Waltz With a Stranger (36 page)

“It’s—it’s not so simple as that.” James passed a hand over his face. “Do you think she’d thank me for jilting her sister? For hurting the person she loves most in the world? And,” he met Harry’s gaze squarely, “I care for Amy too. The last thing I want to do is cause her pain.”

Harry sighed. “I think, no matter what you decide, someone will be hurt. Call me selfish or clannish, but I’d rather it wasn’t you.” He paused, then said slowly, “If, by some chance, your fiancée was to have a change of heart—”

“What?” James interrupted. “Have you seen any proof that she has?”

“Not exactly,” Harry admitted. “But, watching her, I’ve wondered if Miss Amy was truly—comfortable here, in Cornwall. Not that she’s ever complained,” he added hastily. “But it strikes me that a life in London might be more to her liking.”

“I’ve promised Amy we’ll go up to town periodically—at least for the Season,” James informed him. “And I have a house in London now.”

“So you do. But your heart is here, just as your roots are here, in Cornwall,” Harry pointed out. “I’d hope your bride—whoever she might be—would understand that.”

His bride. The woman who held his honor, or the woman who held his heart? He’d dreamed of her again last night, sitting at the piano, the silvery chords rippling from beneath her fingers. In his dreams, he’d pressed his lips to the tender nape of her neck, then stroked and kissed her until their mingled sighs and murmurs of delight formed a song of their own.

James swallowed, longing and reason swirling inside of him like a maelstrom. “I can’t—I need time to think…”

“No doubt you do,” Harry agreed somberly. “And I don’t envy you having to make a choice like this one. Just—try not to leave it too late.”

He turned his head to gaze out the carriage window, leaving James to grapple with his thoughts for the remainder of the journey back to Pentreath.

Still in a brown study, he descended from the carriage and entered the house, stopping short when he heard an unfamiliar female voice issuing from the drawing room.

“Visitors, my lord,” Pelham informed him. “Acquaintances of Miss Newbold, I believe.”

“Thank you, Pelham.” James exchanged a glance with Harry as they headed for the salon.

Most of the ladies were assembled there: Lady Talbot, Mrs. Newbold, Amy, and Aurelia, their expressions ranging from polite to apprehensive. And holding court in the middle of the room, chattering artlessly away, was Sally Vandermere. Her brother Charlie stood behind her chair, his gaze fixed on Aurelia, who was looking everywhere but at him.

Watching them both, James felt his heart sink like a stone as Harry’s warning echoed almost mockingly in his head.

Don’t leave it too late…

***

“Poor Mama came down with the most awful cold after your ball,” Sally Vandermere explained to the room at large. “The doctor recommended a change of air, so Charlie suggested Newquay. We heard it was all the rage these days. Wasn’t that clever of him?”

“How is your mother now, Sally?” Mrs. Newbold inquired, with an air of conscious duty.

“Oh, much better, but I imagine we’ll be here until the end of the month, at least,” Sally replied blithely. “We’re staying at this marvelous hotel—built on the bluff, overlooking the sea. And when I learned we were just a few miles from Pentreath, well, I told Charlie we simply must call on you. I hope you don’t mind showing us around your future home, Amy.”

Aurelia glanced at her twin, whose already fixed smile stiffened around the edges at these words. Fortunately, Lady Talbot intervened.

“I’m afraid much of Pentreath is still undergoing renovations, Miss Vandermere. But perhaps you would enjoy a tour of the gardens?” She glanced at Trevenan, who gave a brief nod of consent. “Our roses and lupines are especially fine right now.”

Sally accepted with delight, and they set out for the gardens, except Sir Harry, who made his excuses and slipped away. Aurelia found herself almost wishing she could do the same.

The Vandermeres’ appearance had left her thoroughly bemused. Just this morning she’d tried to answer Charlie’s letter, only to consign her efforts to the wastebasket. And now here he was, without her having to pen as much as a single sentence. And looking at her in a way that was unmistakable, that brought back a flood of memories, both bitter and sweet.

What had Claudine said, about making sure of her own feelings? There was still…something there, with Charlie. She was no longer going to deny that, even though she had no idea what that something was. And there might be only one way to find out.

***

Aunt Judith took the lead on the tour, flanked by Mrs. Newbold and the chatterbox Miss Vandermere. To no one’s surprise, Charlie Vandermere ranged himself beside Aurelia, though James noticed he did not have the effrontery to offer his arm.

“Relia,” Amy began in instinctive protest, but her twin shook her head.

“It’s all right, Amy. You and Trevenan go on ahead,” she insisted.

“But,” Amy tried again, as James asked, “My dear, are you sure?”

Aurelia colored slightly, but nodded with every appearance of composure. “Quite sure.”

So there
was
something going on, though James had no idea what it could be. He offered his arm to Amy, who accepted it reluctantly, with a last glance at her sister, who sent her a faint smile and made a small shooing motion with her hand.

Taking the hint, James escorted his fiancée down the garden path after the others.

Amy fretted her lip, obviously trying to resist the urge to look back as they walked among the flowers, a riot of brilliant color and heady perfume. “Whatever can Stupid Charlie be doing here?” she asked in a fierce whisper. “Imagine him coming all the way down to Cornwall like this! I wish Relia would send him about his business.”

What if his business
was
Aurelia? The thought sent a surge of almost primal fury through James; he throttled it down, reminding himself forcibly that he had no rights in this. “I think your sister knows what she’s about,” he said at last. “So let us trust her to handle this as she sees fit.”

Amy opened her mouth, closed it, then sighed. “Very well. I daresay she’s capable of dealing with Stupid Charlie on her own. I just wish she didn’t have to.”

“On that point, we are agreed.” James patted her hand and felt suddenly awkward as he remembered Harry’s words in the coach. “Amy, are you—happy here, in Cornwall? You need not fear to be honest with me,” he added as her eyes widened. “Indeed, I would far rather you told me the truth than tried to spare my feelings on this.”

She flushed, fretting her lip again. “I am not
unhappy
here,” she said in a small voice. “I don’t wish you to think that, ever. Pentreath is a beautiful estate, and Relia has completely converted me about the beach. I think I could become—quite fond of Cornwall, eventually.”

“But?” James prodded gently.

Her flush deepened. “I suppose it
does
take some getting used to, living so far out in the country. I’m afraid I am a city girl at heart. But I mean to be a good mistress here, James, truly.”

“I know you do.” He patted her hand again. “But I also know how you love Society. We will be spending part of the year in London, I promise.”

No mistaking the relief on her face. “You won’t mind too much?”

“No, no, of course not,” he assured her. “Marriage is a partnership, after all—a compromise. Both people should be able to have some of what they want.”

She smiled, nodding eagerly. “Yes, that’s just how I feel as well! So much more civilized than one person making all the sacrifices.”

So civilized, their forthcoming marriage. Why didn’t the knowledge make him happier?

“How did your visit to Veryan go?” she asked. “Did you find what you’d hoped to find?”

“In a manner of speaking.” James paused, then decided that she might as well know now as later, and gave her a brief account of what he had discovered that morning.

“What an awful man that Captain Mercer is!” Amy exclaimed afterwards. “I’m so glad neither you nor my father had any dealings with him. And I hope your cousin Oliver is good and sorry for what he did to you and Sir Harry.”

“He appears to be. Now all we need to do is find a way for him to identify Mercer.”

“I suppose you really can’t just invite them all to dinner, can you?”

“That would simplify matters, but, alas, no. We need a somewhat subtler plan.”

“Well, at least you have
some
of the answers you were seeking,” she pointed out. “I knew you’d get to the bottom of this, eventually.”

“I appreciate your confidence in me, Amy.” James tried not to think of what Aurelia might have said in her sister’s place. Or about what might be happening with Aurelia and Charlie Vandermere elsewhere in the garden.

***

“You’re looking as beautiful as ever,” Charlie said as they walked along the path. Much to Aurelia’s relief, he’d made no move to touch her. “Cornwall must agree with you.”

“It does, very much.”

“You received my letter?” he asked, after a moment.

“Yes, I even read it.”

“Thank you for not throwing it on the fire.”

“I thought about doing that too,” Aurelia told him tartly, and saw his lips quirk in a rueful smile that awoke a reminiscent ache in her heart.

“I wouldn’t have blamed you if you had. I suspect most women would find my folly—impossible to forgive.”

“Difficult, certainly. Impossible…” Aurelia attempted a Claudine-like shrug, even as her pulse quickened. “Who can be sure? We all make mistakes, when we’re young and foolish.” She paused, seeking the words that would carry her over the next hurdle. “I’d like to think we’re capable of learning even from the worst of them—and making the most of a second chance.”

Charlie’s blue eyes were intent on hers. “What are you saying?”

She took a breath, met his gaze squarely. “I am saying that—if you choose to call on me here, at Pentreath, I am willing to receive you.”

His face—still so handsome, once so dear—lit up in just the way she remembered. “You mean it, then? You are giving me a second chance?”

“I am prepared to see—whether any of those feelings we once shared still exist.”

“They do,” he assured her. “At least, mine do. And I pray yours do as well. You’ll see, my dear girl. I will make you care for me again.”

He leaned toward her, then checked himself as she drew back. “Forgive me. I don’t mean to take liberties so soon. May I call on you tomorrow? Perhaps we might go for a drive.”

“That would be pleasant,” she acknowledged. “Shall we say, around one o’clock?”

“One o’clock it is, then.” Charlie took her gloved hand and lifted it to his lips. “Thank you, Miss Aurelia. I’ll make sure you don’t regret this.”

Aurelia managed a smile, hoping fervently that she wouldn’t regret this either.

Which of us is happy in this world? Which of us has his desire? or, having it, is satisfied?

—William Makepeace Thackeray,
Vanity
Fair

“You’re frowning again,” Sheridan observed, laying down his pencil. “This can’t be how you wish to appear in your portrait.”

Amy hurriedly composed her features into something more serene. “Is this better?”

“Somewhat. But you don’t exactly look like a joyful bride-to-be.” He studied her with those penetrating green eyes. “Is there something amiss between you and James?”

“Between me and James? No, no, not at all.”

“Then what?”

Amy hesitated, then blurted out, “Stupid Charlie Vandermere wants to court my sister again. And even worse, Relia’s decided to encourage him!”

“You dislike the gentleman?”

“The understatement of the century, Mr. Sheridan. He broke my sister’s heart once by jilting her after her accident. I hate like poison that he’s been given another chance to do it again!” Too restless to sit any longer, she rose from the chaise in a rustle of draperies and began to pace. “He took her driving yesterday. And he’ll call on her today, mark my words. And bit by bit she’ll soften toward him—and then he’ll disappoint her, just like he did last time!”

“He might be sincere about wishing to make amends,” Sheridan pointed out. “And about winning your sister’s heart again. Life has a way of changing us all. Perhaps he has learned the error of his ways and become a better, more dependable man.”

“I wish I could believe that. But I trust him about as far as I can throw a grand piano. Honestly, I don’t know what Relia’s thinking!”

“It’s her decision to make.”

Amy sighed. “So it is. And that’s the only reason I’m not spending every waking moment telling her what a terrible idea this is.” Not that she hadn’t tried.
“Relia, why?”
she had asked repeatedly, when her sister first told them all of Charlie’s renewed courtship and her acceptance of it. But Relia had refused to discuss the matter further, even when they were alone together, and Amy’s attempts to press the issue had almost led to an outright quarrel—except that Stupid Charlie wasn’t worth quarreling about. They’d agreed to disagree instead, but it still troubled Amy deeply that the person she was closest to seemed to be shutting her out. There must be something more, something Relia wasn’t telling her…

“Have you considered that she might still care for him, deep down, in spite of his past behavior? Love forgives all things, they say.”

“Oh,
love
.” Amy lifted a scornful shoulder. “I’m not sure I believe in it.”

Sheridan raised his brows. “A remarkably cynical statement from one so soon to be wed.”

“I’m not saying there can’t be deep affection and respect in a marriage!” she amended quickly. “I feel both of those for James. But love, romantic love—I just don’t think it’s for me.”

“Why not?”

Amy gazed out the window without seeing anything. “I watched my sister fall in love with Charlie, and I saw how devastated she was by his abandonment.” She swallowed, remembering those dark days of worry and anxiety. “Her accident and then the heartbreak on top of that…we feared for her life, Mr. Sheridan! I don’t ever want to be that—vulnerable myself. I don’t ever want to expose myself to the possibility of that much pain.” She turned back to him with a bleak little smile. “So you see, I am a coward at heart.”

“That’s rather a harsh way of looking at it,” he said, half-frowning.

“Harsh?” She shrugged. “I think of it as honest, myself.”

“It seems an unkindness, to cut yourself off from love so young.”

“Haven’t you done the same thing?” she challenged.

He grew very still. “What do you mean?”

Amy inwardly cursed her unruly tongue. They’d been getting on so well during these sittings, and now perhaps she’d jeopardized that by mentioning what must be a very private sorrow; but the die was cast. “Lady Warrender mentioned that you loved her sister Elizabeth—and that she died.”
And
since
then
you
have
had
affairs
with
countless
women, and cared not a straw for any of them.

“I see.” Sheridan fell silent for a moment. “It was a lifetime ago.”

“But it’s left its mark all the same, hasn’t it?” she persisted.

He did not reply at once, and the silence stretched between them, like a sheet of ice too thin to skate on. “Elizabeth was—all in all to me, those long years ago,” he said at last. “I do not deny I mourned her deeply—and I shall always cherish her memory. But, at the risk of uttering a cliché, life goes on. I am not the boy I was then, but a man grown. My work remains my consolation, though I have known other compensations as well.”

A near-perfect speech, Amy thought, delivered with just the right blend of regret and detachment. Completely convincing, if one could overlook the stark pain in his eyes, now darkened to a muddy green—muted now, perhaps, after ten years, but still there, still visible.

Sheridan rose from his easel. “I believe—this concludes our sitting for today.”

“I’m sorry!” Instantly remorseful, Amy took a step toward him, her hand stretched out to touch his sleeve. “I didn’t mean to pry or offend you in any way—”

“Not at all,” he said with perfect courtesy. “But we’ve been at this nearly two hours. It will be time for luncheon soon enough. You’re bound to be hungry,” he added, smiling just a little. “I know I am.”

“Oh.” Relieved by his composure, she asked, “How many more sittings do we need?”

Sheridan glanced back at the easel. “I couldn’t say, as yet. But once we decide upon a pose, I can begin to paint. Things should go much faster after that.”

“Tomorrow then, at the same time?” Amy asked, trying to sound as calm as he.

His eyes, now their usual clear emerald, met hers, and she felt her pulse quicken. “Tomorrow, Miss Newbold.”

***

“I can’t think why you’re letting
him
court you again,” Andrew grumbled as he and Aurelia turned their horses back toward the stable.

Aurelia shrugged. “Why not? No lady minds being courted by an eligible young man.” He’d taken her driving yesterday, just along the coast—a pleasant enough diversion, and Charlie had behaved impeccably throughout. She’d actually enjoyed herself, in a mild sort of way.

“If you were Amy, I’d wonder if you were doing this only because you meant to jilt him later, pay him back in his own coin.” Andrew eyed her closely. “You’re not, are you?”

“Good heavens!” The thought had never crossed her mind. “No, that would be far too much trouble.” She patted Tamar’s neck. “Andrew, can’t you accept that I have my own reasons for seeing Charlie again, and leave it at that? It’s my decision, after all. Mama and Papa have accepted it.” Although her mother, at least, had been startled and mystified by her choice.

Andrew snorted. “I’ll bet Amy hasn’t! Not by a long shot!”

“Probably not, but Amy is holding her tongue for now, and I’d appreciate it if you’d do the same,” Aurelia countered. “I mean it, Andrew.” She held his gaze until he looked away, scowling, then said in a gentler voice, “You and Charlie were friends for years, after all.”

“That was before I knew he’d jilted you,” Andrew muttered.

“I’d never have asked you to choose sides.”

“I’ve chosen one anyway—yours.”

His brusque admission touched her. “Thank you. But you don’t have to worry now. I can take care of myself.” She reached across the short distance between them to touch his sleeve. “Shall we canter now? If you can keep up, that is,” she added provocatively.

Andrew made the only response an older brother could make to that, and they urged their horses forward, clattering neck and neck into the stable yard five minutes later. Flushed and laughing, they dismounted and made their way back to the house.

No sooner had they entered than Aurelia heard a familiar voice call her name. “Charlie!” she exclaimed, turning toward him. “I hadn’t expected to see you so soon.”

“I couldn’t stay away. Good morning, Andrew,” he greeted his former friend uncertainly.

“Vandermere.” Andrew, stony-faced, gave him a curt nod. “It’s almost time for luncheon. I’m going up to change,” he told his sister, and strode past them both to the stairs.

Charlie watched him go with obvious regret. “I deserved that, I guess.” He turned back to Aurelia, touched the wispy veil on her hat. “You’ve been riding?”

“Yes, I started last week and now I’m out on horseback almost every morning.” She smiled. “It feels wonderful to ride again. I even raced Andrew back to the house today.”

“Racing?” He stared at her in shock. “After what happened before? How could you take that kind of risk?”

“We were just cantering,” Aurelia protested. “I know I’m not ready for a full gallop yet.”

Charlie exhaled, reached out to take her shoulders. “Thank God for that! Promise me you won’t do anything so dangerous again.”

Aurelia resisted the urge to shake off his hold. “I came to no harm, as you can see.”

“But you could have! I still remember the day you fell—”

“So do I, vividly. And everything that came after,” she added with a touch of acid.

He flushed, and Aurelia felt a pang of self-reproach. Charlie was only being solicitous and kind. If he’d behaved like this four years ago, she’d have felt so safe, even cherished. Why did she find his concern irritating rather than comforting now? She said, more gently, “I do know the difference between being active and being foolish, Charlie. Trust me on this, please.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I know I’m being overprotective, and that I’ve got no right to tell you what to do.” His hold on her shoulders slackened, though he did not release her entirely. “It’s just that your safety means everything to me—and so do you.”

That did touch her, and she managed to smile. “I do appreciate your concern, Charlie. And I promise to take care when I ride.”

He smiled back, his relief palpable. “Thank you, my dear girl—for humoring me.”

“Aurelia?” Lady Talbot spoke up from behind them. “Luncheon is in half an hour, my dear. Mr. Vandermere, shall you be joining us?”

Charlie glanced at Aurelia, who nodded. “Yes, thank you. I’d like that very much.”

Lady Talbot inclined her head. “I’ll see that another place is laid for you.”

“I’d better go up and change,” Aurelia said, glancing down at her riding habit. “Would you mind waiting in the drawing room?”

His gaze was as warm as a summer day. “Not if it means waiting for you.”

***

“A gentleman to see you, my lord,” Pelham announced, as soon as James set foot inside the door. “A Mr. Pendarvis. I’ve put him in the library.”

“Thank you, Pelham. I’ll speak to him right away.” He paused, remembering Helena’s still-simmering hostility. “See to it that Mr. Pendarvis and I are not disturbed.”

“Very good, my lord.”

A man was standing by the window, but he turned at once when James entered the library. “Lord Trevenan.” He stepped forward, extending his hand. “I understand from Harry that you wish to speak with me?”

“Indeed.” James shook his visitor’s hand, taking the opportunity to study him closely. Robin Pendarvis appeared to be his age, a tall, spare young man with dark brown hair and intensely blue eyes in a strong, angular face. “What has my cousin told you, exactly?”

“Merely that an unpleasant situation had arisen here that affected all three of us,” Pendarvis replied. “He said you would fill me in on the details.”

“And so I shall.” James gestured for Pendarvis to be seated, and sat down himself in the chair directly opposite. “To begin with, you, Harry, and I have been the target of malicious letters insinuating that we conspired to have my late cousin killed.”

Pendarvis stared at him. “Good God!”

His obvious shock went a fair way toward banishing any lingering doubts James had about his innocence. “Absurd, I know. But it’s caused considerable upheaval, nonetheless. Two letters have been received, one by my cousin’s sister, another by our banker in Truro.”

Pendarvis’s mouth tightened. “Do you know who’s responsible for these accusations?”

“Only in part.” James gave a brief account of what he’d discovered in Veryan. “My cousin Oliver certainly bears some of the blame, but he was not the originator of this scheme. There is someone I suspect, though I lack conclusive proof as yet. A Captain Philip Mercer, who had some business dealings with Gerald in the last months of his life.”

“Philip Mercer, of Mercer Shipping?”

James stared at him, wondering if he’d found yet another connection. “You know him?”

“Not personally. But my great-uncle owned a few shares in his company when he died.”

“So did Gerald—rather more than a few, which all came to me on his death. Mercer has twice approached me about buying them back. Much to his displeasure, I refused him.”

Pendarvis nodded. “I received a letter from Mercer a few weeks ago, asking if I’d be willing to part with my shares. He offered a handsome sum, but I told him I couldn’t yet see my way clear to divesting myself of any part of my great-uncle’s estate.” He shrugged. “I haven’t heard back so far. But then, I don’t hold many shares. Acquiring yours—or rather, your late cousin’s—might have seemed more imperative.”

“He may also believe that slandering us both and causing us financial difficulties might make us more receptive to his offer,” James pointed out.

“If I may ask, just how deeply was your cousin involved in Mercer’s company?”

“At the time of his death, Gerald had gained control of nearly a third of the business. Worse, he appears to have stolen a shipment of goods from Mercer’s warehouse in Falmouth and hidden it somewhere.” James grimaced at the memory. “I offered compensation, and Mercer sent over the inventory yesterday. I spent this morning searching the empty cottages on my land to see if Gerald might have hidden the cargo there, but,” he shook his head, “nothing.”

“That must be difficult, learning that your cousin behaved—less than honorably.”