Waltz With a Stranger

by Pamela Sherwood

  “Twenty-one,” Amy echoed, eyes widening. “Good heavens, I almost forgot!”

  Aurelia raised incredulous brows. “You forgot we’re coming of age in two weeks?”

  “No, not that. But Father, Trevenan, and I were discussing this just before Father returned to New York. Would you mind, dearest, if Trevenan and I announced our engagement at our birthday ball?”

  She’d known it was coming, but the news still evoked a pang of regret for that lost dream she’d cherished this past year. “Not at all,” she said gamely. “What better time could there be?”

  “That’s what we thought too. Trevenan wants everything settled so we can leave for Cornwall as quickly as possible. And I must say,” she added, “knowing the Vandermeres are in London makes the prospect sound that much more appealing.”

  “It does indeed,” Aurelia said fervently, getting to her feet. Her forgotten reticule slid from her lap, spilling several objects onto the carpet. “Bother!” She stooped to retrieve them and smiled involuntarily when she saw Mr. Sheridan’s card. Although she had not yet agreed to sit for him, he’d insisted on giving her the address of his studio in Half Moon Street. Flattering to know one man in London was interested in her, even if it was only in the artistic sense.

  Amy read the card over her shoulder and frowned. “Are you really going to sit for that—peacock?”

  “I haven’t decided yet,” Aurelia replied absently, then frowned in turn at her sister’s remark. “Why do you dislike Mr. Sheridan, Amy? I found him charming.”

  Amy hesitated, then shrugged. “Perhaps I find him a bit too charming to be sincere.”

  “So you think he wasn’t serious about wanting to paint me?” Aurelia couldn’t quite prevent an anxious note from creeping into her voice.

  “Oh, no—that’s not what I meant at all!” Amy exclaimed at once. “I’m sure he was serious about that. It’s just—” she broke off, biting her lip again. “We don’t get along. I never feel comfortable when we meet, even with Trevenan there to break the ice.”

  “Well, he’s Lord Trevenan’s friend. Oughtn’t you try, at least, to get along with him?”

  “I don’t think Mr. Sheridan approves of me,” Amy confessed. “Or wants me to marry Trevenan. And it doesn’t help that he’s Lord Glyndon’s cousin and obviously thought I wasn’t good enough for him, either.”

  “Well, snubbing him or trying to put his back up at every opportunity isn’t going to help change his mind about you,” Aurelia pointed out. “What is it Mother’s always saying about catching more flies with honey than vinegar?”

  “What about arsenic?” Amy suggested, then sighed at Aurelia’s reproving stare. “Oh, all right. I suppose I could try a little harder, for Trevenan’s sake—and yours.”

  Aurelia put an arm around her twin. “It shouldn’t take much effort, dearest. You have more charm in your little finger than the likes of Lady Louisa has in her entire body. I’m sure if you set your mind to it, you could have Mr. Sheridan eating out of the palm of your hand.”

  Amy’s mouth twitched in a reluctant smile. “Now there’s a picture I’d like to see!”

  “A subject fit for Waterhouse himself,” Aurelia agreed.

  Laughing, they turned their discussion to their upcoming birthday celebration.

  Nine

  Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow…

  —William Shakespeare, Macbeth

  Aurelia woke with a start. For a moment, she lay clutching the bedclothes to her, feeling her heart knocking against her ribs. Then, gradually, she became aware of her surroundings.

  She was safe in Grosvenor Square, the grey light of dawn just appearing in her room.

  The dream had felt so real, so immediate. The summer sun beating down upon her, the galloping stride of the horse beneath her, and the fence looming up before them. Obedient to her lightest command, Bramble had gathered himself for the familiar jump, soaring high into the air like Pegasus…

  And plummeting to earth like Phaeton, hooves thrashing wildly as he screamed in agony. Aurelia had lain where she’d fallen, too winded to speak or even cry out, though one side of her face felt on fire and her left leg was oddly numb. She had fainted when she tried to move.

  The days that followed had passed in a haze of pain and laudanum. They’d had to shoot poor Bramble; she remembered crying over that, tears trickling sluggishly down her face and wetting the pad of bandages on her cheek. More than a week had passed before she was allowed any visitors who weren’t part of the family. And then Charlie had come…

  Aurelia sat up, shaking her head to dispel the memories that had descended like a cloud. She knew now why she’d dreamed of the accident.

  Charlie in London. For a moment, she let the feelings engendered by the knowledge wash over her: sorrow, apprehension, and finally, the welcome burn of anger that had set her free of him. Then, laying them all aside, she tossed back the bedclothes and swung her feet to the floor. Time to get on with the day.

  Her left leg twinged as she made her way over to the washstand. Sobered, she tested her weight on it and felt insensibly relieved when it held firm. Dr. Strauss had told her there was no reason her leg should not continue to improve as long as she remained active and performed the exercises he had recommended. She would make a point of doing so this morning.

  She splashed cold water over her face, banishing the last sticky traces of sleep. Then, as she dried herself, she caught sight of her reflection in the glass. Beneath the strands of wet hair at her brow, she glimpsed the beginning of her scar. Like one studying a map, she traced its course along her hairline and down to her cheek. While it no longer stood out so sharply, it was futile to deny its presence. Or how much her life and she herself had changed as a result of her injuries.

  But not where it truly mattered. She must remember that, carry the realization with her like a talisman, or her time abroad meant nothing.

  All the same, Claudine’s advice had never been put to the test like this. Charlie in London, with his entire family…Despite her words to Amy, she had no idea what she’d say if they happened to meet. After all this time, was she the queen or the little mouse?

  “Squeak,” Aurelia muttered, glowering at her reflection.

  But that would never do; indeed, she would despise herself if she took to creeping into corners again, just to avoid a man best forgotten. Aurelia Leigh Newbold, where is your pride? Facing the glass again, she said in her best French, “Vive la reine.”

  Long live the queen. Foolish as the ritual might seem, she felt oddly heartened by it. Turning away from the glass, she went in search of the tunic and loose trousers she wore to perform her exercises.

  ***

  “Good morning, Lord Trevenan,” James’s solicitor, a fair, middle-aged Scot, greeted him with just a hint of surprise. “What can I do for you today?”

  “Good morning, Mr. Daviot.” James rose from his chair in the anteroom. “I realize this is short notice, but I have questions regarding my cousin’s estate that I hoped we might discuss.”

  “Of course. Miss Carlisle,” the solicitor addressed his secretary, a competent-looking young woman of perhaps twenty-five, “I’ll be needing the late earl’s papers at once.”

  Abandoning her typewriter, Miss Carlisle retrieved them with her usual efficiency. File now in hand, Daviot beckoned James into the office and closed the door behind them.

  James took the seat opposite the solicitor’s desk. “I received a visit yesterday from a Captain Philip Mercer,” he began. “About some shares Gerald had acquired in his company, Mercer Shipping.”

  “Ah.” Daviot nodded as he sat down at his desk. “Yes, I do remember the name. One of your cousin’s last investments, I believe.”

  “What can you tell me about the company?”

  Daviot consulted the file. “Well, to begin with, Mercer Shipping is rather a recent venture, started within the last five years or so. But it’s turned quite a profit since its inception.”

  �
��What do they deal in?” James inquired.

  “Most of their goods appear to come from the Far East—namely, India and China. Antiquities, tea, silks, porcelain…”

  All things that would fetch a fine price on the market, James thought, his unease growing. “Had Gerald acquired a controlling interest in the company before his death?”

  Daviot glanced over the papers again. “Not quite that,” he reported. “But more than a third of the business. Enough to exercise some influence, I should think.”

  James shifted in his chair. “Undue influence?”

  “I could not say, my lord.” The solicitor frowned slightly. “If you don’t mind my asking, Lord Trevenan, what precisely was the nature of Captain Mercer’s visit?”

  James hesitated, remembering Mercer’s report of the missing shipment, but he was reluctant to mention Gerald’s possible involvement at this point. “The captain expressed a strong desire to buy back my cousin’s shares. In fact, he made quite a generous starting offer.”

  He named the captain’s price and had the satisfaction of seeing Daviot’s brows rise.

  “That is indeed generous,” the solicitor remarked. “However, given the extent of your cousin’s debts, I would advise against parting with those shares, or with your shares in any company counted among your present assets, until your marriage to Miss Newbold is finalized and the full settlement is made.”

  That bad, was it? Well, James had expected to hear as much. If Mercer Shipping was as successful an enterprise as Daviot suggested, the wisest thing to do would be to retain his shares and wait until their value rose before selling off. A sensible decision—and yet something still niggled at him. “Would you happen to know how my cousin became involved in Mercer Shipping in the first place?” he asked. “To my knowledge, Gerald never demonstrated much aptitude or interest in business. Was it on the advice of our banker?”

  “Not exactly. That is, your cousin did act on the advice of a banker in purchasing his later shares in Mercer Shipping, but not the one most associated with the Trelawney family. A friend of his supplied him with the name, I think.”

  James frowned. “His later shares?”

  “He actually acquired them over a period of several months, my lord, and through somewhat…unorthodox means.” Daviot’s tone took on the faintest note of censure. “In fact, I believe he won the first shares in a card game…”

  ***

  Sobered and more perturbed than he cared to admit, James departed Lincoln’s Inn Fields. A card game—so Gerald’s involvement in Mercer Shipping had been questionable from the start. And according to Mr. Daviot, his cousin had then bought up the shares of another investor barely a month later. That was perhaps less questionable, but why this company and why such haste? And who, if not the family banker, had advised him to do so?

  Definitely the matter required more looking into, he thought. But not today, not at present. He had gifts to purchase—chief among them, he recalled with an odd little shock, an engagement ring. Hailing a hansom, he set off for Piccadilly.

  Even at this hour, when the fashionable were barely beginning to stir, the thoroughfare was crowded with shoppers. Alighting in front of Hatchards, one of the few establishments in which he felt wholly comfortable, James gazed in trepidation at the scene before him, which seemed to embody everything he enjoyed least about London: noise, bustle, and so many people one could scarcely turn around without colliding with someone.

  The bookshop seemed a good enough place to start, he decided. And by virtue of its trade, it stood a fair chance of being quieter than most of the other establishments; there was something soothing, even lulling, about the smells of leather and parchment.

  He had taken no more than three strides toward his destination when a young woman stepped out of the shop: a slender, moderately tall young woman, with golden hair and the faint tracery of a scar on one otherwise flawless cheek.

  Aurelia.

  James stopped in his tracks, watching her. She wore a walking dress in a deep, rich shade between navy and cobalt blue, and a black straw hat trimmed with ostrich plumes that made her hair gleam more brightly by contrast. Her dangling earrings were twists of gold, hung with bits of some blue stone—lapis lazuli, perhaps.

  It was not, he thought with an inward smile, the sort of outfit a woman trying to escape notice wore. Indeed, more than a few passersby cast an admiring glance in her direction, though Aurelia paid them no heed, intent as she was on the book in her hand. She looked like a child sorely tempted by a sweet but determined not to succumb until her meat and greens were eaten.

  James stepped directly into her path. “Miss Aurelia.”

  She glanced up from her book, her blue eyes widening. “Lord Trevenan! Good morning. I’m surprised to see you out and about so early.”

  “I might say the same,” he countered. “What brings you here at this hour of the day?”

  “I have some shopping to do.”

  “Alone? Shouldn’t you have brought your maid with you?”

  “Poor Suzanne’s got a cold. The English climate doesn’t seem to agree with her. So I thought it would be a kindness to leave her at home. I’m not going anywhere out of the ordinary,” she added, a touch defensively. “It’s silly having someone follow you around on perfectly mundane errands just because you happen to be female.”

  James sighed. “It may be silly, but it’s for your own safety,” he pointed out. “I’m surprised Amy didn’t insist on accompanying you.”

  “Amy had business of her own to attend to this morning,” Aurelia replied. “Besides, the sort of shopping I had in mind is best done without her. I need to buy her a birthday present.”

  “Good Lord!” he exclaimed, startled by his own forgetfulness. “Of course. And I need to do the same.” He paused, realizing that—in the absence of the twins’ father and brother—he’d become, in some fashion, the man of the family. In which case, offering Aurelia his escort was the only right thing to do. “Perhaps we might go shopping together,” he suggested. “I could use some advice on what your sister might like as a gift.”

  He could tell from the faint glint in her eyes that she’d seen through his motives, but, to his relief, she raised no objection. “All right. Did you have anything already in mind for her?”

  “Well, I’d thought to start at Hatchards. Would that be for Amy, by any chance?” He indicated the book she still held, angling his head to read the title. “Tristram of Lyonesse?”

  Aurelia flushed. “That would be for me, actually. I’m fond of poetry. Amy prefers novels, but I didn’t see anything that might appeal to her, at least not today.” She tucked the book into her reticule. “You could go in and look around yourself, if you like.”

  He shook his head. “I trust your judgment here. Let’s move on, shall we?”

  She glanced at him quizzically. “Where should we go next?”

  “I was rather hoping you might have some suggestions,” he confessed, feeling like a schoolboy caught not knowing his lessons. “I don’t do a great deal of shopping in London. In fact, I tend to avoid it whenever possible. So I’m afraid I have only the most general idea of where to look for things.”

  “I see.” To her credit, Aurelia did not laugh, although her lips quivered suspiciously for a moment. “Well, my father and brother don’t care much for shopping either, so you’re in good company,” she said diplomatically. “I suppose we could try the Burlington Arcade; they have lots of shops to choose from. We should be able to find something for her there.”

  “An excellent idea,” James said, feeling considerable relief—not least because he actually knew where the Burlington Arcade was. He offered his arm, and, after a moment’s hesitation, Aurelia laid a gloved hand on the crook of his elbow. To his surprise—and disquiet, he seemed to feel that light pressure all the way down to the bone.

  Ignoring the sensation as best he could, James started up the street. As they walked, he shortened his stride to match Aurelia’s. But her li
mp was barely observable now; he suspected only someone aware of her past injuries would notice the slight halt in her step. She had indeed come a long way in the past year.

  “So, what were you thinking of getting Amy?” he asked.

  “I haven’t decided yet. But a twenty-first birthday present ought to be special.” She paused, considering. “Maybe a piece of jewelry—a locket or a brooch?”

  “Then we’ll start by finding a jeweler’s. I need to look at engagement rings, in any case.”

  Aurelia’s brows arched. “You haven’t purchased the ring yet?”

  “Not just yet, no,” he admitted. “I haven’t got round to asking which stone your sister prefers or what size ring she wears. Would you happen to know the answer to either?”

  “Well, as to the first, Amy admires many kinds of gems.” She paused again, flushing slightly. “And as to the second, she and I wear the same size gloves—and shoes, for that matter. So, if you need the ring fitted properly, I should be able to help with that.”

  James hesitated; it felt strange and not quite fair to ask this of her, though he could not have said why if his life depended on it.

  Aurelia looked up at him, and he had the uncomfortable sense that she knew exactly what he’d been thinking. “It’s all right,” she said, quite gently. “You know I’d do anything for Amy.”

  ***

  Even last year, when she could hardly bear to go out in Society at all, Aurelia had rather admired the Burlington Arcade. Its orderly, well-tended calm presented such a welcome contrast to the rest of Piccadilly, like an island in the middle of a turbulent sea. One could browse at one’s leisure without feeling pressured or rushed along by other shoppers. The harried look on Trevenan’s face disappeared once they were safely inside, she observed with some amusement.

  Wickes and Taylor, the first jeweler they found, appeared to be doing a brisk business even this early in the day, which augured well for their search. Entering the shop just ahead of Trevenan, Aurelia spied a clerk showing a magnificent diamond necklace to a prosperous-looking gentleman of middle age. At the other end of the jewelry counter, a dark-haired man and a red-haired woman were studying a tray of sapphire rings and carrying on an animated discussion of their merits. The woman’s lilting voice would have been pretty if it weren’t so imperious, Aurelia noted absently, feeling a little sorry for the man, who seemed the patient sort.