Needs must, Aurelia thought, remembering the desperate quest for respectability that drove so many who flocked to Newport each summer. Aloud she suggested, “Perhaps the sea air has something to do with it.”
“Perhaps, though there’s no shortage of sea air in Cornwall and things are considerably quieter here. I don’t doubt that Newport is lovely, but it does sound a bit regimented.”
Aurelia smiled. “You would be right on both counts, Lady Talbot. There is much to admire in Newport, but I shall find it a relief not to have to conform to such a strict schedule.”
Lady Talbot smiled back. “Well, I hope you find Cornwall to your liking, my dear. Are you quite set on attempting the stairs today?” At Aurelia’s nod, she continued, “You can reach them through a door in the garden wall. I’ll have the key brought for you after breakfast.”
“Thank you,” Aurelia said. “I’m very much looking forward to the excursion.”
They conversed lightly through the rest of their meal, undisturbed by the rest of the party. Afterwards, Lady Talbot had a footman fetch the key for her guest, then gave Aurelia instructions on how to reach the garden. “I trust you will be careful,” she added, a little tentatively. “No one has yet had an accident on those stairs, but I should not like for you to be the first. You might consider taking a companion—your maid, perhaps? I would accompany you myself if I did not have certain responsibilities to attend to this morning.”
Which doubtless included keeping a pair of uninvited guests out of the house party’s way, Aurelia thought. She wondered if Lady Talbot had noticed her limp; well, if she had, there were worse ways to express concern. As confidently as possible, she replied, “I wouldn’t dream of taking you away from your duties, Lady Talbot. And there’s no need to trouble Suzanne or wake up the rest of my family. I won’t rush my descent. Never fear—I’m accustomed to taking extra precautions in a new place. And I should be back well before luncheon.”
Lady Talbot relaxed, reassured by this display of common sense. “Well, then, enjoy your adventure, my dear. You will be on Trevenan land, so you needn’t worry about being disturbed by anyone who does not belong here. I look forward to hearing your impressions of our beach.”
Pocketing the key, Aurelia returned to her chamber. The morning light was still pale, but, on glancing out the window, she fancied the sun was emerging with more conviction now. Ten minutes later, garbed appropriately in a plain blue muslin frock, low canvas shoes, and a wide-brimmed straw hat, she left the house, making for the garden before anyone could stop her.
Lady Talbot’s directions were exemplary, and she soon found herself wandering through a fragrant oasis of spring and summer blooms. She made a mental note to come back and explore the garden at a later opportunity. But the door in the high stone wall stood before her now, and she could hear the muted rush and roar of the sea below, a sound that made her pulse quicken with excitement. She fitted the key in the lock, opened the door, and stepped onto the first stair.
The stone shelf felt broad and reassuringly solid beneath her feet; looking down, she saw the rest of the stairs were similarly cut: wide, flat, and spaced just enough apart. The banister was stone as well, weathered but sturdy. Grasping it firmly, Aurelia made her way leisurely down the stairs. Even with her leg, she found the descent fairly easy, and she soon reached the bottom, stepping from stone onto soft sand.
The beach stretched before her, a pale expanse that darkened at the water’s edge. On impulse, Aurelia slipped off her shoes, felt the sand fine as crumbled sugar beneath her feet. Yielding further, she dared to peel off her stockings, shivered in sensual pleasure at the touch of cool sand against her skin. Mama never let her go barefoot at home, or brave the summer sun without a hat or a parasol. But what Mama did not know wouldn’t hurt her, Aurelia reasoned. Shoes in hand, she made her way down the beach, not stopping until the incoming tide lapped over her toes. She let out an involuntary gasp at the chill and took a half-step back, then looked up and out at the surging sea.
In the morning sun, the tumbling waves were silvery-blue, shot through with green. And so clear—like glass, almost. “As the wave’s subtler emerald is pierced through / With the inextricable heaven’s deeper blue,” Aurelia murmured aloud, remembering the description from Tristram of Lyonesse. And the foam on the towering breakers shone whiter than a seagull’s back and swirled into patterns more intricate than antique lace.
Newport was nothing like this. Not so wild, nor so glorious. Wide-eyed, Aurelia watched as the waves raced to fling themselves with roaring abandon against the stony shore, sending up flurries of beaten froth. She caught her breath; even from a distance, the sight was exhilarating.
No, Newport was lovely, but for all its moneyed splendor, it did not stop the heart as this did. Nor did it stir the blood and set it racing until every cell in one’s body seemed to echo the pulsing song of the sea. Inhaling the delicious salty air, Aurelia found herself quoting other words, far older and more revered than Swinburne’s: “Deep calleth unto deep at the noise of thy waterspouts: all thy waves and thy billows are gone over me.”
The wind off the sea whistled in her ears and flapped the wide brim of her hat. On impulse, she loosened the ribbons under her chin, took off the hat, and stood bareheaded in the sun, letting the breeze ruffle her hair, tease it loose from its pins. Her skirt billowed around her, and she stepped forward more boldly into the surf. The cold felt merely invigorating this time, and she stood with the sea swirling about her ankles, gazing toward the horizon, where the deepening blue of the sea met the softer blue of the sky.
She did not hear the hoofbeats at first, and even when the sound reached her ears, she did not immediately identify them as such. They seemed nothing more than part of the sea’s rumble. Not until she felt the ground quiver beneath her feet did she look up to see the lone horseman galloping toward her.
Beneath the open sky, horse and rider moved as one, the latter’s head gleaming with the same inky gloss as his horse’s hide, making his shirt seem whiter by comparison. Watching him approach, Aurelia experienced a jolt of recognition almost physical in its intensity. No London dandy, transplanted from his usual environs of Hyde Park and Rotten Row.
No London dandy—but James Trelawney, Earl of Trevenan, in his rightful place.
***
James had risen early after an uneasy night. In truth, he’d been relieved when dawn broke and he could abandon the charade of trying to sleep. After breakfast, he’d headed out to the stables, not even bothering to change into what the fashionable would consider proper riding dress. Camborne—his coal-black gelding—had been as eager to see his master as James was to see him. Forsaking the usual bridle paths on the estate, they had instead cantered out the main gateway and down toward the sea, to race unimpeded and undisturbed along the shore.
For a time, the wild exhilaration of the ride—the sensation of Camborne’s galloping stride beneath him, the rush of the wind around him—had driven all other thoughts from his mind. But now, slowing his horse to a walk, he found memories of the previous day’s ugliness resurfacing. Helena’s face, contorted with fury, her strident accusations…and that anonymous letter with its sly insinuations that might prove harder to refute than direct charges would have been.
A coward’s weapon, but damnably effective when sent to the right person. And Helena with her festering resentment against the world in general and—it seemed—him in particular had proven to be just that. “Gerald will have justice!” she had insisted, and perhaps she’d even meant it, though James found it difficult to believe she was motivated by any deep affection for Gerald himself. Brother and sister had not been close, even as children; at best they’d tolerated each other. More often than not, they had wrangled as bitterly as their parents. Even at twelve, James had been struck by the lack of affection in his uncle’s family.
Nonetheless, Gerald had been part of Helena’s daily life until he left for Eton. Was it guilt, perhaps, or regret over their lack of
closeness that made her so hot in his posthumous defense? And so eager to assign the blame for his death to James, whom they had both despised and regarded as an interloper? And what did Helena hope to accomplish by branding him as complicit in her brother’s death? His execution, or perhaps imprisonment? Or, if proof of his supposed involvement failed to materialize, simply to render his existence a living hell? She and Gerald had already attempted as much when he’d first come to live at Pentreath.
Enough, James told himself. Dwelling on past misery was conducive to nothing but bitterness and self-pity. He should be thinking of how to solve this problem, finding out who was behind that letter—and discovering just how and why Gerald had died. He had not mourned his cousin overmuch—his death had come as a shock, not a grief—but if Gerald’s demise was due to foul play rather than mischance, then James owed him at least the time and effort involved in uncovering the truth.
Gerald’s death, and his activities in the months preceding it—could there be some connection between them? James thought again, uneasily, of Gerald’s involvement with Mercer Shipping, of the exorbitant price he’d paid to buy out two minor shareholders. Uncle Joshua would have had an apoplexy had he known how much his son was spending on this venture.
James felt sure his uncle hadn’t known—especially since he’d died soon after that fateful game of cards—and he doubted Helena had either. Should he tell her now, share with her the knowledge of Gerald’s possibly shady business dealings? If she could be converted from an enemy to an ally…he considered the idea, then dismissed it. At present, her mind seemed fixed upon the idea of his guilt. He would have to find allies elsewhere.
At least Aunt Judith had no doubts of his innocence. While she had cared for Gerald, and Helena too, at times, she had always treated James with what felt like a special warmth—perhaps because his father had been her favorite brother. When he’d first come to Pentreath bereft and grieving, Aunt Judith had been the one to comfort him. It helped to know that, despite the bad blood between him and Gerald, she had never believed him capable of harming his cousin.
So who did believe it enough to write that letter? Who could be holding enough of a grudge against him to reopen the wounds of Gerald’s death and falsely implicate James, when there was plenty of evidence exonerating him? And to drag Harry and some other fellow into it as well? And was it purely an act of malice, or was there something more sinister afoot?
Troubling thoughts, indeed. And ones he would prefer to keep from Amy and the other Newbolds, although he’d have to tell them something, given Helena’s presence at Pentreath. His mother’s family, on the other hand, might have some idea of who could be spreading this slander. And whether it was a personal grudge, or one that would have been leveled against any man holding the title of Earl of Trevenan.
He’d ride over to Harry’s house after luncheon, James resolved, and show him that letter. But for now, it was high time he headed back to Pentreath. He had a houseful of guests to entertain, chief among them his future bride.
Turning Camborne around, he urged him first into a trot, then—when it became clear that the horse had got his second wind—into a gallop. As they raced along the strand, he felt the lingering traces of fatigue and ill-humor miraculously lift and dissipate, as though blown away on the wind from the sea, and in their place a familiar exultation.
Home. Whatever tangle awaited him, whatever accusations Helena threw at him, he was home—and nothing could dim that pleasure. In my own country…
He could have laughed aloud from the joy of it.
A woman was standing on the shore, gazing out to sea. The wind billowed her pale blue skirts, and her hat, trailing blue ribbons, dangled from her hand. She was barefoot too—or near enough, carrying her shoes in her other hand.
Barefoot, carefree—her demeanor at odds with her position. The gilded American heiress, removed from the ballroom and salon, exploring instead the natural world. And becoming a part of it, in a way her acquaintances could not have predicted.
Even before she turned, on hearing his approach, he knew who it was.
Not Amy—Aurelia. He wondered, as he reined in his horse, why he felt no surprise.
She gazed up at him, the water still lapping at her feet. “Lord Trevenan. Good morning.”
The sunlight gilded her hair to almost blinding brightness, picking out the darker veins of amber and honey among the flowing gold. Her fair skin had taken on a faint golden tinge as well, and her blue eyes rivaled the sea for richness of color. He thought of the pale, shrinking near-recluse he had surprised in his aunt’s conservatory and wanted to laugh. Or, more inexplicably, to weep—and both impulses shook him to the core.
He managed to suppress them and returned her greeting instead. “Miss Aurelia. You’re abroad early this morning.”
She smiled tentatively. “Forgive me. I couldn’t resist the opportunity to explore.”
“No need to ask forgiveness.” James dismounted, joining her on the sand; he ignored Camborne, who stamped and snorted behind him, frustrated in his wish to gallop further. “I know how irresistible this beach can be. I am just surprised to see you here without your sister.”
Aurelia bit her lip, looking hesitant. “Amy is still abed. She finds herself a little indisposed this morning.”
Concern roused in him at once. “Nothing serious, I trust? Should I send for the doctor?”
Her color deepened. “Oh, no, that won’t be necessary. My sister’s complaint is not life-threatening, though it is certainly uncomfortable—and inconvenient.”
Enlightenment dawned. “Ah. I hope she makes a quick recovery.” He would have some flowers sent up to his fiancée’s chamber when he got back to Pentreath.
“Oh, yes. I do think she will be herself within a few days.” Aurelia sounded relieved that he required no further explanation. “In any case, I’m the only member of my family awake just now. I suppose the others must be sleeping in.”
“Little wonder if they are. It’s a long journey from London to Cornwall, even by train.” James paused. “Someone knows where you’ve gone, I trust?”
“Lady Talbot does. She even gave me the key to the garden door.”
“You took the north stairs?” he asked in involuntary surprise.
“Well, I certainly didn’t fly down!” she retorted, looking unexpectedly amused. “These stairs aren’t forbidden to guests, are they? After what you told us yesterday—”
“No, of course not,” James hastened to assure her. “You’re welcome to use them. I hope you did not find the climb too strenuous?”
Aurelia shook her head. “I took my time descending and held onto the banister all the way. But I’d have climbed twice as far for such a view!” Her gaze returned to the sea. “Is it always like this, so turbulent and splendid?”
He smiled, feeling his mood lighten at her enthusiasm. “More often than not, at least where we are. The sea tends to be gentler on the south coast, and some prefer it so.”
Aurelia glanced back over her shoulder. “Do you?”
“Oh, I’m a north coast man, all the way down to my bones. I’d likely find the south coast far too tame, though it has many other features to commend it. Perhaps we might make an excursion down there for the day, once Amy is up and about.”
“I’m sure she’d enjoy that. For my part, I mean to entice her down here. I’ve never seen such a sea!”
“Not even at Newport?” he asked lightly, enjoying her obvious pleasure in the sight.
“Not even there,” she replied. “And while the sea and sun at Newport are lovely, Bailey’s Beach is so stony. I wouldn’t dare go barefoot there, the way I’ve done here.”
“Or hatless? Talking of which, you might want to cover yourself again,” James advised. “The air is very light here, and the sun stronger than it seems. Your skin is quite fair. I should not like you to suffer a bad sunburn on your first day in Cornwall.”
She sighed but donned her hat once again, twisting the ribb
ons one-handed into a loose knot under her chin. “Very well. I should never hear the end of it from Mama if I came back redder than a boiled lobster. Or worse, with a crop of freckles! And I suppose I should dry off as well, though I’m not nearly ready to go back to the house. It is far too beautiful out here.”
“Stay out a bit longer, then,” James invited. “I find myself in a similar humor just now, so, if you’ve no objections to my company—”
“Oh, none,” she assured him, returning his smile. “This is your beach, after all.” She waded out of the sea, heading for one of the flat rocks a short distance up the sand. Seating herself, she put her shoes down on the sand and stretched out her feet to dry in the sun.
Very shapely feet, James couldn’t help but observe, and—to judge from their outline beneath her damp muslin skirt—attached to even more shapely legs. Reminding himself that he had no business admiring such things, he glanced toward the water again. Behind him, a bored Camborne lowered his head to nose at a pile of drying seaweed.
Aurelia said, almost dreamily, “We’d go bathing in the sea at Newport. Nothing too adventurous—just bobbing up and down like corks in the shallows. I imagine it’s different here.”
“In some ways—less crowded and no bathing huts, of course.” James made his own way up the beach and sat down on another rock not far from hers. “My father taught me to swim in the sea here when I was a boy. I wouldn’t advise a newcomer to venture out too far—these tides are too strong for someone unaccustomed to them—but you’d be safe enough in the shallows.”
“You must have loved growing up here.”
James smiled. “I did, indeed. There’s always so much to explore when you live by the sea—worlds within worlds. Someday I’ll show you some of the caves down near St. Perran. Huge echoing ones, carved out by the tide. Harry and I used to play there as boys. I even kept a few keepsakes in one of them. I thought of it as my treasure trove back then.”
“Amy and I had a place like that too, only it was in the hollow of a tree,” Aurelia mused. “But weren’t you afraid of losing your treasures in the sea?”
Waltz With a Stranger Page 20
