Waltz With a Stranger (22 page)

A coward’s weapon, but damnably effective when sent to the right person. And Helena with her festering resentment against the world in general and—it seemed—him in particular had proven to be just that. “Gerald will have justice!” she had insisted, and perhaps she’d even meant it, though James found it difficult to believe she was motivated by any deep affection for Gerald himself. Brother and sister had not been close, even as children; at best they’d tolerated each other. More often than not, they had wrangled as bitterly as their parents. Even at twelve, James had been struck by the lack of affection in his uncle’s family.

Nonetheless, Gerald had been part of Helena’s daily life until he left for Eton. Was it guilt, perhaps, or regret over their lack of closeness that made her so hot in his posthumous defense? And so eager to assign the blame for his death to James, whom they had both despised and regarded as an interloper? And what did Helena hope to accomplish by branding him as complicit in her brother’s death? His execution, or perhaps imprisonment? Or, if proof of his supposed involvement failed to materialize, simply to render his existence a living hell? She and Gerald had already attempted as much when he’d first come to live at Pentreath.

Enough,
James told himself. Dwelling on past misery was conducive to nothing but bitterness and self-pity. He should be thinking of how to solve this problem, finding out who was behind that letter—and discovering just how and why Gerald had died. He had not mourned his cousin overmuch—his death had come as a shock, not a grief—but if Gerald’s demise was due to foul play rather than mischance, then James owed him at least the time and effort involved in uncovering the truth.

Gerald’s death, and his activities in the months preceding it—could there be some connection between them? James thought again, uneasily, of Gerald’s involvement with Mercer Shipping, of the exorbitant price he’d paid to buy out two minor shareholders. Uncle Joshua would have had an apoplexy had he known how much his son was spending on this venture.

James felt sure his uncle
hadn’t
known—especially since he’d died soon after that fateful game of cards—and he doubted Helena had either. Should he tell her now, share with her the knowledge of Gerald’s possibly shady business dealings? If she could be converted from an enemy to an ally…he considered the idea, then dismissed it. At present, her mind seemed fixed upon the idea of his guilt. He would have to find allies elsewhere.

At least Aunt Judith had no doubts of his innocence. While she had cared for Gerald, and Helena too, at times, she had always treated James with what felt like a special warmth—perhaps because his father had been her favorite brother. When he’d first come to Pentreath bereft and grieving, Aunt Judith had been the one to comfort him. It helped to know that, despite the bad blood between him and Gerald, she had never believed him capable of harming his cousin.

So who
did
believe it enough to write that letter? Who could be holding enough of a grudge against him to reopen the wounds of Gerald’s death and falsely implicate James, when there was plenty of evidence exonerating him? And to drag Harry and some other fellow into it as well? And was it purely an act of malice, or was there something more sinister afoot?

Troubling thoughts, indeed. And ones he would prefer to keep from Amy and the other Newbolds, although he’d have to tell them something, given Helena’s presence at Pentreath. His mother’s family, on the other hand, might have some idea of who could be spreading this slander. And whether it was a personal grudge, or one that would have been leveled against any man holding the title of Earl of Trevenan.

He’d ride over to Harry’s house after luncheon, James resolved, and show him that letter. But for now, it was high time he headed back to Pentreath. He had a houseful of guests to entertain, chief among them his future bride.

Turning Camborne around, he urged him first into a trot, then—when it became clear that the horse had got his second wind—into a gallop. As they raced along the strand, he felt the lingering traces of fatigue and ill-humor miraculously lift and dissipate, as though blown away on the wind from the sea, and in their place a familiar exultation.

Home. Whatever tangle awaited him, whatever accusations Helena threw at him, he was home—and nothing could dim that pleasure.
In
my
own
country
…

He could have laughed aloud from the joy of it.

A woman was standing on the shore, gazing out to sea. The wind billowed her pale blue skirts, and her hat, trailing blue ribbons, dangled from her hand. She was barefoot too—or near enough, carrying her shoes in her other hand.

Barefoot, carefree—her demeanor at odds with her position. The gilded American heiress, removed from the ballroom and salon, exploring instead the natural world. And becoming a part of it, in a way her acquaintances could not have predicted.

Even before she turned, on hearing his approach, he knew who it was.

Not Amy—Aurelia. He wondered, as he reined in his horse, why he felt no surprise.

She gazed up at him, the water still lapping at her feet. “Lord Trevenan. Good morning.”

The sunlight gilded her hair to almost blinding brightness, picking out the darker veins of amber and honey among the flowing gold. Her fair skin had taken on a faint golden tinge as well, and her blue eyes rivaled the sea for richness of color. He thought of the pale, shrinking near-recluse he had surprised in his aunt’s conservatory and wanted to laugh. Or, more inexplicably, to weep—and both impulses shook him to the core.

He managed to suppress them and returned her greeting instead. “Miss Aurelia. You’re abroad early this morning.”

She smiled tentatively. “Forgive me. I couldn’t resist the opportunity to explore.”

“No need to ask forgiveness.” James dismounted, joining her on the sand; he ignored Camborne, who stamped and snorted behind him, frustrated in his wish to gallop further. “I know how irresistible this beach can be. I am just surprised to see you here without your sister.”

Aurelia bit her lip, looking hesitant. “Amy is still abed. She finds herself a little indisposed this morning.”

Concern roused in him at once. “Nothing serious, I trust? Should I send for the doctor?”

Her color deepened. “Oh, no, that won’t be necessary. My sister’s complaint is not life-threatening, though it is certainly uncomfortable—and inconvenient.”

Enlightenment dawned. “Ah. I hope she makes a quick recovery.” He would have some flowers sent up to his fiancée’s chamber when he got back to Pentreath.

“Oh, yes. I do think she will be herself within a few days.” Aurelia sounded relieved that he required no further explanation. “In any case, I’m the only member of my family awake just now. I suppose the others must be sleeping in.”

“Little wonder if they are. It’s a long journey from London to Cornwall, even by train.” James paused. “Someone knows where you’ve gone, I trust?”

“Lady Talbot does. She even gave me the key to the garden door.”

“You took the north stairs?” he asked in involuntary surprise.

“Well, I certainly didn’t
fly
down!” she retorted, looking unexpectedly amused. “These stairs aren’t forbidden to guests, are they? After what you told us yesterday—”

“No, of course not,” James hastened to assure her. “You’re welcome to use them. I hope you did not find the climb too strenuous?”

Aurelia shook her head. “I took my time descending and held onto the banister all the way. But I’d have climbed twice as far for such a view!” Her gaze returned to the sea. “Is it always like this, so turbulent and splendid?”

He smiled, feeling his mood lighten at her enthusiasm. “More often than not, at least where we are. The sea tends to be gentler on the south coast, and some prefer it so.”

Aurelia glanced back over her shoulder. “Do you?”

“Oh, I’m a north coast man, all the way down to my bones. I’d likely find the south coast far too tame, though it has many other features to commend it. Perhaps we might make an excursion down there for the day, once Amy is up and about.”

“I’m sure she’d enjoy that. For my part, I mean to entice her down
here.
I’ve never seen such a sea!”

“Not even at Newport?” he asked lightly, enjoying her obvious pleasure in the sight.

“Not even there,” she replied. “And while the sea and sun at Newport are lovely, Bailey’s Beach is so stony. I wouldn’t dare go barefoot there, the way I’ve done here.”

“Or hatless? Talking of which, you might want to cover yourself again,” James advised. “The air is very light here, and the sun stronger than it seems. Your skin is quite fair. I should not like you to suffer a bad sunburn on your first day in Cornwall.”

She sighed but donned her hat once again, twisting the ribbons one-handed into a loose knot under her chin. “Very well. I should never hear the end of it from Mama if I came back redder than a boiled lobster. Or worse, with a crop of freckles! And I suppose I should dry off as well, though I’m not nearly ready to go back to the house. It is far too beautiful out here.”

“Stay out a bit longer, then,” James invited. “I find myself in a similar humor just now, so, if you’ve no objections to my company—”

“Oh, none,” she assured him, returning his smile. “This is your beach, after all.” She waded out of the sea, heading for one of the flat rocks a short distance up the sand. Seating herself, she put her shoes down on the sand and stretched out her feet to dry in the sun.

Very shapely feet, James couldn’t help but observe, and—to judge from their outline beneath her damp muslin skirt—attached to even more shapely legs. Reminding himself that he had no business admiring such things, he glanced toward the water again. Behind him, a bored Camborne lowered his head to nose at a pile of drying seaweed.

Aurelia said, almost dreamily, “We’d go bathing in the sea at Newport. Nothing too adventurous—just bobbing up and down like corks in the shallows. I imagine it’s different here.”

“In some ways—less crowded and no bathing huts, of course.” James made his own way up the beach and sat down on another rock not far from hers. “My father taught me to swim in the sea here when I was a boy. I wouldn’t advise a newcomer to venture out too far—these tides are too strong for someone unaccustomed to them—but you’d be safe enough in the shallows.”

“You must have loved growing up here.”

James smiled. “I did, indeed. There’s always so much to explore when you live by the sea—worlds within worlds. Someday I’ll show you some of the caves down near St. Perran. Huge echoing ones, carved out by the tide. Harry and I used to play there as boys. I even kept a few keepsakes in one of them. I thought of it as my treasure trove back then.”

“Amy and I had a place like that too, only it was in the hollow of a tree,” Aurelia mused. “But weren’t you afraid of losing your treasures in the sea?”

“I tried to put them someplace above the waterline. The tide would have had to rise far higher to reach my hiding place.” He paused. “Some of my old playthings may even still be there, unless someone’s found and made off with them.”

“Would it bother you if they had?”

After a moment’s thought, James shook his head. “Not after all this time. Besides, I went back before I left for university and retrieved anything I thought I might grieve to lose. Hiding my things in the cave was mainly my way of keeping them—out of certain hands.”

“Your other cousin—Gerald?”

James glanced at her, momentarily startled; given their looks, it was easy to forget how perceptive she and Amy both were. “Very astute of you,” he said at last. “Yes, it was Gerald I had in mind. Not that he ever spent much time round the caves or on the beach, for that matter. He used to claim that just looking at the sea gave him
mal
de
mer,
much to my uncle’s disgust. But that didn’t stop him from trying to find out our special places, by one means or another. I suspect he resented anyone having secrets that didn’t include him.” Spoiling something for his “commoner” cousin would have appealed to Gerald as well, James reflected.

“He must have been a difficult person to deal with,” Aurelia said after a moment.

James smiled without humor. “He was. But then the same could be said of just about everyone on my father’s side of the family—Aunt Judith excepted, of course.”

Aurelia fretted her lower lip. “Trevenan, this situation with Lady Durward—”

“It’s nothing with which you or your family need to concern yourselves,” James said quickly. “I assure you, Helena’s accusations are groundless, and I am fully prepared to address any further unpleasantness on that score.”

“I don’t doubt that, but I should think this matter
does
concern Amy—at least to some extent,” Aurelia contended. “My sister is to be your bride and live here with you. Imagine how hard it will be for her if this cloud over your head is not dispersed well before your wedding.”

“A valid point,” James admitted.

“Amy’s already told me that your cousin died in a fall, and you were shown to be miles away at the time,” she went on. “So why has Lady Durward accused you of something you obviously didn’t do? Does she dislike you that much?”

“It’s—a bit more complicated than that.” James paused, then continued reluctantly, “The truth is, the exact circumstances of Gerald’s death are somewhat unclear. And I suppose the nature of our relationship might have led to speculation in certain quarters.”

Her gaze was sympathetic. “I gather you were not on the best of terms.”

“No.” James exhaled, then turned to stare at the churning surf again. “Gerald and I were never close. Like my uncle, he despised me on account of my mother’s family, whom he considered his social inferiors. For my part, I thought him a bully and a braggart. Age did not improve him, and I daresay his opinion of me was likewise unflattering. Fortunately, we moved in different circles, so it wasn’t too difficult to avoid each other, most of the time.

“We last met in July, after my uncle died. I came to the funeral, but beyond that…” He shrugged. “Gerald had become Trevenan, and I had other concerns to occupy myself, like running the mine and setting up my own establishment. My father had built up a small property for us on Tresilian land. I inherited it when I came of age.”