They quickly exchanged information before bidding each other a last fond farewell. Moments after Claudine’s departure, the porter rapped on the door. The carriage had arrived.
Following her mother and the porter downstairs, Aurelia felt her heart pounding in mingled excitement and trepidation. Paris and London—those two dazzling, terrifying cities—still lay ahead, but at this moment, she felt equal to whatever they held in store for her.
***
London, two weeks later
Descending from the train in her mother’s wake, Aurelia caught her breath when she saw the familiar figure waiting on the platform. Looking at Amy might no longer be like looking into a mirror, but she could still pick out her twin in a crowd.
Before she could wave or call out, Amy’s head turned in her direction—and a welcoming smile blazed across her face. “Mother! Relia!”
Hands outstretched, she came toward them, and Aurelia found herself moving forward as well. They met in a fierce embrace, half-laughing, half-crying. Breathing in her twin’s favorite rose-and-jasmine scent, Aurelia felt that she was home at last.
“That will do, my dears,” Laura reproved, but her blue eyes were smiling as she regarded her newly reunited daughters. “Amy, you haven’t misplaced Caro, have you?”
“No, Mama.” Releasing Aurelia, Amy greeted her mother more decorously. “Indeed, I believe she was right behind me.”
“Beside you, now,” Lady Renbourne corrected her crisply, but she, too, wore an indulgent expression. “Laura, Aurelia.” She kissed her cousin and her goddaughter in turn, then stood back to survey them from head to toe. “You’re both looking very well. No trouble during the crossing?”
“None at all, Aunt Caroline,” Aurelia reassured her. “We were both fine throughout.”
“You look it. And the spa seems to have agreed with you, to say nothing of Paris!”
“Monsieur Worth was very obliging,” Mrs. Newbold informed her cousin. “He’s designed a whole season’s wardrobe for Aurelia, and at such short notice!”
“Excellent,” Lady Renbourne said briskly. “Although I am certain you’ll both want to visit the London shops too. Now, let’s find a porter for all your luggage. The carriage is waiting.”
Amy linked her arm through Aurelia’s. “Wait till you see the house! It’s in Grosvenor Square, right in the heart of Mayfair and terribly grand. And I have so much to tell you…”
***
No. 17 Grosvenor Square was indeed “terribly grand,” both outside and in. Bemused, Aurelia let her twin, still talking nineteen to the dozen, lead her to a chamber decorated in soft blues and lavenders, with an Aubusson carpet and a four-poster bed worthy of Marie Antoinette.
“I’m just across the hall,” Amy told her as they sat down on a blue brocaded chaise longue. “In the room with the rose-covered wallpaper. We can trade if you like.”
“No, this room is lovely,” Aurelia assured her. Suzanne, her new maid, was already unpacking her trunks and hanging the gorgeous Worth gowns in the wardrobe.
“You look wonderful, by the way,” Amy remarked. “Even better than at Christmas.” She tilted her head to one side, studying her sister intently. “Your hair, for one thing…”
“Do you like it?” Aurelia fingered the short, feathery fringe that softened the expanse of her forehead and—better yet—rendered the scar at her hairline far less visible. “I thought it might help make my face look—not quite as thin.”
“Oh, it’s very becoming,” Amy assured her at once. “Your face does look fuller and healthier. I like the curls too, at the side,” she added, gently touching a wispy tendril.
“So do I.” The side curls drew the eye downward, away from her scarred cheek. “My friend Claudine calls them ‘à la Grecque’ because they remind her of Classical sculpture.”
“Who on earth is Claudine?”
“Her full name is Claudine-Gabrielle Beaumont. She’s a French actress,” Aurelia explained. “She arrived in Bad Ems for a rest cure, about a week after you and Father left.”
Amy’s eyes widened. “Mama let you associate with a French actress?”
“Not at first. I liked her right away, but Mother didn’t know what to make of her. But then when she was bedridden with the grippe, Claudine came to visit. She brought flowers and hothouse fruit and was so kind that Mother couldn’t help softening her stance. So while she was resting, Claudine and I would go for walks in the gardens or about town. After Mother recovered, she would join us now and then.” Aurelia smiled at the memory. “Once, the three of us had a picnic near the ruins of a Roman castle.”
“That sounds wonderful,” Amy said wistfully. “Is your friend very beautiful?”
“Not exactly. She said herself her nose was too long, her mouth too wide, and her cheekbones too high. But she could make you think she was the most beautiful woman in the room, by sheer charm alone.”
And charm had been the most important quality Claudine tried to instill in her. Exercise and Dr. Strauss’s treatments had strengthened her weak leg, but Claudine’s tutelage had helped restore much of the confidence she’d lost after her accident and Charlie’s defection.
“She took you under her wing, didn’t she?” Amy observed shrewdly.
“I suppose she did. And she gave me tons of advice on how to get on when I was back in Society. How to dress, how to move, how to carry myself…‘You must stand tall, hein?’” Aurelia quoted in a fair imitation of her friend’s accent. “‘And walk like a queen, not creep about like the little mouse.’”
Amy laughed appreciatively. “Oh, I do like the sound of her! What else did she suggest? I wouldn’t mind picking up some French sophistication myself.”
“Oh, she recommended certain creams and lotions to make the skin supple. And cosmetics.” With difficulty, Aurelia refrained from touching her scar. Claudine had surprised her by rejecting any sort of heavy maquillage for a light dusting of powder and occasionally rouge. “Her maid Françoise cut my hair, by the way. But Claudine said that the secret to being beautiful and poised is to believe you are—and not let anyone convince you otherwise. Not even your own reflection.” She paused, feeling self-conscious again, and smiled at her twin. “But enough about me! What’s been happening with you? You sounded so mysterious in your last letter.”
Amy flushed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. It’s just—well, things weren’t quite settled when I wrote, and even now, nothing’s been officially announced. But Father and Aunt Caroline approve,” she rushed on. “And I’m sure Mother will too, once she knows—”
“Approve of what?” Aurelia demanded, catching her sister’s hands in hers. “For heaven’s sake, Amy, spit it out!”
Amy took a deep breath. “I’m engaged—to be married.”
“Married?” Aurelia echoed, astonished. “Good heavens!” She sifted through her memories of Amy’s many admirers. “Is it Lord Glyndon?”
Amy’s mouth twisted as if she’d bitten into something sour. “No. Lord Glyndon is unofficially engaged to Lady Louisa Savernake. I am marrying the Earl of Trevenan.”
“Trevenan.” The name meant nothing to Aurelia. “Was he courting you last year?”
Amy shook her head. “He came into his title very unexpectedly—just this past January, in fact. But he says he saw me once when he was in London and never forgot me.” A dimple quivered at the corner of her mouth. “You can imagine how flattering that was to hear!”
“What’s he like?” Aurelia asked, relieved by her twin’s returning good humor.
“Tall, dark, and handsome—like someone out of a gypsy fortune-teller’s predictions. And he has a London townhouse and an estate in Cornwall, though the latter needs repairs. He apologized for that, but I told him my dowry should take care of any problems.” Amy shrugged lightly. “I was glad he didn’t pretend not to need money. We should deal well together, I think.”
Aurelia fretted her lip at this dispassionate assessment. “Are you in love with him?”
Amy flicked her an amused glance. “You were always the romantic one, Relia. I do like and respect Lord Trevenan, but we’ve only been acquainted for a month.”
Aurelia stared at her. “Only a month—and you’re marrying him?”
“It’ll be at least three months before the wedding—plenty of time to get to know each other better. And he’s invited us all down to spend part of the summer at his estate. I wonder if Cornwall’s anything like Newport—” She broke off with a little laugh. “Goodness, Relia, your face! You’d think I’d just told you I was engaged to Bluebeard or Henry the Eighth!”
“I can’t help worrying,” Aurelia pointed out with dignity. “Any more than you could if I were to tell you I was marrying someone I’d known for just a month.”
Amy sighed. “Well, you needn’t. Lord Trevenan is quite the upstanding citizen.” She began to tick off his virtues on her fingers. “Well-educated, clean-living, hard-working—”
“I thought English aristocrats prided themselves on never having to lift a finger.”
“I told you, he hasn’t been an earl very long. Before that, he had to earn his bread. His mother’s family owns a tin mine. He inherited her shares and helps run the business. That’s one reason Father approves of him. Trevenan’s not afraid of dirtying his hands.
“In fact, he’s been in Cornwall for the last week taking care of things there,” Amy went on. “But he’s supposed to be back by this evening. We’re seeing The Gondoliers at the Savoy. You will come, won’t you? I want very much for you to meet—and like each other.”
Aurelia knew she could make but one answer; laying her doubts aside, she squeezed her twin’s hand. “Of course, dearest. Now, why don’t you help me pick out a gown for tonight?”
***
From the private box the Newbolds had hired for the Season, Aurelia glanced around the theater. Seats were filling rapidly, even though The Gondoliers had played here for more than a year. Nonetheless, according to Aunt Caroline, the Savoy remained an excellent place at which to be seen, if one were a lady in Society.
Amused, Aurelia plied her fan and admired the luxury of the Savoy’s trappings: the décor—all white, gold, and red, the gold satin stage curtain, and the steady luminescence of the theater’s electrical lamps. More than a thousand of them, Amy had said. She spared a moment to hope her scar wasn’t too visible in this light, then she made herself put the thought aside. She was meeting Amy’s intended tonight; that was the important thing.
All the same, she’d dressed with care in a Worth creation of violet satin with glittering silver trim; her earrings—dangling twists of silver wire and tiny amethysts—had been chosen to complement the gown. Like her new coiffure, the earrings drew the eye down and away from her cheek; another trick Claudine had taught her. Despite her resolve, she’d felt a flutter of apprehension in her midriff before they left the house, but the sight of her reflection and the delighted approval of her mother, godmother, and twin had reassured her. She did look well; more importantly, she felt well—and quite determined to enjoy the evening.
A knock on the door of their box brought Amy to her feet, her peach silk gown rustling around her. “That must be Trevenan,” she said, going to answer it.
“Oh, good. You’re here,” Aurelia heard her say as she opened the door. “Do come in, my lord, and meet the rest of my family.” She stood aside, smiling, to admit her fiancé. “Mother, Aurelia—may I introduce the Earl of Trevenan?”
Aurelia caught her breath as a tall man in evening dress stepped into the light.
Dark hair, dark eyes in a strongly handsome face, and the scent of citrus and cloves…
The only thing missing was the sound of waltz music.
Five
I do desire we may be better strangers.
—William Shakespeare, As You Like It
Aurelia froze in her chair, unable to do more than stare as Amy’s betrothed came forward to take her hand and raise it to his lips before turning to greet the other ladies.
Mr. Trelawney. The newly made Earl of Trevenan. The first man to make her feel alive in four years was engaged to her sister—to Amy, whom she loved with every beat of her heart. She didn’t even have the consolation of hating her rival.
A voice inside of her howled at the injustice of it: Not fair, not fair—I met him first! Another voice, quieter and more insidious, murmured, Of course he would choose the whole twin. The one who was perfect and unscarred.
Aurelia swallowed, feeling her hard-won confidence crumble into dust. For a moment, she wanted nothing more than to rise and flee from the box. Then, like a dash of cold water in the face, rational thought came flooding back.
No one was to blame for this situation. Amy and—Lord Trevenan had not become engaged to hurt her. How could they have done so, when neither of them knew what she’d felt that night at the Talbots’ ball? She had never spoken a word to Amy about that secret waltz, and, despite her nebulous hopes, she could not be certain of seeing Mr. Trelawney—as she’d known him—again. Nor did she have any reason to believe that their private dance in the conservatory had meant anything to him beyond a stray charitable impulse. He’d been kind to her—that was all. An act of chivalry, if not the pity she’d dreaded.
“And this is my sister, Aurelia.” Amy’s voice penetrated the fog in her head.
And now the earl was turning to her, having already greeted Mother and Aunt Caroline. She swallowed again, feeling the panic rise in her throat.
Dear heaven, what would Claudine do in a situation like this?
Mercifully, some of her friend’s words flashed into her mind. “When in public, you must not let anything appear to vex or distress you,” Claudine had counseled. “You must cultivate le sangfroid—the cold blood. The English, they are famous for it.”
“I’m not English,” Aurelia had pointed out.
“But you will be living among them, n’est-ce pas? So, in England, do as the English do.”
“Cold blood.” Aurelia had rather doubted her ability to master that quality. But she had to admit that it had its uses just now—and so did nearly twenty-one years of lessons in deportment. Drawing upon her reserves of both, she summoned a smile and extended her hand.
“Lord Trevenan,” she began, relieved to hear how calm her voice sounded. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance at last.”
He took her hand, his clasp light and warm through the silk of her glove. Would he allude to their previous encounter, or had he forgotten it entirely? And if, by chance, he did remember, would he find it easier—as she did—to pretend they were meeting for the first time?
“The pleasure is mine, Miss Aurelia.” His voice was the same—deep, pleasant, with that faint but attractive burr; the Cornish accent, perhaps. “Your sister has told me much of you.”
She risked a glance at him. Was that recognition she saw in his eyes, or merely a reflection of her own desire? She could not be certain, but she felt again that stirring of attraction, followed by a pang of longing. Suppressing both, she said lightly, “All good, I trust?”
“Relia!” Amy protested, laughing. “As if I’d say anything else!”
His eyes warmed, just as they had that night. “Entirely good. I can but hope that she was even half as complimentary when speaking to you of me.”
“You need have no fears on that score, Lord Trevenan. My sister speaks of you in only the most glowing terms.” Which wasn’t wholly inaccurate, Aurelia thought; Amy’s admission that she liked and respected her betrothed must count as high praise, coming from her.
“I’m relieved to hear it.” He smiled at Amy, and Aurelia had to stifle another rebellious twinge at the sight.
“The house lights are dimming,” Aunt Caroline announced from behind them. “I do believe the performance is about to start.”
“I’ve saved you a place, Trevenan.” Amy indicated the vacant seat on her left.
Thanking her, he moved to occupy it. Achingly aware of his every movement, Aurelia tur
ned her attention toward the stage, hoping fervently that whatever happened there would be enough to distract her from Lord Trevenan’s presence in their box.
***
“I love the Savoy operas, don’t you?” Amy murmured to James as the overture began.
He murmured polite agreement, even though he’d only seen The Mikado and The Pirates of Penzance. Airy trifles, but he’d enjoyed both productions well enough. And since Amy was so fond of them, he would see that she had the chance to attend on the occasions when they were in London. And they would come to town from time to time, he acknowledged with an inner sigh. A successful marriage involved some compromises, after all.
He glanced at his fiancée’s exquisite profile, scarcely able to credit that she’d accepted his suit: a provincial earl who had held his title less than six months and still felt far more comfortable poring over account books and galloping along the Cornish shore than frequenting London balls and receptions. Even with Kelmswood and Glyndon out of the running, she might have set her sights higher than James. And yet, for all her ambition, Amy was not without heart, as her obvious love for her family showed. James thought she liked him well enough, and he’d found it easy to care for so sweet and charming a girl. And desirable—surely no man with a drop of blood in his veins could deny her appeal. A deeper affection could easily develop between them, and in time, there might be children, a family of their own.
Family. His gaze strayed to Aurelia, sitting on her sister’s right. He’d scarcely recognized her; despite what Thomas and Amy had both told him of her sojourn abroad, he had not expected so dramatic a change. The girl he remembered as a wounded bird had met his eyes squarely, with a bright, confident smile—and no sign of the brittle delicacy that had informed her every word and gesture in their previous encounter.
And no visible sign of recognition either, when they were introduced just now. Granted, there was no reason why she should remember, he supposed. A year had gone by, and so much had changed for both of them. Perhaps she’d left the memory of that night behind, along with her past unhappiness, to emerge from her chrysalis newly and joyously transformed.
Waltz With a Stranger Page 4
