Waltz With a Stranger

by Pamela Sherwood

  “You mean Simon Pendarvis? Gerald’s godfather?”

  “The very same.”

  James rubbed a hand over his face. “This tale becomes more tangled at every turn.”

  He had not known Simon Pendarvis, personally. But the old man had been a crony of his Uncle Joshua. They’d been two of a kind: devoted to Cornwall and not overly tolerant of those who did not share that devotion. No doubt both men had hoped that Joshua’s son would feel that same allegiance to his home county, though that had never come to pass. James could not recall Gerald having had much to do with his godfather after he’d gone off to university.

  “Old Pendarvis died in early April, just after you left for London,” Harry resumed. “Nothing mysterious about it. He’d been ailing for some time, and I suspect he missed your uncle, since they were always thick as thieves.”

  “So that means Robin Pendarvis has come into his inheritance.”

  Harry shrugged. “For what it’s worth.”

  “It used to be worth a great deal.” Pendarvis Hall, James remembered, was one of the oldest and largest houses in the county. The family might not have had a title, but they’d had an ancient name—and until the last ten years or so, the money to do justice to such an exalted pedigree. “So young Robin is now master of Pendarvis Hall,” he mused. “That’s still a distinction to conjure with, and it might have made him an object of some envy.”

  “Like you. But Pendarvis Hall without the fortune to support it isn’t that grand a legacy.”

  James thought of Pentreath. “Did old Simon live beyond his means?”

  “In this day and age, doesn’t almost every landed gentleman?” Harry sighed. “I hadn’t heard that he’d run up enormous debts, like Gerald, but it’s a plain fact that money goes less further than it did, unless you’ve made your fortune on the ’Change.”

  Or contracted to marry an heiress. The words hung unspoken on the air. Feeling suddenly uncomfortable, James asked, “Does Robin Pendarvis mean to set up his household here, or let the place?”

  “Neither, actually. He plans to live in Cornwall, but he has no intention of running the same sort of establishment his great-uncle did.” Harry paused. “What he does mean to do with his inheritance will likely ruffle any number of feathers in the county.”

  James raised his brows. “Is he thinking of breaking the entail and selling outright?”

  “No, he means to convert Pendarvis Hall into something else entirely. Something that will help the estate pay its way—a hotel.”

  “A hotel?” James echoed, startled. “Like the ones they’ve built in Newquay?”

  “Well, perhaps not quite as large as those,” Harry amended. “But a respectable size nonetheless, and fine enough to appeal to a—certain class of people.”

  Moneyed people, James translated without difficulty. “A project of that scope will take a lot of capital,” he said slowly. “Unless he has unlimited funds to finance this scheme—”

  “He’ll need investors,” Harry finished. “Well, he’s got at least one, James. I mean to put up some of the capital.”

  “You?” James stared at his cousin.

  Harry nodded. “Apparently Robin’s been thinking of this for a while. It’s not an idle fantasy on his part, James; he’s studied architecture abroad for some years, and he feels it can be done without bankrupting either of us. I heard him out when he approached me on this, and,” he shrugged, “I’d heard worse schemes, James, put forth by less practical men. He’s even offered to make me a partner in the hotel, once it’s up and running.”

  Pendarvis Hall—one of the oldest estates in the county—a resort? Could he have taken such a step with Pentreath? James wondered. He doubted it; but then his history with the place ran so deep. Robin Pendarvis had not grown up in his great-uncle’s house; strong emotional ties to it might be lacking. Aloud, he asked, “Just how well-fixed is he, now that he’s inherited?”

  “Well enough, though not perhaps as much as if he’d inherited ten years ago. His legacy will cover some of the costs of renovation and construction. And he owns some shares in a railway company that bring in a tidy bit of interest. But we hope to raise a loan as well.”

  We—James did not miss the significance there. “It sounds as if you’ve already decided.”

  “Perhaps I have,” Harry conceded. “But it’s only good sense to look to the future—for ourselves and Cornwall. I wrote you that two more mines in the district had closed.”

  James nodded acknowledgment. “But Wheal Felicity is still producing, is it not?”

  “It’s doing well enough, for now. But times are changing here. It’s harder to make a living in the same ways. Some of our men have already emigrated to Australia. St. Perran could use the money that would come from such a place, and its people could use the work. And, forgive my frankness, James, I think Trevenan could too—if you’d consider coming in with us.”

  “Become a partner in a resort hotel? I can’t think about that yet, I’m afraid.”

  Harry held up a hand. “Understood. But I hope you will give the matter some thought, when you have time to reflect.”

  James nodded again, absently. Some other thought was stirring. If young Pendarvis was old Simon’s heir, but Gerald had been his godson… “Has Robin Pendarvis ever met Gerald?”

  “I don’t know. He might have.” Harry shrugged. “Since I never counted your obnoxious cousin among my chief concerns, I can’t say the subject has ever arisen between us.”

  James let that go; he’d be the last to deny that Gerald was obnoxious, especially to those he considered his social inferiors. “I was wondering whether he could shed some light on this matter of the letter. Or perhaps even on Gerald’s last days.”

  “I’m afraid Rob’s gone to London, on business. He left the day before you arrived.”

  James stifled the oath that rose to his lips. “Do you know when he’s likely to return?”

  “He hopes to be gone no longer than a week. I know where he’ll be staying, though. Do you want me to write him about this?”

  James hesitated, chose his next words with care. “A subject this sensitive is best handled face to face. And I’d prefer that Helena’s accusations travel no further than Cornwall.”

  “I see your point. And you’re right—no sense in letting this ugly rumor spread.”

  “No.” James exhaled. “You could write and tell him that I am eager to speak with him on a matter of some importance when he returns. But no further details than that, if you please.”

  Harry regarded him thoughtfully. “I see. Very well, I shall do so. And I promise as well to keep my eyes open, and my ears to the ground, for rumor-mongers here.”

  “Thank you.” James paused as feminine voices and laughter reached his ears. “Sounds like the girls are back from their walk.”

  “I won’t mention this to Mother or Sophie,” Harry said in a low voice. “But I should like to take John into my confidence, on the off chance that he might have heard something.”

  James nodded his consent, relieved that he and Harry were in accord on this at least. For the first time in his life, he felt an element of constraint between himself and his cousin, born of the growing doubts and suspicions he had yet to voice. Praying that it was only temporary, he summoned a smile as Aurelia and Sophie reentered the parlor.

  “Welcome back,” Harry greeted them easily, even jovially. “Did you enjoy the garden?”

  ***

  Aurelia had found it easy to admire the garden. The roses were especially fine, grown from cuttings planted by a Tresilian ancestress many years before. “And every spring and summer, they put on the most glorious show,” Sophie had said proudly.

  “Roses are my sister’s favorite flower,” Aurelia said. “And I like them too, of course.”

  Sophie had been eager to hear more about her cousin’s fiancée, so Aurelia had obliged. Not too surprisingly, the girl was fascinated by the revelation that Aurelia and Amy were twins. “It must b
e lovely being a twin,” she said a bit wistfully, “like having a best friend who’s always there. I’ve often wished for one myself, secretly.”

  “But you have a sister, don’t you?”

  “Yes, but Cecily’s six years older and already married with a family. We’re very fond of each other, but it’s not quite the same. I’m looking forward to meeting your sister, especially if she’s as nice as you.”

  “I’m sure you’ll like Amy,” Aurelia said confidently. “She’s the more outgoing of the two of us, and she’s very eager to meet you as well.”

  They’d lingered a little longer in the garden, then headed back inside, still chatting lightly of flowers and families.

  The moment they set foot in the parlor, Aurelia could sense that something had shifted. Something that even Sir Harry’s hearty greeting could not disguise. She glanced at Trevenan, whose face gave nothing away. “Yes, Sir Harry, it was lovely,” she said, giving their host her brightest, least revealing smile. “I particularly admired the roses.”

  He smiled back, though she thought his expression was slightly abstracted. “Thank you, Miss Aurelia. Some of the bushes were planted as far back as my great-grandmother’s time.”

  “So Sophie has told me.”

  “You must come see our gardens at Pentreath, Sophie,” Trevenan told his cousin. “Next week, perhaps, when you dine with us?”

  Her eyes lit up. “We’re to dine at Pentreath? How splendid! Which evening?”

  “I was thinking Wednesday or Thursday.” Trevenan’s eyes sought out Aurelia’s as he spoke; she gave him a small nod of encouragement. Amy should certainly be recovered by then. “Have you a preference, Harry?”

  “Thursday might be best. I’ve business in Truro on Wednesday.”

  Trevenan nodded. “Thursday it is, then. At seven o’ clock.”

  With the arrangements settled, they took a cordial leave of the Tresilians soon after that. Aurelia waited until their gig had turned back onto the main road before venturing a remark.

  “Sophie’s a delightful girl,” she said, eyeing Trevenan’s profile; even now, he looked remote and distant. “And I like Sir Harry too. I can see why you enjoy spending time with them.”

  His expression warmed slightly. “I am glad to hear you liked one another. They took to you as well, which does not surprise me in the least.”

  The compliment pleased her, but a more pressing concern weighed on her mind. And on his, she suspected. “Did you have a chance to talk to your cousin, about the letter?”

  “I did.” A faint furrow appeared between his brows. “I’m afraid Harry is as much in the dark as I about who could have sent it. But he thinks he knows the identity of the other person alluded to in the letter. A friend and neighbor of his—Robin Pendarvis. And there is a connection, of sorts. Simon Pendarvis—of Pendarvis Hall—was Robin’s great-uncle and Gerald’s godfather.”

  Aurelia frowned, considering. “So, is it possible that Robin Pendarvis knew Gerald?”

  “It’s possible, yes. But I don’t know if they met that frequently. Robin and his family never lived at Pendarvis Hall, though Robin is the heir. Simon died in April—of natural causes,” Trevenan added hastily. “He was well along in years.”

  “Can you speak to the younger Mr. Pendarvis?”

  “At the moment, no. He’s in London, on business, and will be away at least a week.”

  Aurelia grimaced. “Of all the wretched luck!”

  “Wretched timing, anyway. But I can speak to him on his return. Harry’s eager for me to talk to him in any event.”

  “Why is that?”

  “A business venture.” Trevenan paused. “Pendarvis Hall is a large estate, comparable to Pentreath in size and age. And in much the same condition, I suspect.”

  Aurelia interpreted this without difficulty. “So it must cost a lot to maintain.” A fortune, perhaps. She wondered uncomfortably if Robin Pendarvis had gone heiress-hunting in London.

  “Just so. According to Harry, Robin has a rather ambitious scheme to make the estate profitable once more—by converting it to a resort hotel.”

  “Good heavens! That is ambitious.” And doubly surprising coming from an English gentleman, most of whom set so much store by ancestral lands and properties. An American entrepreneur might be far more likely to hatch such a plan. “Can he afford to do such a thing?”

  “Not on his own. He’s seeking out investors, and he’s offered to make Harry a partner.”

  “Gracious!” Aurelia sank back against the seat, trying to make sense of it all. “So, the third man in that anonymous letter is a friend and potential business associate of your cousin. Who also happens to be heir to a country estate and who aspires to become a hotelier, though he lacks the funds to finance the project by himself.”

  “That is correct.” Trevenan’s face had gone unreadable once again.

  “Is there much support for his scheme here?”

  “I’m not sure who else knows about it yet.” Trevenan stared at the road before them. “Harry thinks I should consider investing as well. He believes it will be a profitable enterprise, and provide some much-needed employment in the area, now that several mines have closed.”

  Put in those terms, the hotel scheme did not sound too unreasonable, Aurelia mused. Still, the cost involved might give anyone pause. “Do you agree with him?”

  “I don’t disagree. But I’m not about to get involved until I know more about this venture, and the man proposing it.” Trevenan drove in silence for several minutes, his dark eyes abstracted. “I’d give a great deal to know just how well Robin Pendarvis knew Gerald,” he said at last. “And whether Gerald stood to inherit anything from his godfather’s will.”

  Aurelia caught her breath as his meaning sank in. Surely he wasn’t suggesting—but there was a sinister sense to what he was implying. On the surface, such a concern might seem immaterial now, as Gerald had predeceased his godfather. But if there had been a bequest—something beyond a token gift or amount—to whom would it have gone, afterward? Reverted to Pendarvis’s heir, a man eager to sink whatever money he had into this grand hotelier’s scheme?

  How much might he have resented having to share his inheritance with Gerald, especially if it threatened his plans for the estate? Aurelia suppressed a shiver. Terrible though it was to contemplate, people had killed for less…

  “I have said nothing of this to Harry,” Trevenan went on. “It seems a foul thing to suspect a man my cousin considers a friend. But God help me, I cannot stop wondering.”

  Aurelia studied his somber face. “It’s not surprising that you should wonder. Robin Pendarvis is a stranger to you. But—do you trust Sir Harry’s judgment?”

  “Most of the time.” He sighed. “But no one’s judgment is infallible.”

  “Of course not,” Aurelia said at once. “But perhaps you should wait to form an opinion until you meet Mr. Pendarvis yourself?”

  “Indeed. I had resolved to do so. There’s been enough rushing to judgment already.”

  He was thinking of Lady Durward, of course, and her intemperate accusations.

  “Might I prevail upon you not to mention this matter to Amy?” Trevenan’s gaze was intent on hers. “Not yet, at any rate. I feel I have already imposed enough upon your discretion as it is, by confiding as much in you as I have.”

  Aurelia stifled a sigh, along with a retort that there was little point in withholding the rest. “Very well. But I think you should tell her what you’re facing, and sooner rather than later. Amy is to be your wife, your partner in all things. Not some child to be shielded from every unpleasantness. I know I should hate it, if my future husband took that approach with me.”

  He eyed her searchingly. “Should you really? Even if it was from the best of motives?”

  “Even then. I had enough of being treated like a weakling after my accident.” And to make matters worse, she’d bought into that herself for a time, but that was behind her now. She would not trade a moment
of self-knowledge, however painfully acquired, for being wrapped in cotton wool again. “Confide in my sister, Trevenan. She is stronger than you think.”

  He looked at her a moment longer, then smiled. “So are you.”

  ***

  All seemed tranquil when they returned to Pentreath. Aurelia immediately went up to see her sister and tell her of the visit to Roswarne. Amy seemed pleased to hear that the Tresilians were such a likable family, but relieved that they would not be dining at Pentreath until Thursday, by which time she would be fully recovered.

  Not until later, when Aurelia came down to dinner that evening, did trouble rear its head.

  Lady Talbot presided over the drawing room as she had the night before. Unfortunately, there had been two more additions to the company: Lady Durward and her undistinguished husband were now present. The earl stood by the hearth not far from Aurelia’s father and brother, while the haughty countess sat on the sofa some distance away from Mrs. Newbold, who appeared thoroughly intimidated.

  Aurelia glanced instinctively toward Trevenan, who stood nearby with his aunt.

  “I fear I could not convince her to remain upstairs tonight, James,” Lady Talbot murmured apologetically to her nephew. “But she is under orders to be on her best behavior, or she will not like the consequences.”

  He nodded, looking composed if somewhat grim. Aurelia could only sympathize with the impossible situation he was in, compelled to play host to a relation who despised him, lest her spite damage his reputation and that of his cousin. “Am I to take her in to dinner, then?”

  “Certainly not,” his aunt said firmly. “You shall escort Mrs. Newbold as you did last night. Durward can partner Helena here—and I have the seating well in hand.”

  Thank heavens for that, Aurelia thought. She did not doubt Lady Talbot’s ability to ride herd on her niece throughout dinner. As for herself, it appeared that she had a parent to rescue.

  Mrs. Newbold greeted her approach with undisguised relief. “Aurelia, my dear.” She cast a dubious glance at the countess, but carried gamely on with the introductions. “This is Lady Durward. Countess, this is my daughter, Aurelia.”