Waltz With a Stranger (3 page)

***

From Aurelia Leigh Newbold to Amelia Louise Newbold. 10 April 1891.

…Just one more month and I’ll be joining you in London! Do you know, dearest, I’ve actually found myself homesick for the place? And looking forward to all the diversions I was too weary or self-conscious to enjoy last spring: the theater, the opera, even the shops! All my gowns have had to be let out. Doctor Strauss is delighted by my increased energy and appetite! Mother is delighted too, as it gives her the perfect excuse to stop in Paris to order new gowns. I must admit I’m not protesting too much; it will be lovely to have a new wardrobe to go with the new me. But the most important thing is that we’ll be together again, at last! I know you came to spend Christmas here, but that’s not at all the same thing.

Write soon, and love always,

Relia

Doänt thou marry for munny, but goä wheer munny is!

—Alfred, Lord Tennyson,
“Northern Farmer: New Style”

London, April 1891

“I don’t think I’ve ever in my life seen anyone less pleased at becoming an earl,” Thomas observed, topping off James’s glass with his best port. Barlow, his trusted manservant, had cleared away the dinner dishes and brought in the dessert course of cheeses, grapes, and nuts.

James grimaced as he reached for the glass; three days in London and he was already being driven to drink, he thought only half-humorously. Even here, in Thomas’s comfortably masculine rooms in Half Moon Street, he felt confined and hedged-about. “How many new-made earls inherit a mountain of debts along with their title?”

“Entirely too many these days.” Thomas refilled his own glass, then leaned back in his chair. “How bad is it, exactly?”

“Bad enough. Allingham and Daviot—the family’s solicitors—estimate the amount to be in excess of fifty thousand pounds.” James smiled without humor. “Uncle Joshua may have been a miser, but Gerald more than made up for it. He ran through his mother’s legacy years ago, but I still can’t believe he managed to spend so much in a mere six months as Trevenan!”

“A sad truth about fortunes—they take decades to build and no time at all to spend. And your cousin was always one for cutting a dash. He aspired to the Prince of Wales’s circle, and they get wilder by the year.”

James scowled into his glass, reflecting without pleasure on the excesses of the Marlborough House set. “Wilder and more extravagant, I understand. I’ll give Uncle Joshua his due—he did what he could for Pentreath and its tenants. Gerald never contributed as much as a farthing.” He took a swallow of port. “Aunt Judith would be shocked to hear me say this, but the estate, at least, is better off without him. Not that he ever spent much time there to begin with. I still don’t know what he was doing there the night he died.”

“I was surprised to hear that as well,” Thomas remarked. “Knowing his proclivities, I’d have expected him to spend Christmas at one of his friends’ estates. Somewhere in the Shires, perhaps, where there’d be hunting.” He swirled the port in his glass, regarded his friend with searching green eyes. “This hasn’t caused trouble for you, has it? With the inquest?”

James shook his head. “None. It helps that I was visiting my mother’s relations at the time. My cousin, Sir Harry Tresilian, was hosting a party in honor of the New Year. Even Helena—Gerald’s sister—could make nothing of that. The coroner brought back a ruling of death by misadventure. Apparently, Gerald had been drinking before he fell off that cliff. He might have lost his footing in the dark.” He cracked open an almond. “Well, however he met his Maker, he’s left me one hell of a mess to clean up.”

Thomas idly rolled a grape between his long fingers. “Will you sell off some land?”

“No.” The vehemence of his response surprised them both, but the certainty was there, James discovered, as solid and enduring as the Cornish cliffs. “I never expected to inherit,” he continued slowly. “And God knows I never
wanted
the earldom. But now that it’s mine, I’m not parting with a single acre, save as a last resort. Pentreath deserves better of me than that.”

He might have few pleasant memories of Uncle Joshua and none whatsoever of Gerald, but Pentreath had been home to the Trelawneys for centuries. Even for him, coming there as a desolate orphan of twelve. Once again, he saw the estate in his mind’s eye: gracious and silver-grey, its mullioned windows facing out upon the surging sea. Pentreath—one of the few things his uncle had loved with all his flinty heart.

But Gerald, like his fashionable mother, had disliked Cornwall, spending most of his time in London or the Shires once he was of age. Certainly he’d never troubled himself about maintaining the estate that was his birthright or looking after those who lived and worked there.

Well, that would have to change. “I suppose,” James began dubiously, “I could borrow the money to make the most pressing repairs to Pentreath and the tenants’ cottages. And arrange to pay it back out of my profits from the mines. It would take time, of course, but—”

“There’s a quicker solution,” Thomas interposed. “Marry an heiress.”

“Marry?” James stared at his friend as if he’d grown another head.

“Why not? That’s what many men in your situation do, if they can manage it. And you’ve arrived just in time for the Season, so there should be plenty of candidates to choose from.”

James pulled a face. “I hadn’t thought to turn fortune-hunter.”

“Think of it more as a trade: your title and estate in exchange for your bride’s dowry.” Thomas’s mouth crooked in its familiar ironic smile. “According to Mother, there are a number of eligible young ladies who’d be delighted to make your acquaintance.”

“None of whom would have given me the time of day when I was plain Mr. Trelawney,” James pointed out. “If Gerald were alive, they’d be setting their caps at him just as eagerly.”

“Perhaps not quite as eagerly,” Thomas corrected him. “Your cousin may have been a peer for a good deal longer, but he was also a prize boor. You, on the other hand, have no such prejudice to overcome.” He added, more sympathetically, “It needn’t be as cold-blooded as you think. Some of the ladies Mother mentioned are good-natured as well as rich—and pretty, especially the Americans. Not that
you
heed such things, but it’s practically the fashion these days for an English lord to take an American bride—and the wealthier the better.”

James paused, his glass halfway to his lips, as a memory rose in his mind: a radiant, golden-haired girl laughing as she waltzed. It was succeeded almost at once by that of another girl, alike and yet so different from the first. Joy and sadness, sun and shadow…

“—and there’s a Miss Leiter from Chicago,” Thomas’s voice broke into his thoughts, “who’s been much admired this year, ever since the Prince danced the quadrille with her at Grosvenor House. She’s got at least one sister, too.”

“Talking of sisters,” James began, keeping his tone casual, “what about the Newbold twins? Have they returned to America?” Just his luck if they had.

“One of them has gone abroad for her health, I hear. But Miss Amelia is still among us—and unmarried.”

“Unmarried?” James felt his heart give a slight lurch at the news. “But what about Glyndon—or that other fellow, Kelmswood?”

Thomas shrugged. “Kelmswood tired of the chase last summer. No staying power. Glyndon still fancies her, but as I’ve said before, his parents have other plans for him.”

“You don’t think he’ll defy them and go his own way?”

“Not on this. There’s too much at stake. He might bluster and fume at first, but in the end, he’ll dance to their piping.” Thomas paused, his eyes oddly hooded in the lamplight. “So, you have a liking for Miss Newbold?”

James fidgeted with his glass. “That might be putting it too strongly. We haven’t even been introduced yet. I spoke to her sister once.”

Spoke to her, danced with her…He remembered the painful flush on her cheek, her low, vehement words:
Scars
on
a
man
may
be
distinguished. On a woman, they’re merely ugly.

And now she’d gone abroad—to recover her health, as Thomas had said. He hoped she found it, along with some peace of mind. Aurelia, fragile and brittle as a blown-glass butterfly.

“But you do find her attractive, don’t you?” Thomas pressed on.

“Who wouldn’t?”

“Indeed.” Thomas steepled his fingers. “My mother’s holding a garden party this weekend,” he announced, almost abruptly. “At Richmond. Miss Newbold will be there, along with several other heiresses. That should be as good a place as any to start looking.”

***

Havenhurst—Lady Julia Sheridan’s Richmond estate—was a haze of purple bloom. Sprays of lilac and dangling clusters of wisteria filled the air with their intoxicating perfume.

Amy Newbold blended in perfectly; indeed, she had taken great pains to do so. A little complacently, she smoothed the lavender kid gloves that matched her lavender muslin afternoon dress. Not every lady showed to advantage in lavender, but the color became her admirably well, as did the straw hat trimmed with white and violet flowers. She’d spent a good ten minutes before the mirror getting it positioned at just the right jaunty angle. The perfect ensemble in which to stroll through the gardens—and receive a proposal of marriage.

She glanced about the garden, seeking Glyndon’s broad shoulders and golden-bronze hair. As Lady Julia’s nephew, he was certain to attend this affair; he’d said as much to her two nights ago at the Eveshams’ ball. And surely, if he were familiar with Havenhurst’s grounds, he must know of some secluded place where they might go to settle things between them. As a matter of fact, he’d made a point of mentioning the Wilderness Garden…

A few feet away, Aunt Caroline was conversing with Viscountess Ashby and her daughter Harriet, who were both noticeably more cordial this Season, now that Lord Kelmswood was no longer paying court to “that encroaching American girl.” Privately, Amy wished Miss Ashby joy of the earl. Handsome though he was, he’d proven quite dreadfully fickle. She felt a renewed surge of fondness for Glyndon; at least
his
affections hadn’t changed with the seasons!

Talking of seasons, would a June wedding be too soon? If not, they could have it in London, at St. George’s, Hanover Square, that church so popular with English aristocrats. Or a September wedding in New York, after everyone was back from Newport. Maybe at St. Thomas’s: fashionable, Anglican, and large enough for a choir of more than fifty strong.

Yes, the more Amy thought about it, the better she liked the idea. A grand New York wedding—and one in the eye for those stodgy Knickerbocker families who had never been able to decide whether to welcome her and Aurelia because of their father’s name or snub them because of their mother’s money. Too often it had turned out to be the latter.

Aurelia…Amy’s heart lifted at the thought of her twin. Just one month and they’d be together again. It had been wonderful to see her at Christmas, looking and acting so much more like her old self. Amy would ensure that every door in London was open to her and she had her pick of suitors. A peer would be ideal, though Aurelia had never cared about titles. But someone splendid, nonetheless, who could make her forget all about that stupid Charlie Vandermere!

Of course, she conceded, that might have to wait until after her own nuptials. But once that was accomplished, surely no one would dare to snub the sister-in-law of a future duke. Pity Glyndon’s younger brother was only a schoolboy, but he might have a cousin who’d be suitable. What a coup it would be if Aurelia could marry into the family too!

She looked for her ardent suitor again, but failed to find him. Well, perhaps he was running late. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Aunt Caroline still in conversation with Lady Ashby, and a pretty redhead whom she didn’t recognize was now speaking to Miss Ashby. Having already met the people her godmother had most wanted her to meet, Amy saw no reason not to take advantage of her momentary freedom and explore the grounds—the Wilderness Garden, for example. Aunt Caroline, an indulgent chaperon, would not mind as long as she didn’t stay away too long or wander too far afield. And if she happened to come back
engaged
, Amy thought with a secret smile, her peccadilloes would be forgiven in an instant.

Catching up her skirts, she hurried across the grass. Paths unrolled in all directions before her, some leading to formal gardens where spring flowers bloomed in exquisitely regimented order, others to plots where nature had been permitted freer rein. The Wilderness Garden probably lay down one of the latter. Her guess confirmed by a passing footman, she set off down the indicated path and soon found herself in what appeared to be the very heart of spring.

No sign of Glyndon yet, but rhododendrons and azaleas—in every shade of white, pink, and red imaginable—bloomed in splendid profusion on every side of her. Some bushes were short, reaching barely to her knee, while others towered over her head. For a moment, Amy imagined her arms full of azaleas as she drifted down the aisle toward Glyndon, then she reluctantly abandoned the fantasy. If she meant to marry in September, azaleas would be long gone by then. But roses would still be available, and orchids—even more magnificent.

She wandered through the flowering wilderness, her mind still full of wedding plans. Gown by Worth, of course, satin trimmed with seed pearls…no, pearls were for tears and she didn’t want those on her wedding day. But Brussels lace, a train, and a veil of the finest tulle.

What should Aurelia wear as maid of honor? Ice blue to set off her eyes, or perhaps a delicate peach to flatter her complexion. It might be Amy’s day, but she wanted her twin to shine as well. She had no patience with brides who dressed their attendants unbecomingly so they might look better by comparison. Such a petty thing to do!

“—a paltry thing to do!” A male voice spoke up suddenly from the other side of a towering wall of rhododendrons.

Amy stopped, jolted from her reverie. That voice—she knew she’d heard it before.

“Leave off, Thomas!” snapped a second voice that sent a shudder of recognition down Amy’s spine.
Glyndon
…“It’s none of your affair!”

“On the contrary, it’s very much my affair since you’re on my mother’s property,” Thomas retorted. “You were thinking of meeting Miss Newbold here, weren’t you?”

“And if I were?” Spoken with sulky schoolboy bravado. “I’m still a free man, cousin.”

“Not for long. Your engagement to Lady Louisa’s due to be announced any day now.”

Amy froze. Blood, breath, and heartbeat slowed to the speed of a melting glacier.

“You have no matrimonial intentions toward Miss Newbold,” Thomas continued inexorably. “And it’s no kindness to let her think you do.”

Amy closed her eyes, willing Glyndon to assure him otherwise. Seconds dragged on like hours, like days, and then—