“It’s beautiful. I only wish it were watertight as well,” she added, dodging a drip.
Trevenan glanced up, grimaced as a drop of water struck his face. “Ah. My apologies.”
“It’s not your fault. Here.” She reached up to blot the water with a handkerchief.
He caught her hand; Aurelia felt the warmth and firmness of his clasp even through the riding gloves they both wore. For a moment, the air seemed to pulse between them, heavy with electricity, then, “Best keep it for yourself,” he advised gently, releasing her hand. “You may need it, if there are any more leaks in the roof.”
The next few minutes were spent in a fruitless search for a drier place to stand. Jumping back from a particularly copious drip, Aurelia wished it were permissible for a lady to swear. Trevenan sidestepped another leak and regarded the roof with disfavor.
“The placement of these is downright diabolical,” he observed.
Aurelia gazed around the folly, saw at last a patch of floor that looked relatively untouched. “Here—this part doesn’t seem to be too bad.”
The patch was just large enough to accommodate them both if they stood side by side. Outside, the rain pelted down with renewed fervor, its soft patter intensifying to a muted roar.
Crack! Aurelia caught her breath as a flash of lightning turned the world a blinding white. Once her vision had cleared, she glanced toward the horses, still placidly cropping the grass beneath the trees, and shivered.
“Are you cold?” Trevenan asked, instantly solicitous. “Here, take my coat.” He tugged off and pocketed his gloves, then began to wrestle with the buttons.
“That’s not necessary,” she protested, even as he shrugged out of the garment.
“I’m used to Cornish weather; you’re not,” he pointed out, draping the coat over her shoulders. It settled around her like an embrace, warm from his body and smelling faintly of citrus, clove, and clean male. His scent. Every cell in her body seemed to tingle in response.
She looked up at him, all too conscious of his nearness. Between the wings of his shirt collar, his throat rose in a strong, lightly bronzed column to join the sharp lines of jaw and chin. His hands still grasped the coat’s lapels as he drew it close about her, and the expression in his dark eyes was solicitous, almost tender. Even the firm mouth looked softer and more relaxed.
Kiss me. The words blazed across her mind like fire, but no hotter or brighter than the yearning that consumed her, overpowering all else—sense, restraint, even loyalty. Kiss me. Make me yours—the way it should have been, the way it was supposed to be.
As she gazed at him, his expression grew abstracted, almost dreamy. Slowly, he lifted a hand as though he would touch her face. Mesmerized, she gazed at his fingers, wondering how they would feel against her skin. And his mouth…how would that feel, pressed to hers?
The thunder rumbled again, loud and ominous, like the voice of divine disapproval, and they both jerked back as if singed, Trevenan’s hand falling to his side. Shamed, Aurelia dropped her gaze to the floor of the folly. Dear God, what had she been thinking? Her sister’s fiancé…
A moment’s madness, brought on by the storm and their close proximity. Nothing happened, she reminded herself—and deliberately did not examine whether she felt glad or sorry.
“Thank you,” she said in a small voice. “For the coat, I mean.”
“You’re welcome.” His own voice sounded oddly husky. He swung away from her then and strode back to his former place.
Aurelia eyed him with concern. He stood with his body turned partly away from her, shoulders slightly hunched, arms folded over his middle, as though fighting off a spasm of pain. “Are you all right?” she asked after a moment.
“Fine.” He cleared his throat, still not looking at her. “Nature’s putting on quite a show,” he added. “But it should pass soon.”
Aurelia nodded, turning her attention to the sky. She heard the thunder growl again but more faintly this time, and no lightning bolts followed, so she let herself relax. “‘I too have heart, then. I was not afraid,’” she murmured, remembering Iseult’s reaction to the storm at sea.
“Tristram of Lyonesse?” Trevenan’s voice sounded normal again.
She glanced at him in surprise, saw that he had turned his head and was almost smiling. “I never told you—the poem is one of my favorites as well,” he confessed. “I can only admire a poet who writes so beautifully of Cornwall and the sea. And parts of it remind me of my parents, and how they were together.”
And that romance had ended in tragedy too, with a capsized boat in Italy, she thought.
“But peace they have that none may gain who live,” Trevenan quoted softly, his dark eyes gone distant and unfathomable. “And rest about them that no love can give, / And over them, while death and life shall be, / The light and sound and darkness of the sea.”
“That’s a lovely tribute to them,” Aurelia said, a trifle unsteadily.
“Not the worst of epitaphs. Although I can’t fault the one Aunt Judith and Uncle Hugh chose. ‘They were lovely and pleasant in their lives, and in their death, they were not divided.’”
Aurelia swallowed, tears prickling at the corners of her eyes. No, they had not been divided, but her heart ached for the child they’d left behind and the man who still felt their loss. “That too is apposite.” She looked away quickly, and saw with relief that the rain had lessened, now falling in a fine silver curtain.
“Perhaps we should head back to the house,” she ventured, with a covert glance at her companion of the storm. At least the constraint between them had eased.
“Yes. Perhaps we should,” he said after a moment.
Handing him back his coat, she secured her veil again and headed toward the steps of the folly. “Amy must be wondering where we are.”
“No doubt she is,” he agreed, following her. “So, let us go and put her mind at ease.”
***
Amy just managed not to flinch when she heard the faint rumble in the air. Abandoning the novel she’d been thumbing through listlessly, she went to the library window and gazed out at the darkening sky. Trevenan and Aurelia were mad to have gone out riding on a day like this, she thought with a shudder. Of course, it was wonderful that Relia wanted to ride again, but it could come on to rain at any minute—the sort of rain that sensible people stayed inside to avoid.
Sighing, she drifted away from the window. Despite the lighted lamps and the fire in the grate, she found the library oddly…well, not cold, perhaps, but austere. Even remote—as if it held outsiders at arm’s length, waiting for them to prove their worthiness to be here.
Which was nonsense, Amy chided herself. Pure fancy and she was not a particularly fanciful person. It was only natural that she should feel some constraint in a new place, even if it was to be her home one day soon. And Pentreath was such a handsome estate; surely she’d find a way to be comfortable here. She’d make herself comfortable here.
She glanced down at her ring, the pretty trio of diamonds she’d worn ever since her engagement to James was announced. This was what she’d wanted, after all: a title, a stately home, and a peer for a husband. And James was young, handsome, intelligent, and kind. She should be thanking her lucky stars that she was engaged to him and not that boorish lout, Glyndon! She was grateful, truly she was. It was no hardship to spend time in his company, though she couldn’t help wishing that their tastes in pursuits were more similar. If only he enjoyed Society more—or if only she enjoyed it less, she admitted honestly.
But then, marriages were often compromises, Amy reminded herself. Over the years, spouses learned to make allowances for each other’s differences, or found a happy medium with which they could both live. She and James had gone into this arrangement with their eyes open—liking what they saw, but not carried away by passion on either side. Which was just as well. Having witnessed Relia’s devastation when Charlie jilted her, Amy had no desire for a love match. But surely she and James could
forge an affectionate and satisfying union, made stronger by whatever children they had in the future.
Another, louder rumble made her jump, and she glanced out the window again to see rain sheeting down with noisy abandon. James had mentioned storms were frequent here, though more common in the autumn and winter months. Her stomach sank at the prospect. Perhaps she could persuade James to spend part of the Little Season in London?
The sky lit up with a brilliant flash of lightning, throwing every object in the room into sharp relief. Amy bit back a startled squeak, then gathered up her skirts and hurried from the library, unable to bear it there a moment longer.
In her headlong rush, she did not see the figure in the hallway until it loomed up out of the shadows and caught her by the shoulders. A scream broke from her just as the figure spoke.
“Miss Newbold! It is I!”
The familiar voice cut through her panic, just as it had once before. “M-Mr. Sheridan?” she faltered, her eyes starting to adjust to the gloom.
He nodded, brushed back rain-wet brown hair; his eyes looked startlingly green in the dim light of the entrance hall. “A trifle waterlogged, but I am he.”
“Wh-when did you get in?” Her voice sounded faint even to her own ears.
“My train arrived this morning,” he replied. “I wasn’t sure just when I would be traveling, so I neglected to wire ahead. But James knew to expect me either today or tomorrow.”
“Oh.” Amy felt herself begin to relax. “I’m afraid James isn’t here at the moment. And I’m not sure where Lady Talbot is. Shall I send someone to fetch her?”
He shook his head. “No need to trouble yourself, Miss Newbold. Pelham’s already had the footmen take my luggage up, and he said my chamber should be ready shortly.”
“Well, why don’t you come into the drawing room and let me ring for hot tea and perhaps some sandwiches?” she proposed. “You must be chilled, traveling in such a downpour.”
Sheridan smiled, a startlingly sweet smile devoid of his usual cool irony. “That would be most welcome. Thank you.”
Feeling oddly cheered, she led him into the drawing room and pointed out his painting over the fireplace. With a modesty that surprised her, he expressed both astonishment and pleasure at his work being so prominently displayed in a friend’s home.
“Well, why wouldn’t it be?” Amy asked as she poured tea for them both. “Lady Talbot said it’s much nicer than the classical painting that used to hang there.”
Sheridan accepted his cup, taking a wedge of lemon but no milk or sugar. “Sentiment, mainly. People become attached to something that’s always been there, even if it’s unattractive. Or downright hideous, in some cases.”
Amy smiled. “Well, fortunately for lovers of art, James isn’t ruled by sentiment.”
“True. So, what is James up to at the moment? Seeing to some estate matter?”
Amy stirred sugar into her own tea. “Actually, he and Aurelia have both gone riding.”
“In this weather?” Sheridan shook his head. “These Cornish. I knew James considers rain of little account here, but I hadn’t realized your sister was cut from a similar cloth. Well, never fear. I doubt they’ll stay out long if the rain continues.”
The prosaic words calmed her. “I told them the weather might change. I didn’t trust it myself; that’s why I stayed behind.”
“Very sensible of you, given the circumstances.”
“I do hope they aren’t too badly drenched. Aurelia’s been so looking forward to riding again. After her accident, I wasn’t sure she’d ever bring herself to get on a horse again.” Amy sipped her tea. “But James apparently talked her into trying it.”
Sheridan’s brows rose as he helped himself to a sandwich. “Did he now?”
“Oh, yes. He even said he has the perfect mount for her, and I trust him completely with my sister’s safety. They’ve become good friends, which is a tremendous relief to me,” she added, smiling. “I used to worry about what would happen if either of us met a fellow who couldn’t understand our bond.”
“I’m glad to hear that Miss Aurelia is in such fine fettle these days.”
“Oh, she’s so much more like her old self. And she seems to have really taken to Cornwall.” More than I have, Amy admitted ruefully to herself.
“And what of you, Miss Newbold? Are you finding Cornwall to your liking?”
“Well, I haven’t seen that much of it so far,” she demurred. “A trifling ailment kept me to my room until this morning. But what I have seen of it is certainly very—striking.”
Sheridan’s green eyes studied her with disconcerting perception. “That it is—a wild, beautiful place,” he said after a moment. “But there are a number of people who find it a touch…remote, even isolated.”
“It does feel a bit like the ends of the earth,” she admitted, relieved by his lack of criticism. “Especially when compared to London. But James loves it so here, and Aurelia swears it’s vastly superior to Newport, so I am sure—in time—I’ll grow fond of it too.”
The front door opened then, and laughing voices reached them from the hall. “They’re back,” Amy noted with relief.
Moments later, her betrothed and her sister entered the drawing room: windblown, their clothes beaded with rain, but their faces brightened by recent exercise.
“James, Relia!” Amy greeted them brightly. “Look who’s just arrived.”
“Thomas!” James strode forward to clasp his friend’s hand. “Glad to see you, old fellow. But why didn’t you let me know you were coming today? I’d have sent a carriage to meet you.”
“Wasn’t entirely sure of my schedule,” Sheridan replied, rising to return the earl’s greeting. “But things cleared up unexpectedly, so I decided to travel down today, after all. I had no trouble hiring a carriage, which is just as well, considering how many canvases I’ve brought with me.” He turned to Aurelia, bowed over her hand. “Delighted to meet you again, Miss Aurelia—and looking as lovely as ever.”
“And you are as flattering as ever, Mr. Sheridan,” she returned. “But I am glad to see you here as well.”
“I have not abandoned the hope that you will sit for me one day,” he told her.
“I may indeed do so, “ she conceded. “And perhaps sooner rather than later, though I shall give you plenty of notice beforehand, since I know you have other commissions.”
“There are any number of rooms you can use as a studio here, Thomas,” James informed him. “And I’m glad Amy was here to welcome you. You make a splendid hostess, my dear.”
“It was no trouble,” Amy assured him, warmed by his praise. “Did the two of you enjoy your ride? I hope you did not get too wet and chilled.”
Aurelia shook her head. “We were fine, Amy. And our ride was pleasant, despite the rain. We waited out the worst of it in the folly, which you absolutely must see,” she added on a gurgle of laughter. “It looks just like a Grecian temple.”
James pulled a rueful face. “A Grecian temple with a leaky roof!”
“Leaks can be fixed,” Amy pointed out. “I’d love to see it, once the weather’s improved. How did you get on with your horse?” she asked her sister.
Aurelia smiled. “Oh, she was lovely—gentle as a kitten, surefooted as a goat. We even got up to a canter today on the way back, though I decided I wasn’t ready to gallop yet. Thank you for lending me your habit. Now, I’d best go up and change so I can return it to you.”
“Oh, keep it for now,” Amy insisted. “It’ll save you the trouble of borrowing it again.”
“Well, if you’re sure you won’t need it, dearest,” Aurelia began.
“Positive,” Amy declared. “I brought more than one habit with me, as you well know. Now, go up and change before you do get a chill!”
“Bossy!” her sister said with affection, then turned to the men. “Trevenan, Mr. Sheridan, if you’ll excuse me?” Picking up the habit’s damp skirts, she hurried from the room.
“I’d be
st go up myself,” Sheridan said. “Barlow must have my things unpacked by now.”
“I’ll have a footman show you to your room,” James said, going over to the bellpull. Once his guest had gone up, James turned back to Amy. “My dear, if you’ll allow me a few minutes to change, I’ll give you that tour of the house I promised you.”
She smiled, pleased that he’d remembered. “Thank you, James. I should like that.”
“I do not mean to neglect you, Amy,” he said, almost abruptly.
“Neglect me? It was my own choice to stay behind today. And I must say,” she added mischievously, “that I think I had the right idea, given the state of your Grecian temple.”
His mouth crooked in an odd sort of smile. “Perhaps you did at that,” was all he said as he headed for the door.
Twenty-Two
Slander,
Whose edge is sharper than the sword, whose tongue
Outvenoms all the worms of Nile…
—William Shakespeare, Cymbeline
Something was wrong. James could tell the moment Harry entered the drawing room with his family on Thursday evening.
He could also see that, whatever was troubling Harry, the rest of the Tresilians had not been apprised of it. There was only pleased expectation on the faces of Aunt Isobel, Sophie, and John as he came forward to welcome them to Pentreath.
“Aunt Isobel, Sophie.” James kissed them both on the cheek. “Ladies, you look lovely tonight. John,” he clasped his younger cousin’s hand, “good to see you. Harry,” he took his older cousin’s elbow in an easy, affectionate clasp, “if I might have a word with you before dinner?”
Harry’s expression eased fractionally as they moved off together, leaving the others to Lady Talbot. “Thank you,” he said in a low voice. “I hoped to get you alone for a few minutes.”
“I could see by your face that something was wrong.” James spoke in an undertone as well. “Come, we can talk in the library.”
They left the drawing room and headed down the passage toward the rear of the house. No one in the library, James observed with relief as he closed the door behind them.
Waltz With a Stranger Page 26
