You would be right on both counts, Lady Talbot. There
is
much to admire in Newport, but I shall find it a relief not to have to conform to such a strict schedule.”

Lady Talbot smiled back. “Well, I hope you find Cornwall to your liking, my dear. Are you quite set on attempting the stairs today?” At Aurelia’s nod, she continued, “You can reach them through a door in the garden wall. I’ll have the key brought for you after breakfast.”

“Thank you,” Aurelia said. “I’m very much looking forward to the excursion.”

They conversed lightly through the rest of their meal, undisturbed by the rest of the party. Afterwards, Lady Talbot had a footman fetch the key for her guest, then gave Aurelia instructions on how to reach the garden. “I trust you will be careful,” she added, a little tentatively. “No one has yet had an accident on those stairs, but I should not like for you to be the first. You might consider taking a companion—your maid, perhaps? I would accompany you myself if I did not have certain responsibilities to attend to this morning.”

Which doubtless included keeping a pair of uninvited guests out of the house party’s way, Aurelia thought. She wondered if Lady Talbot had noticed her limp; well, if she had, there were worse ways to express concern. As confidently as possible, she replied, “I wouldn’t dream of taking you away from your duties, Lady Talbot. And there’s no need to trouble Suzanne or wake up the rest of my family. I won’t rush my descent. Never fear—I’m accustomed to taking extra precautions in a new place. And I should be back well before luncheon.”

Lady Talbot relaxed, reassured by this display of common sense. “Well, then, enjoy your adventure, my dear. You will be on Trevenan land, so you needn’t worry about being disturbed by anyone who does not belong here. I look forward to hearing your impressions of our beach.”

Pocketing the key, Aurelia returned to her chamber. The morning light was still pale, but, on glancing out the window, she fancied the sun was emerging with more conviction now. Ten minutes later, garbed appropriately in a plain blue muslin frock, low canvas shoes, and a wide-brimmed straw hat, she left the house, making for the garden before anyone could stop her.

Lady Talbot’s directions were exemplary, and she soon found herself wandering through a fragrant oasis of spring and summer blooms. She made a mental note to come back and explore the garden at a later opportunity. But the door in the high stone wall stood before her now, and she could hear the muted rush and roar of the sea below, a sound that made her pulse quicken with excitement. She fitted the key in the lock, opened the door, and stepped onto the first stair.

The stone shelf felt broad and reassuringly solid beneath her feet; looking down, she saw the rest of the stairs were similarly cut: wide, flat, and spaced just enough apart. The banister was stone as well, weathered but sturdy. Grasping it firmly, Aurelia made her way leisurely down the stairs. Even with her leg, she found the descent fairly easy, and she soon reached the bottom, stepping from stone onto soft sand.

The beach stretched before her, a pale expanse that darkened at the water’s edge. On impulse, Aurelia slipped off her shoes, felt the sand fine as crumbled sugar beneath her feet. Yielding further, she dared to peel off her stockings, shivered in sensual pleasure at the touch of cool sand against her skin. Mama never let her go barefoot at home, or brave the summer sun without a hat or a parasol. But what Mama did not know wouldn’t hurt her, Aurelia reasoned. Shoes in hand, she made her way down the beach, not stopping until the incoming tide lapped over her toes. She let out an involuntary gasp at the chill and took a half-step back, then looked up and out at the surging sea.

In the morning sun, the tumbling waves were silvery-blue, shot through with green. And so clear—like glass, almost.
“As the wave’s subtler emerald is pierced through / With the inextricable heaven’s deeper blue,”
Aurelia murmured aloud, remembering the description from
Tristram
of
Lyonesse.
And the foam on the towering breakers shone whiter than a seagull’s back and swirled into patterns more intricate than antique lace.

Newport was nothing like this. Not so wild, nor so glorious. Wide-eyed, Aurelia watched as the waves raced to fling themselves with roaring abandon against the stony shore, sending up flurries of beaten froth. She caught her breath; even from a distance, the sight was exhilarating.

No, Newport was lovely, but for all its moneyed splendor, it did not stop the heart as this did. Nor did it stir the blood and set it racing until every cell in one’s body seemed to echo the pulsing song of the sea. Inhaling the delicious salty air, Aurelia found herself quoting other words, far older and more revered than Swinburne’s: “
Deep
calleth
unto
deep
at
the
noise
of
thy
waterspouts: all thy waves and thy billows are gone over me
.”

The wind off the sea whistled in her ears and flapped the wide brim of her hat. On impulse, she loosened the ribbons under her chin, took off the hat, and stood bareheaded in the sun, letting the breeze ruffle her hair, tease it loose from its pins. Her skirt billowed around her, and she stepped forward more boldly into the surf. The cold felt merely invigorating this time, and she stood with the sea swirling about her ankles, gazing toward the horizon, where the deepening blue of the sea met the softer blue of the sky.

She did not hear the hoofbeats at first, and even when the sound reached her ears, she did not immediately identify them as such. They seemed nothing more than part of the sea’s rumble. Not until she felt the ground quiver beneath her feet did she look up to see the lone horseman galloping toward her.

Beneath the open sky, horse and rider moved as one, the latter’s head gleaming with the same inky gloss as his horse’s hide, making his shirt seem whiter by comparison. Watching him approach, Aurelia experienced a jolt of recognition almost physical in its intensity. No London dandy, transplanted from his usual environs of Hyde Park and Rotten Row.

No London dandy—but James Trelawney, Earl of Trevenan, in his rightful place.

***

James had risen early after an uneasy night. In truth, he’d been relieved when dawn broke and he could abandon the charade of trying to sleep. After breakfast, he’d headed out to the stables, not even bothering to change into what the fashionable would consider proper riding dress. Camborne—his coal-black gelding—had been as eager to see his master as James was to see him. Forsaking the usual bridle paths on the estate, they had instead cantered out the main gateway and down toward the sea, to race unimpeded and undisturbed along the shore.

For a time, the wild exhilaration of the ride—the sensation of Camborne’s galloping stride beneath him, the rush of the wind around him—had driven all other thoughts from his mind. But now, slowing his horse to a walk, he found memories of the previous day’s ugliness resurfacing. Helena’s face, contorted with fury, her strident accusations…and that anonymous letter with its sly insinuations that might prove harder to refute than direct charges would have been.