Waltz With a Stranger

by Pamela Sherwood

  She ate another bite of mille-feuille, savoring the feather-light layers of pastry, and gazed out the window at the bustling thoroughfare that was Piccadilly in mid-afternoon.

  “More tea, Miss Aurelia?” Mr. Sheridan inquired from his place beside her.

  “Yes, thank you.” She let him refill her cup from the silver tea service.

  “Have you given my proposal any further thought?” he asked.

  She took a sip of the hot, fragrant tea. “About your painting me, you mean?”

  “Indeed.” His eyes glinted. “I’m prepared to bribe you with mille-feuilles, if necessary.”

  Aurelia surprised herself by laughing. “Too many of these, and I won’t be able to fit into my gowns—or your canvas!”

  “Then I’ll simply take a leaf out of Rubens’ book when you pose for me,” he retorted. “Believe it or not, his ideal of womanhood is still much admired, especially by men.”

  Aurelia shook her head, smiling. “You have an answer for everything, Mr. Sheridan.”

  “He does, indeed,” Trevenan said dryly. “I should warn you, Miss Aurelia, Thomas is notoriously single-minded in pursuit of his goals. You might as well say yes now, because he’s not about to take no for an answer.”

  “The curse of having friends who know you too well,” Sheridan lamented. “But James is quite right. I intend to be obnoxiously persistent about this.”

  “Well, obnoxious at any rate,” Amy murmured from behind her napkin, just loudly enough for Aurelia to hear.

  Aurelia kicked her twin’s ankle under the table, though Sheridan gave no sign of having heard. How odd that he wanted to paint her and not Amy, whose features were practically identical and unscarred to boot—not to mention that Amy would probably enjoy sitting for an artist. “Just what exactly did you have in mind, Mr. Sheridan?” she asked, hoping fervently that his ideas did not involve nudity. “A portrait?”

  He shook his head emphatically. “Oh, no. While I do paint portraits on commission, I prefer classical or literary subjects when left to my own devices.”

  “Like your Lady of Shalott?”

  “Exactly. Although,” he paused, studying her face anew, “I do not think I would choose an Arthurian setting for you. Shakespearean, perhaps—you would make a charming Perdita from The Winter’s Tale. Or Miranda from The Tempest. Are you familiar with either?”

  “With both, actually. Believe it or not, Mr. Sheridan, we read Shakespeare’s plays in America too,” she assured him dryly.

  He flashed her a rueful smile. “My apologies, Miss Aurelia. Believe me, I was not casting aspersions on your country so much as decrying the general state of education for young ladies. My own sisters seldom read anything but fashion magazines or Marie Corelli’s dreadful books.”

  “Well, you may rest assured that our governess—Miss Witherspoon—was far too strict to allow that,” Aurelia replied, trading an amused glance with her twin. “We read not only Shakespeare, but Milton, Wordsworth, and Tennyson too.”

  “Impressive. Your Miss Witherspoon seems to have taken her duties seriously.”

  “She did. In fact, I believe she hoped one of us might even go on to college, Vassar or Smith.” And if not for the accident, Aurelia thought she might well have done so. “So, did you have any particular scenes in mind—from the plays, I mean?”

  “I was thinking Perdita as a shepherdess, before she discovered she was a lost princess. Or Miranda, pleading with her father to allay the storm. Or even Viola, disguising herself to serve Orsino,” Sheridan added, struck by a fresh inspiration. “You would make a fetching Cesario, if you don’t consider it improper to pose in breeches—”

  “Amy Newbold, is that you?” a young female voice interrupted, cutting off not only Sheridan’s remarks but several other conversations. “And Aurelia? I can’t believe my eyes!”

  Aurelia’s eyes met her sister’s, the same shock of recognition going through them both in an instant. Then, as one, they slid their gazes toward the voice, the owner of which proved to be a petite brunette, no older than seventeen, with a beaming smile and guileless brown eyes.

  Sally Vandermere, Charlie’s younger sister, was approaching their table; her mother, Alberta Vandermere, followed at a more dignified pace.

  “Look, Mama!” Sally exclaimed, quite unnecessarily. “It’s the Newbold twins!”

  Amy recovered first, inclining her head with a regality worthy of Queen Victoria. “Why, hello, Sally,” she greeted the girl cordially. “What a surprise to see you here in England. Mrs. Vandermere,” she added, as the older lady neared.

  Mrs. Vandermere, a taller, statelier version of her daughter, nodded in return. “Amelia, Aurelia. You’re both looking well.”

  Her smile did not quite reach her eyes, Aurelia thought, feeling strangely numb. Fortunately, nothing seemed to be required of her at the moment; Amy, with her usual aplomb, was making all the introductions. While clearly impressed to be meeting an earl and an artist, Sally was not too intimidated to chatter away with her usual bright artlessness.

  “We just came over three days ago,” she announced. “We saw the Tower of London yesterday, and today we’ve been visiting all the shops. But I told Mama we must have a real English tea in a tearoom.” She cast a longing glance at the remains of the gateau on Amy’s plate. “Everything looks scrumptious, and I’m simply famished!”

  “Sarah, dear,” Mrs. Vandermere broke in, using her daughter’s full Christian name, “we should find a table and stop intruding on the Newbolds. If you’ll excuse us,” she added with another nod at the twins.

  Aurelia forced herself to respond. “Of course, Mrs. Vandermere, Sally.” The words came out easily enough. “Enjoy your tea. The scones are particularly good here.”

  “Thank you,” Mrs. Vandermere returned. “Do give my regards to your mother.”

  “We’ll be sure to do so,” Amy promised.

  “And we’ll be sure to tell Charlie we saw you, when we get back to Claridge’s,” Sally added. “If he’s not still out gallivanting around London.”

  Aurelia froze, feeling a return of her earlier paralysis. As if from a great distance away, she heard Amy ask, “Your brother’s in London too?”

  “Yes, and so is Papa,” Sally said blithely. “Wouldn’t it be jolly if we all ran into each other again? We could have such fun together. Well, I must be going now. Good-bye.” With a little wave, she hurried after her mother.

  “Relia,” Amy murmured once the Vandermeres were gone. “Are you all right?”

  They were all looking at her now with varying degrees of concern—not unmixed with curiosity in the case of the men. Aurelia reached for her cup, feeling a certain detached gratitude when her hand did not shake, and took a bracing sip of tea. “Quite all right, Amy dear.”

  Her voice did not shake either. But her thoughts had sped miles away, years away, to a gazebo covered in summer roses. In her mind’s eye, she moved among the roses, drinking in their heady perfume and reveling in the sound of a young man’s voice as it whispered in her ear.

  “Miss Aurelia, you are the sweetest girl…”

  Eight

  In secret we met—

  In silence I grieve,

  That thy heart could forget,

  That thy spirit deceive.

  —Lord Byron, “When We Two Parted”

  They parted company after tea, Thomas heading for his studio, James and the Newbolds returning to Grosvenor Square. Aurelia said little on the brief drive, James noted, but Amy watched her all the time with a concern that seemed almost maternal.

  Once they were back at the house, Aurelia excused herself at once, pleading fatigue.

  “Is it your leg, dearest?” Amy asked solicitously.

  Aurelia shook her head. “Not at all. But there was a great deal to take in at the exhibition, wasn’t there? So much to see. I think I’d like to go up and rest for a while before dinner.”

  She did look weary, James observed. Worse, he saw a shadow in her eyes that
reminded him of the broken girl she had once been, and the sight pained him more than he dared to admit.

  To judge from her expression, Amy saw it too. “Of course,” she said. “Do you need me to help you with anything?”

  “Good gracious, no!” Aurelia exclaimed. “I can ring for Suzanne, if necessary. Besides, you and Trevenan should have some time alone together as an engaged couple. I’ll see you at dinner,” she added, cutting off her twin’s further offers of assistance and heading for the stairs.

  Amy stared after her twin, worrying her lip even after Aurelia disappeared from view.

  “Let her go, my dear,” James said quietly. He touched his fiancée’s arm and nodded toward the sitting room. They could speak privately there.

  Reluctantly, she followed him into the sitting room, and he closed the door behind them.

  “Now, what exactly is the problem, Amy?” he asked.

  “There are four problems,” she said darkly. “And their names begin with a V.”

  “You mean the Vandermeres?”

  “Who else?” Amy paced the floor, her skirts swirling agitatedly about her ankles. “Oh, bother that stupid Charlie!” she exploded at last. “I should have known he’d ruin everything!”

  Charlie? James frowned, thinking back to that meeting in the tearoom. “Miss Vandermere’s brother?”

  She gave a tight-lipped nod. “I could tolerate the others if I had to, but not him.”

  “Is he, perhaps, a former suitor of yours?” That would explain the acrimony in her voice.

  “No, thank heavens!” Amy exclaimed. She seemed about to say more, but paused instead, her face troubled. “It’s hard to explain. For one thing, it’s not wholly my story to tell.”

  “My dear, I’d already guessed that there’s some sort of connection between your family and the Vandermeres,” James assured her. “Is it a close one?”

  “Not exactly. At least, not anymore.” She bit her lip. “The Vandermeres are a Knickerbocker family, much better placed in New York society than we are—although, to their credit, they were always cordial enough to us. My father often had dealings with Mr. Vandermere, who’s a banker, and Andrew—our brother—and Charlie were schoolmates and then went off to Harvard together. We’ve been summer neighbors at Newport for years.

  “The summer Relia and I turned sixteen, our parents had a special party for us. With dancing, even though we weren’t officially out yet. But the Vandermeres were invited. Andrew and Charlie had just finished their freshman year…” Her voice trailed off, and she glanced at the floor, her expression suddenly set and stony.

  “Aurelia,” James realized. “Charlie Vandermere was courting your sister.”

  Amy nodded. “Relia and Charlie—well, they became sweethearts. Not that there was anything official. They were both too young for that. But…I suppose you could say they had an understanding.” She hesitated, then resumed doggedly, “Relia didn’t think she should say very much about it to our parents, not until she and Charlie were older and in a position to become formally engaged. But she confided in me, of course. She was in love with him, simply head over heels. And she thought—we both thought—it was the same for him. Except it wasn’t.”

  James suspected he knew what was coming; what surprised him was the surge of anger he felt at the thought of it.

  Amy’s next words confirmed his suspicions. “He abandoned her, right after the accident, when she needed him most. He broke her heart, and I’ll always despise him for that.”

  Her lovely face was implacable, the delicate features set like marble; James did not blame her one bit. Charlie Vandermere sounded like a proper ass.

  “Why did he have to come to England? Why couldn’t he have stayed in New York?” She brooded over this unwelcome development a moment longer, then turned to James, urgency in her blue eyes. “Trevenan, do you have any dashing friends who’d be willing to—to pay attention to Relia at balls and dinner parties? Just in case she runs into Charlie here in town, which is all too likely, under the circumstances.” Her lips thinned. “It will do him good to see she hasn’t been pining away for him all these years.”

  “I’ll do what I can, my dear,” James promised, amused and touched. Amy’s fierce loyalty to her sister was, beyond a doubt, one of her finest traits. “But I doubt your sister will need much assistance in attracting potential suitors,” he added, smiling. “She’s already made a conquest in Thomas.”

  “Oh.” Amy’s tone conveyed a distinct lack of enthusiasm. “Yes. Mr. Sheridan. Do you really think that associating with him will help Relia, socially?”

  “He’s a duke’s grandson and a noted artist.” Not for the first time, James wondered at the hostility his fiancée appeared to harbor toward his closest friend. But now was clearly not the right moment to ask her about that. “And he doubtless knows several gentlemen who would be delighted to make your sister’s acquaintance. Indeed, I suspect Thomas knows at least half the aristocracy and is related by either blood or marriage to the other half.”

  “I suppose that could be helpful,” Amy conceded, though she still sounded dubious. “I just can’t bear to think of Relia being hurt again.”

  “I know.” James took his intended’s hand and gave it a brief squeeze. He found himself equally unwilling to see Aurelia’s newfound peace of mind threatened.

  “She’s come so far. I don’t want to see her dragged down, least of all by stupid Charlie.”

  “I’ll do my best to ensure that doesn’t happen,” he promised.

  “Thank you, my lord.” She squeezed his hand in turn. “You are so good—to both of us.”

  “It’s no hardship, I assure you.” A fugitive corner of his mind offered up the thought that it was all too easy to care what became of Aurelia. Ignoring it as best he could, he suggested, “Now, why don’t we take advantage of the opportunity your sister has so generously provided and take a turn about the garden—or what passes for a garden in Grosvenor Square?”

  She gave him the smile that had first enchanted him in his aunt’s crowded ballroom. “Yes, why don’t we?” she agreed, taking his proffered arm.

  ***

  The heart of the rose was a deep, pure pink, shading outward to paler petals nearly white in hue. The color of a maiden’s blush, she’d been told. Wide-eyed, she gazed into the face of the young man who had given her the flower. That suddenly dear face, with its frank blue eyes and ready smile, topped with a thatch of fine, tow-colored hair.

  “The sweetest girl,” Charlie whispered again, brushing his fingers against her cheek…

  The tap on the door recalled her to the present; she knew who it was even before her sister called tentatively, “Relia, are you all right? May I come in?”

  Aurelia stifled a sigh. “Yes,” she replied, in answer to both questions.

  The door opened, and Amy slipped inside. “I’m sorry. I know you’d probably prefer to be alone, but I had to make sure you weren’t—” she broke off, flushing guiltily.

  “That I wasn’t curled up in a corner, crying my eyes out over Charlie Vandermere?”

  “Stupid Charlie Vandermere,” Amy corrected automatically. Aurelia felt her lips quirk in reluctant amusement. “But I’m glad you’re all right, because he’s not worth a single tear.”

  “I know.” Aurelia made room on the chaise longue, and they sat side by side.

  “Why did they have to come over here and spoil everything?” Amy lamented.

  No need to ask who “they” were. “Mrs. Vandermere probably wants Sally to acquire some polish abroad before she makes her debut.” She took a breath. “Well, forewarned is forearmed. At least we know the whole family’s in London.”

  “Do you think they’ll call on us?”

  “I don’t know. Mrs. Vandermere didn’t seem too happy to see us.” Charlie’s mother, Aurelia remembered, was a distant connection of the Astors, and while she had never been less than civil to the Newbolds, that civility had never quite warmed into active friendship.


  “Too bad for her,” Amy retorted. “We were here first.” Her eyes sparked. “In fact, as the future Lady Trevenan, I might have a little influence in certain quarters—”

  “Oh, don’t!” Aurelia interposed at once. “I know it’s a temptation, but Sally’s the one who’d suffer, and none of this is her fault.”

  “No,” Amy conceded, after a moment. “You’re right. It wouldn’t be fair.” She sighed. “Drat! What do we do now?”

  “I don’t think we should do anything at all,” Aurelia said after a moment.

  “But what if you should run into him?” Amy persisted.

  Aurelia’s insides quavered like a blancmange at the very thought; she forced back the slight queasiness and attempted an insouciant shrug. “Then I’ll have to face it out, I suppose. But I doubt he’s any more eager to meet than we are.”

  “Probably not, considering the way he behaved.” Amy fretted her lip. “Relia, are you sure this won’t overset you? I know how much you cared for him.”

  Aurelia stared at her hands for a long moment before replying. “When you came in, I was thinking about him,” she confessed. “And how it once was between us. How sweet, how dear…but so much has changed since then.” She blinked stinging eyes and made herself look up. “I’m not still in love with him. How could I be, when I remember how it ended?”

  Amy pulled a face. “Stranger things have happened. And some girls just can’t help caring for fellows who treat them badly.”

  “Well, I hope I’ve more pride than that.” Unconsciously, Aurelia straightened her back and shoulders. “And more sense than to pine over someone so shallow, cowardly, and weak!”

  “That’s the harshest thing I’ve ever heard you say about Charlie,” Amy marveled.

  Aurelia gave her a wintry smile. “It’s time, don’t you think, that I was angry at him?”

  “Past time,” Amy agreed. “Does it feel good?”

  “It feels—freeing.” Especially after all those years of holding her anger and hurt inside, trying to be patient and accepting of her lot. Well, rebelling against her lot had proved far more satisfying—and produced far better results. “I’m nearly twenty-one,” she said aloud. “It’s high time to put Charlie Vandermere away, along with other childish things.”