Which was infinitely preferable to rancor and bitterness. Except that, with each day that passed, she felt increasingly unsettled and dissatisfied. How is that for clarity, dear Claudine?
“Aurelia?” Charlie’s voice spoke up from behind, startling her. Between the roaring surf and the soft sand underfoot, she had not heard him approach.
“Lady Talbot tells me you often walk here,” he explained, as she turned to face him. “I hope you don’t mind my joining you.”
She did, actually, but it would be rude—and unkind—to say so. “Not at all.”
Charlie gazed out at the water. “Beautiful waves. Reminds me of Newport. Remember that first summer we were courting?”
“I remember.” It seemed a lifetime ago, those days when she’d lingered on the veranda, hoping for a glimpse of him.
“I don’t think I’ve ever been as happy, before or since. Have you?”
More recent memories arose in her mind—of a dark-haired man holding out his hand to her as a waltz played in the distance. Of that same man lifting her to the saddle and swinging up behind her. And just yesterday, watching her with those night-dark eyes and asking her if this—this tentative, painstakingly polite courtship—was what she wanted. “It was a very special time for us, Charlie,” she said at last. “But one oughtn’t to live in the past.”
“Of course not,” he said quickly and agreeably—almost too agreeably, Aurelia thought, then chided herself for being overly critical. “Indeed, I should like very much to talk of the future. Shall we walk?”
She took his arm and they began a slow promenade along the water’s edge. “So, what are your plans after this summer?” he asked. “Will your family be returning home for the wedding, or does Amy mean to marry here, in England?”
Home. It took a moment for her to remember that was supposed to be New York. “Oh, Amy has her heart set on getting married in New York, probably sometime in September or even October.” A grand Society wedding, befitting her status and fortune. Aurelia would have preferred a smaller, more intimate ceremony, but she reminded herself forcibly that she wasn’t the bride. “And then she and Trevenan will most likely winter abroad, for their honeymoon,” she continued, ignoring the wistful pang that always accompanied that thought.
“And will you be traveling as well, or do you mean to stay at home this winter?”
“Oh, the latter, I suspect. I did rather miss Christmas in New York last year—sleigh rides, caroling, even skating parties.” She managed a smile. “I may even chance a few turns about the ice this winter, now that my leg is so much stronger.”
Alarm flickered in Charlie’s eyes at this professed ambition, but to his credit, he refrained from expressing the reservations that had irked her before. “Well, you’ve always had spirit,” he said manfully. “And what about spring? Will you be returning to England then?”
Where Amy would be settling in as Trevenan’s wife? Not a chance of that, Aurelia thought. Aloud she said, “Oh, I haven’t decided yet. I was actually thinking about college. You know Miss Witherspoon always hoped at least one of us would go. What about you, Charlie? Are you missing New York, and your job at the bank?”
“A little,” he admitted. “I’m enjoying my holiday, but a part of me is looking forward to taking up my work again. Of course, I’m very much the junior partner there, but Father’s bringing me along in the expectation that I’ll succeed him in the fullness of time.”
That came as no surprise to Aurelia. Mr. Vandermere had always had very definite ideas regarding his only son’s future. “I am sure you’ll fulfill all his hopes for you.”
“Maybe. I’ve always tried to please him. But that doesn’t mean I can’t have—or cherish some hopes of my own.” He paused, clearly working up to something. “And that’s why I’ve come today. Not just to discuss the future, but our future in particular.”
“Our future?” Aurelia echoed, startled, her hand dropping from the crook of his arm; she was still getting used to their having a present.
“It’s time, don’t you think?” To her amazement, he lowered himself to one knee and reached for her hand. “Aurelia Newbold, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
Shock crashed over her like a wave, followed at once by panic. “Charlie, it’s only been four days since we started seeing each other again!”
“But we’ve known each other far longer, haven’t we? Some people might say a proposal was overdue. But whether it’s been four days, four months, or four years,” his mouth quirked in that rueful smile she’d once loved, “my affections haven’t changed. Every day we’ve spent together has just convinced me that we shouldn’t have parted in the first place.”
Aurelia bit her lip, gazing at her first love. “I wish I could be as certain.”
Charlie flushed. “I know you have a lot to forgive.”
“That’s not it—at least, not entirely. Does your family know what you intend?” Aurelia couldn’t imagine his parents being any more pleased by this than they’d been four years ago.
His gaze was steady on hers, a man’s gaze now. “They know I mean to propose to the finest lady I know, and that I won’t be talked out of it. A fellow has the right to choose his own wife—if she’ll have him.” His voice softened. “So will you, dearest girl?”
“Charlie…” Aurelia paused, fumbling for the right words. “I’m sorry,” she managed at last. “I didn’t expect—I need more time!”
Contrition spread across his face. “I’m the one who should apologize,” he said, getting to his feet. “I shouldn’t have rushed you. It’s just—well, I wanted to put our past behind us, once and for all. And to show you I’m serious about making a fresh start with you.”
“I understand.” And she did. Some small part of her even warmed at his sincere desire to make amends, but a far larger part insisted that she wasn’t ready for this. “But given how—complicated our history has been, I think it’s all the more important that we not rush into anything now. Would you give me some time—a week at least—to think over what you’ve said?”
“Take all the time you need.” He took her hand, hesitated a moment, then raised it to his lips. “I’ll be on my way now, but may I call on you again, perhaps in a day or two?”
“Of course.” She summoned a smile. “Until then, dear Charlie.”
“Until then.” He released her hand and strode toward the stairs.
Aurelia did not watch his ascent. Turning back toward the sea, she closed her eyes, her thoughts and emotions in chaos once more.
“He went down on one knee,” a familiar voice observed sardonically. “How gallant of him. I didn’t know they still did that in America.”
Aurelia opened her eyes to find Trevenan, astride Camborne, staring down at her, his expression unreadable. “You saw?”
His lips thinned. “A bit hard to miss, a grown man kneeling on the sand.” He swung down from his horse, stood face to face with her. “Am I to wish you happy, then?”
She glanced away. “I haven’t given him an answer yet.”
“But you’re considering it?” His voice sounded oddly taut.
Aurelia shrugged, trying for nonchalance. “A lady should always take the time to consider a proposal of marriage from a gentleman.”
“Even one who’s disappointed her?” he challenged. “You’ve forgiven him so quickly?”
“Quickly? It’s been four years, Trevenan. Charlie and I are different people now.”
“You could still do better than Vandermere.” His brows drew together. “And you’ve just started seeing each other again. What the deuce is he about, asking you this soon?”
“He says he wants to put the past behind us, and start afresh.” Aurelia picked up her skirts, walked a few steps away from him. “I’d say that was a worthy goal, wouldn’t you?”
Trevenan followed her. “If he’s being wholly honest about it.’
Indignant, she turned to face him. “You doubt his motives?”
“I’d question the motives of any man who’d behaved as he had!” Trevenan paused, then resumed more gently, “You don’t have to accept him, Aurelia. I understand he was your first love, but there are other fish in the sea.”
Unexpectedly, Aurelia felt her temper fraying. “If you only knew how sick I am of that phrase!” she exclaimed. “I must have heard it a thousand times after my accident!”
“That doesn’t make it any less true,” he countered. “You of all people shouldn’t have to settle for less than you deserve or want.”
“What I want,” she began with some heat, then quickly changed course, “is for everyone to stop treating me like a fool or a simpleton just because I’m seeing Charlie again! Why shouldn’t I let him court me? Why shouldn’t I explore my feelings and see where they lead?” She stopped, breathless and suddenly furious: at Trevenan, at herself, at everything that had brought them here. “And why shouldn’t I marry him, and have a life of my own?”
He stared at her, his dark eyes unfathomable. “You could meet a better, worthier man.”
She laughed, a strained, harsh sound. “I’ve already met one—he’s marrying my sister!”
The words blazed forth, hanging in the air as though etched in fire, impossible to recall or deny. They stared at each other, scarcely breathing—then, in an instant, Trevenan closed the distance between them in one stride and pulled her to him, arms banding around her like iron.
Their mouths met in a fierce mutual claiming, and the world went white around them—white as lightning, white as the heart of a flame. Closing her eyes, Aurelia let herself fall, deep into a void where all that existed was his touch, his taste, and the hot, urgent press of his lips against hers. This, she thought hazily. Yes, this. And knew by his response, the guttural moan low in his throat, that it was the same for him. Love, that is first and last of all things made…
They parted to a hand’s span, still dazed and breathless. Looking up, Aurelia saw her own desire and longing mirrored in his eyes. Exultation flared, only to extinguish itself a moment later, turning into something that felt almost like fury. Pushing him away, she stepped back and blurted out, with the wild illogic born of pain, the question that had haunted her since her return.
“Damn you, James! Why couldn’t you wait for me?”
***
Why couldn’t you wait for me?
Her words, all the more poignant for their lack of reason, struck him like a blow to the heart: a scathing indictment of every choice he’d made since becoming Trevenan. And she stood there, her eyes blazing at him: furious as he’d never seen her, and so beautiful his soul ached. No use pretending anymore, even if he’d wanted to. They’d deceived themselves long enough.
“I’m sorry.” The words rasped out, dry as Sahara sand. “Forgive me. You were so fragile, then. I heard you’d gone away, and I thought—and then your sister…” He shook his head, defeated. “God help me, Aurelia, I should have known my own heart!”
The anger faded as quickly as it had come upon her. “Then God help us both,” she whispered, her eyes brimming.
He took a step toward her; she shook her head, retreated. “Don’t, please.”
“Aurelia—”
“I can’t do this to Amy!” she broke in wildly. “I can’t betray my sister! She can’t ever know about us. I’ll go away, right after the wedding—”
“You could run to the ends of the earth, and my heart would still follow you.”
She shook her head again, whether in acknowledgment or denial of his words he could not tell. “Amy doesn’t deserve this, not from us.”
James swallowed. “I know. And I gave her my word. I do care for her, Aurelia. I even thought I could love her.”
“You can! You will. She’s so easy to love, James, so beautiful and bright. And she cares for you. I can see it in her eyes.” She straightened, her eyes still brilliant with unshed tears. “Women have honor too, my lord. I could never be happy if I spoiled her happiness.”
A lifetime of unhappiness…his aunt’s words echoed in his mind. “I know,” he managed at last. “I’d expect nothing less from you, when it comes to loyalty and love.”
Her lips formed a tremulous smile. “Thank you, for understanding.”
James cleared his throat. “Just promise me—one thing. That you won’t marry,” Vandermere, “any man who doesn’t love you with all his heart and soul. Who won’t do his utmost to make you happy. Because you deserve happiness, every bit as much as Amy.”
The tears spilled over then, but she brushed them away impatiently, nodded. “I promise.” Her voice was little more than a whisper. “I should go up now.”
He nodded as well, feeling as if his heart was lodged in his throat, and watched as she made her way to the stairs and began to climb, every step taking her further away from him. His match, his mate, the love of his life…lost to him through his own well-intentioned folly.
Only after she’d disappeared from sight did he get back on Camborne and make his own way back to Pentreath.
***
He did not follow her. Hurrying through the gardens, Aurelia told herself fiercely that she was glad, because if he had…she did not think she could have denied him whatever he asked.
She’d thrown every obstacle she could think of between them—honor, reason, her love for Amy, her unresolved feelings for Charlie. And they’d all gone up like tinder with one kiss. One kiss that made a mockery of all her attempts to keep her love for him at bay. And now, to know that he wanted her just as badly…
Again she relived that moment on the beach, the consuming fire of that kiss. Body and soul aflame, desire coursing through her veins, awakening sensations in all the secret places that a lady wasn’t supposed to know about, let alone think about.
But Aurelia had known about them ever since those heady days of first love with Charlie. Lying in bed at night, she’d conjure his dear face, imagining his lips on hers, his hands caressing and exploring every inch of her body. And think with a delicious shiver of what they’d do once they were married—dreams and fantasies too intimate to share with anyone, even Amy.
Charlie…what answer could she possibly give him, when the face she now saw in those secret fantasies was no longer his? And had not been his, for a very long time?
Pausing beneath a tree, Aurelia closed her eyes and fought for composure. The kind of composure she’d needed after her accident, when all she’d wanted was to scream aloud, in pain and frustration. How ironic that, after her long struggle to recover, she should find herself in the same agony of mind, if not body.
But she was stronger now. What had happened just now must not happen again—she and James had agreed on that. For everyone’s sake, they must go on as before, live the lives they had determined to live, even if it was on separate continents. Parting is such sweet sorrow…There was nothing sweet about this sorrow, but perhaps, in time, it would become less bitter. She could hope for that, at least.
Opening her eyes, she saw that she’d nearly reached the house. She took another moment to collect herself, then almost ran the rest of the way, praying that no one would notice or comment on her entrance.
She made it safely upstairs and was heading down the passage toward her chamber when her luck ran out.
“Relia?”
The last voice she wanted to hear just now, the last person she felt up to dealing with. Guilt, remorse, and something darker that she didn’t dare to name rose up in a cresting wave that threatened to drown her where she stood. She forced it down, then turned to face her twin.
“Amy, dearest.” She hoped her smile didn’t look as forced as it felt.
If it did, Amy did not appear to notice, fortunately. “I feel as if I haven’t seen you all day,” she said, almost plaintively. “Whatever have you been doing?”
Kissing your fiancé. And being kissed by him. The wave reared up again, was forced back again. “Walking on the beach,” Aurelia replied, trying for a light tone. “You know how I love i
t down there.” She changed the subject quickly. “You look lovely in that gown. Are the sittings going well?”
Amy’s expression brightened. “Oh, yes! Mr. Sheridan and I have nearly decided on a final pose. I feel certain this portrait will be everything it should be—and more.”
So confident, always. What must it be like, to be so sure of oneself all the time, Aurelia wondered. To know exactly what one wanted, and to be completely certain of getting it? She looked at Amy—beautiful, composed, unsuspecting Amy—and, for the first time in her life, felt a spark of resentment that was close to hatred. Words trembled on her tongue, words that could smash that composure, that utter certainty, to smithereens…
Horrified at herself, Aurelia stamped out that rebel spark. Dear heaven, what was she thinking? My twin, my heart—the person she loved most in the world. Except, perhaps, for one other now. But James would not want her to do this, either—to devastate someone who’d done nothing to deserve it. “I do care for her,” he had said. “I even thought I could love her.” How he’d despise her if he knew how close she’d come to hurting Amy! Almost as much as she’d despise herself.
Swallowing back her too-ready confession, she replied, “I’m sure Trevenan will be delighted with it.” After his name, his title felt strange, even foreign, in her mouth.
Much to her surprise, Amy colored at her remark. “Yes, of course. James. Naturally, I hope he’ll be pleased.”
Aurelia looked at her twin more closely. Was there something almost—guilty in Amy’s response? As if, perhaps, her future husband was not foremost in her thoughts? Curiosity roused, sharp and avid, and a whole slew of questions with it: Do you love him? Do you want him, burn for him—as I do? Do you dream of being his wife, not just his countess? Would you even have looked at him if he’d been plain Mr. Trelawney, and not the Earl of Trevenan?
Disloyal thoughts—she should be ashamed of having them, especially when she knew, better than anyone else, how much love Amy had to give. And love could grow in a marriage, Aurelia reminded herself, even if it wasn’t present at the very beginning. Her parents were proof of that. Stifling curiosity and jealousy alike, she asked gently, “And you, dearest? Are you happy—about marrying James, I mean? The wedding’s just a few months away.”
Waltz With a Stranger Page 35
