Waltz With a Stranger (23 page)

“So did your cousin come back here to take up his new responsibilities?”

“And miss all those hunting and shooting parties? Not likely. Our solicitor told me Gerald waited until the last possible minute to return to Pentreath.” James paused, frowning. “And that is what I find most troubling. Gerald had no love for Cornwall, and yet it was here that he met his death. His body was found at the foot of a cliff, on New Year’s Day.”

“Which you had nothing to do with, of course,” she said with certainty.

He smiled faintly. “Thank you for the ‘of course.’ No, I was in Cornwall at the time, but attending a party at the Tresilians’. A houseful of people saw me there, and I spent the night. I did not learn of Gerald’s death until the following afternoon. It is thought that he lost his footing in the dark while intoxicated. I found that easy enough to believe—Gerald often overindulged in drink, and he did not know Cornwall that well by day, let alone night. The inquest returned a verdict of death by misadventure, which appeared to be accepted by everyone present.”

“By everyone?” she echoed. “So, then, why has Lady Durward accused you now?”

He sighed. “Because, a few days ago, Helena received an anonymous letter claiming that, while I did not ‘soil my hands’ with Gerald’s blood, I might have had something to do with how he met his Maker all the same.”

Aurelia’s eyes widened as she absorbed the significance of his words. “You mean,” she began, after a moment, “you’re being accused of hiring someone to do away with your cousin?”

James nodded grimly. “Which is a damn sight harder to disprove than my direct involvement. And to make matters worse, two other men—one of them my cousin Harry—have been implicated as well.”

“How utterly hateful!” she exclaimed. “Do you know who could have written this letter? Or what he can possibly hope to gain by it?”

He shook his head. “None at all, so far. I went riding in hopes of clearing my head, but as of this moment, I am void of inspiration.”

“Some friend of your cousin’s, perhaps, trying to make trouble for you?” she suggested.

“I was not aware that Gerald had friends—at least, not in Cornwall. To the best of my knowledge, his intimates lived in London or in hunting country, like Rutland or Leicestershire. Most were the sporting type—hard-drinking, hard-riding…” James paused. “As it happens, I spoke to a few of them before I left London. They don’t appear overly grieved by Gerald’s death, or inclined to regard it as suspicious, in any way. Nor was I, until recently.”

Aurelia bit her lip again. “This seems such an impertinent thing to ask,” she said slowly, “but have
you
an enemy, Trevenan?”

“Everyone has enemies. But I had not thought to find one here.” Another black mark against his nameless accuser, for trying to destroy his contentment in the one place where he’d always felt secure. “Not unless I count Gerald himself, and we are beyond enmity now.” Death had a way of putting paid to old grudges, he reflected somberly.

“Lady Durward seems all too willing to take up where he left off,” Aurelia observed.

“I can handle Helena,” James said firmly. “And the rest of this business as well.”

“What do you mean to do?”

“Try to trace the rumor back to its source, for a start. Harry might be able to help. I’ll call on him this afternoon.” He paused, studying her face: the contemplative look in her blue eyes, the faint frown between her brows. No fool, Aurelia Newbold; her governess had thought her clever enough to attend college, after all.

“Miss Aurelia,” he began, “I know how close you and Amy are, but I would prefer that you not mention this to her—at least, for the moment. Bad enough that I’ve burdened you with the knowledge.” And just how, he wondered, had she managed to get all this out of him when he hadn’t intended to tell her a thing? He’d never discussed his past in so much detail with her sister; nor had Amy ever insisted that he do so, or probed beyond what he was comfortable with.

But that was unfair. Aurelia hadn’t exactly probed, and yet he’d found himself revealing things he’d only ever spoken of to his intimates—to Harry or, occasionally, to Thomas. A subtle difference in the twins, perhaps, that one should elicit confidences more readily than her sister.

“We are to be family, Lord Trevenan,” Aurelia said now, and James had the oddest sense that she knew what he’d just been thinking. “Perhaps you needed to tell someone what was weighing on your mind. But you needn’t worry about it going any further than this beach.” A faint smile hovered around her mouth. “I’ve kept a great many confidences over the years.”

“Your sister’s?” he asked, trying to lighten the mood.

“And my brother’s. And my own, of course.” Something half-wry, half-wistful flickered across her face and was gone, transient as a butterfly in flight.

“Thank you. I appreciate your discretion.” He stood up, stretching his legs. “I should get back to the house. It’s a poor host who abandons his guests on their first day in Cornwall.”

“I should be getting back as well,” Aurelia said, sighing as she reached for her shoes. “Preferably before my mother sees me and goes into conniptions over my little adventure.”

James raised his brows. “Your mother frowns on your adventures?”

“Not at all.” Her lips quirked. “She simply prefers me to undertake them fully shod, impeccably dressed, sheltered by a parasol, and accompanied by at least one maid.”

He laughed. “And here you’ve managed to circumvent all those conditions! My congratulations.”

“I’m fully shod again now. And, well, dressed anyhow,” she amended, looking down at her skirts—still slightly damp—with a faint frown.

James whistled to Camborne, still investigating the seaweed a short distance away; the gelding whickered and trotted up to him, eager to be off again.

“He’s a very handsome horse,” Aurelia observed, getting to her feet.

“Thank you.” James stroked the gelding’s nose. “This is Camborne. He’s strong enough to carry us both back to Pentreath, if you’re willing.”

An abrupt silence greeted his proposal. Surprised, he looked around and saw that Aurelia had paled visibly.

“I’m not—exactly dressed for riding,” she said at last.

James could have kicked himself for his own obliviousness. She was remembering the accident, of course. “Forgive me,” he said at once. “I’d thought only to spare you the climb.”

“That’s all right.” She attempted a smile. “I think I’m flattered—that you actually forgot about what happened to me, for a moment.”

“You’ve proved so intrepid in other ways. It’s easy to forget that you might harbor some apprehensions about getting back on a horse. Have you ridden at all since the accident?”

She colored, which became her far more than the anxious pallor she’d been sporting. “Yes, actually. A donkey, on an excursion at Bad Ems. He was slow but surefooted—and surprisingly obedient, given how obstinate donkeys are said to be.”

“And all was well? You managed to stay in the saddle?”

Aurelia nodded. “It helped to know that I was quite close to the ground and hadn’t far to fall if the worst occurred. But a donkey is not the same as a horse, Trevenan.”

“True, but the basic principle remains unchanged.” James patted Camborne’s glossy black neck, his gaze still on Aurelia. “Do you miss riding?” he asked gently.

“I miss it—and I’m deathly afraid of it at the same time,” she confessed. “Oh, not of horses, nor even of getting in the saddle. But I
am
afraid of falling—of injuring both myself and the horse.” She paused, took a breath before resuming. “Bramble—the horse I was riding when I fell—broke his leg too and had to be shot.” Her lips crimped in something that was not quite a smile. “I believe I cried more over that than my own injuries, at the time.”

“I am sorry. That’s a painful burden to carry.”

She shrugged. “A just one. I was foolish, reckless, and we both paid for it.” Almost unconsciously, she fingered the scar on her cheek. “But I was the only one who deserved it.”

“I wouldn’t say either of you
deserved
it,” he countered. “Accidents happen even to the most cautious riders. You needn’t do anything here that you do not wish to do,” he added, “but if you were to ride back with me, I should ensure that we arrive safely.”

Again she hesitated. “I don’t know if I could—”

“We will not fall.” James infused the words with all the certainty he could muster. “Camborne’s worked out the fidgets in his legs, so I can promise that he’ll behave himself.”

She glanced at the horse, her expression turning wistful. “I admit, I’ve wondered what it might be like to ride again. I don’t wish to brag, but Amy and I were both accounted good horsewomen among our set.”

James smiled. “I don’t doubt that. Back at Pentreath, I’ve got several horses in my stable that might prove suitable, should you wish to attempt riding again. One mare, in particular, would be ideal for you. She’s very calm and gentle.”

He thought he could discern the workings of her mind: one more hurdle, one more step on the path back to herself. Then she looked straight at him, and he saw the new resolve in her eyes, around the firm set of her mouth. “Thank you, my lord. I will indeed consider it.”

“Excellent.” James kept his tone brisk. “Have you proper riding clothes?”

“I could probably find something suitable in my wardrobe. Or I could borrow a riding habit from Amy, since we’re the same size. But for now…” She took a step toward Camborne, looked at James again. “It’s about time that I tried, isn’t it?”

He felt his smile broadening. “Let me give you a leg up. It will be easier for you to ride in front of me, dressed as you are.”

Aurelia nodded and stepped closer to Camborne, now standing as still as a horse sculpted in marble. Just before James moved to help her mount, he thought he heard her say something under her breath; it sounded like “Death to the little mouse.”

James nearly asked her to explain, but her face—taut with concentration—stopped him. Instead, he held out his interlaced hands and, as she set her foot in them, lifted her to the saddle. She scrambled aboard awkwardly, but settled in more quickly than he’d expected, adjusting her seat and draping her skirts over the pommel. Her back was as straight as a lance, her profile serene beneath her hat, though he suspected her heart was beating at twice its normal rate.

Resisting the urge to cheer, he climbed into the saddle behind her and took up the reins. “Home, Camborne,” he ordered, and urged the gelding into a trot.

Blood may be thicker than water, but it is also a great deal nastier.

—E.Œ. Somerville and Martin Ross,
Some
Experiences
of
an
Irish
R.M.

The horse moved smoothly beneath her, its gait almost silken on the sand. Aurelia balanced on the front of the saddle and willed herself not to fidget, or worse, panic.

“We will not fall,” Trevenan had said, and she had chosen to believe him. They wouldn’t be jumping any fences, after all, and they weren’t going faster than a slow trot at the moment.

You
got
yourself
into
this
,
my
girl—and in more ways than one.

She could feel Trevenan’s warmth at her back, and his arms surrounded her as he guided the horse along the path; his hands were light and sure upon the reins. And she could not have said which she found more unnerving—being back on a horse, or being so close to Trevenan physically, something she had taken pains to avoid since their waltz at Amy’s betrothal ball.

Amy
.
Betrothal
. She repeated the words to herself with a grim determination, then seized upon the first handy topic of conversation. “So, you call your horse Camborne?” she asked brightly. “After the town of Camborne?”

“His full name is Camborne Hill, actually,” Trevenan replied. “From a song about the first steam engine, which made a run up and down Camborne Hill nearly a century ago. But that’s a bit of a mouthful for a horse.”

Aurelia laughed. “It’s more memorable than calling him Soot or Blackie. You’ve been to Camborne Hill, I trust?”

“Several times,” he assured her. “It’s just to the south of us. I’ve traveled widely through Cornwall—and much of the West Country as well.”

“That would also include Devon and Dorset, wouldn’t it?” she asked.

“Yes, along with Somerset, Bristol, and parts of Gloucestershire and Wiltshire too.”

“We’ve only seen London, and some of the Home Counties,” Aurelia said wistfully.

“Well, you’ll find some beautiful and varied country there—hills, moorlands, and valleys, as well as the seashore,” Trevenan said, as he turned Camborne onto a rough path flanked by low but surprisingly rich grass and shrubs and bushes she couldn’t begin to identify. “And some remarkable buildings—Salisbury Cathedral, Bath Abbey, and Stonehenge, of course.”

Aurelia shifted in the saddle, trying to adjust to the more rugged surface beneath them and its effect on Camborne’s stride. “Pray, tell me more.” With so much to be done before Amy’s wedding, this might be as close as she’d ever get to seeing these places, she reflected.

He obliged, telling her of castle ruins and picturesque country cottages as they rode along. The grass grew taller and thicker as they headed away from the beach, the bushes yielding to trees, and soon enough, the main gateway of Pentreath came into view.

Trevenan rode through the gates, then took the path leading around the back toward the stables. A good-sized structure, Aurelia observed, which must house a large number of horses, and there was probably a paddock or two beyond. Spying them, a groom came forward at once to take Camborne’s reins. Trevenan dismounted with fluid ease, then turned to help Aurelia.

Feeling self-conscious again, she straightened her skirts before letting herself descend into his waiting hands. His grip around her waist was light but firm; she could feel the warmth of his body through her thin muslin dress as he lifted her down, then set her on her feet.

“Thank you,” she said a little breathlessly. “I did enjoy that ride, more than I expected.”

He smiled. “I hoped you might. Enough to ride again, I trust. Perhaps on that mare I told you about?”

“That’s a definite possibility,” she conceded, managing to smile back. “But I must go in now. I need to change my clothes, and then I want to look in on Amy.”

“Of course.” Trevenan stepped aside to let her pass. “That way will take you back to the house the fastest.” He nodded toward one of the paths leading away from the stables. “By the by, I mean to have some flowers sent up to Amy, to cheer her recovery.”

“She’d like that, especially if you send roses. I’ll see you at luncheon,” Aurelia added, and hastened toward the path he’d shown her.

Fortunately, no one observed her reentrance into the house. Back in her chamber, she let Suzanne put her appearance to rights: changing her creased muslin frock for a pretty, lace-trimmed shirtwaist and a skirt of lightweight green wool, just right for Cornwall’s mild climate.

A quick glance in the mirror showed neither sunburn nor freckles, though she was perhaps slightly ruddier than she’d been when she’d set out on her excursion. Suzanne still seemed astonished that her mistress had allowed herself to become so disheveled; Aurelia heard her murmur “
C’est incroyable!”
as she bore off the muslin dress to be laundered.

Aurelia slipped the key Lady Talbot had given her into the pocket of her skirt; she’d return it when they met at luncheon, but for now, she would check on Amy. She went down the passage and tapped on her sister’s door. “Amy, are you awake?” she called softly.

A wan voice bade her enter, and she slipped inside. Amy, looking pale and listless, lay propped up on pillows in bed, thumbing halfheartedly through a novel.

“I am sorry you are not well, dearest,” Aurelia said sympathetically, taking a chair beside the bed—a sturdy four-poster like her own, but hung with rose-pink silk.

“It will pass,” Amy said with a sigh. “But it could hardly have come at a less convenient moment!” She laid her novel aside and glanced at Aurelia more closely. “You, on the other hand, look very well indeed—positively glowing, in fact. Any particular reason?”

Aurelia flushed, feeling unexpectedly guilty, and gave her sister a brief account of her solitary excursion down to the beach. Like Trevenan, Amy expressed surprise and concern on learning that she’d taken the stairs, and Aurelia hastened to reassure her of their safety.

“As you can see, I’m fine. The stairs are in excellent condition, and I took every precaution. Believe me, it was worth the climb,” she added, smiling at the memory of those first exhilarating moments alone on the sand, with the sea surging before her. “You must see the beach, Amy. It’s so beautiful—all wild and unspoiled. Newport doesn’t hold a candle to it.”

Amy’s brows rose. “High praise, indeed.” She settled back against the pillows once more. “I still think you should have waited for me,” she grumbled. “But then you never could resist the sea. I hope Mama didn’t catch you out.”

“No, fortunately. Lord Trevenan brought me back before anyone discovered I was gone.”

“Trevenan?” Amy echoed. “He was there too?”

Aurelia felt herself flush again. “He was out riding on the beach this morning,” she replied, trying for a casual tone. “Lady Talbot told me he was an early riser. He seemed as surprised as you that I’d taken the stairs, so he offered me a ride, to spare me the climb back up.”

Her sister’s eyes widened. “A ride? You mean, you got on a horse again?”

Aurelia nodded. “I thought—well, I thought it was time I
tried
it, at least.”

Amy laid a hand over hers. “Was it very difficult for you?”

“At first, yes,” Aurelia admitted. “When I got in the saddle, I felt as if I were miles off the ground. But the horse behaved beautifully. I managed to stay on, and we arrived safely.” She took a breath. “Trevenan has suggested that I might try riding again.”

“Has he?” Amy regarded her intently. “How do you feel about it, Relia?”

“Nervous,” Aurelia confessed. “A little frightened, but—a little excited too. I think I
would
like to take it up again, at that.”

“Oh, I’m glad!” her sister exclaimed, smiling. “I know how much you used to love riding. And I’ve so missed riding
with
you, especially mornings on the Row.”

“Well, I suspect it may be a while before I can attempt the Row,” Aurelia said ruefully. “But perhaps a few turns about the paddock here would be more my speed, at least for now. Trevenan recommended one of his gentler horses for my use.”

“I’m sure it won’t be long before you’re riding as well as you ever have,” Amy said staunchly. “And I can lend you a habit and riding boots too. Isn’t it lucky that we’re of a size?”

“Nothing too fine,” Aurelia insisted. “I’m not planning to fall off, but I’d hate to ruin your best riding kit if I do.”

They both looked up at a knock on the door. Mariette, who’d been tidying her mistress’s linen drawer, immediately went to answer it. Seconds later, she stepped back into the room, carrying a bouquet of brightly hued flowers.

“From his lordship, mademoiselle,” she announced, carrying them over to Amy, who perked up noticeably at the sight. “With his best wishes for your quick recovery.”

“How gallant of him! And how lovely they are!” Eyes aglow, she sniffed at a half-open pink rose. “Such a scent. You can tell these come straight from a garden, not a shop.”

“He remembered your fondness for roses,” Aurelia said with determined cheer. “And look, aren’t those lupines?” She indicated the tall blue and violet flowers, which towered over the other blooms like the spires of a church.

“Yes, and hollyhocks too.” Amy indulged in one last sniff before handing the bouquet to Mariette to put in water. “So thoughtful. I wonder how he knew I was under the weather.”

“I told him,” Aurelia confessed. “That is, he asked why you weren’t with me on the beach, and I mentioned you were indisposed. He was prepared to send for a doctor, if necessary.”

“Good heavens!” Amy murmured, but Aurelia thought she looked rather touched. “Well, I trust you assured him that my condition was not so grave as that.”

Aurelia nodded. “I assured him you’d be up and about within a day or two.”

“Monday,” Amy declared emphatically. “No later than that, certainly. If I’m to be mistress here, I can’t spend the next week lolling in bed. I want to see the rest of the estate.”

“Well, what I’ve seen of it looks splendid,” Aurelia told her. “Trevenan could probably give you a tour, or—if he’s otherwise occupied—Lady Talbot.”

“That reminds me.” Amy leaned forward again. “Is everything all right with James and his other—guests?” She pulled a slight face at the last word.

“We’ve been spared the Durwards so far,” Aurelia replied. “I think Lady Talbot has persuaded them to keep to their rooms, at least for now.”

“Oh, good. Though I’m sure the respite won’t last—more’s the pity.”

“Trevenan thinks the same. But surely he and Lady Talbot can keep them in line.”

“I hope so, but I just know Lady Durward will try to say something once she’s out and about. You know she won’t stand for being confined to her room indefinitely. And she’s just the sort to put in an appearance at the worst possible moment—from pure spite.” Amy lay back with a sigh. “She makes those Fifth Avenue harridans look like the epitome of tact and restraint. I hope James has some plan to counteract her slanders. Has he said anything about it?”

Aurelia hesitated. Trevenan had asked her not to mention the anonymous letter to Amy, and while she would not willingly betray his confidence, neither could she withhold the entire truth from her twin. Amy had the right to know at least part of what was going on. “I think,” she ventured at last, “he hopes that his cousins—the Tresilians—might shed some light on how this vicious rumor might have started. He intends to call on them this afternoon.”

“If only I could accompany him!” Amy lamented. “He should have someone from our family present, to show our support if nothing else.” She lapsed into brooding silence for a few moments, then suddenly brightened. “Relia, why don’t you offer to go with him?”

“Me?” Aurelia said, startled.

“Why not? You and James have become such friends. Surely, there would be nothing improper about your accompanying him in my stead.” Her eyes sparkled at her own ingenuity. “You could act as my envoy, so to speak! Yes, I like that idea enormously.”

“Well, Trevenan might not,” Aurelia pointed out, with some asperity. “Under the circumstances, he might prefer to see the Tresilians alone.”

“Nonsense. It’s only right that the rest of the world should see that we are completely behind him on this. And besides,” she added coaxingly, “if you were to go, you could tell me more about these Tresilians who are so important to him. I’d appreciate that
so
much, Relia—knowing what James’s favorite cousins are like.”

Aurelia sighed, recognizing that she had already capitulated. Her sister was right, after all—Trevenan deserved the comfort of knowing that his future in-laws fully supported him. “Very well, dearest. I shall ask him. Although he might still refuse my offer.”

“He won’t,” Amy predicted. “Not if he has the sense I’ve credited him with.”

***

“Harry’s family lives just outside of St. Perran,” Trevenan told Aurelia as he handed her into the gig after luncheon. “About twenty to thirty minutes’ drive from here, in good weather.”

“Well, we have that at least,” she said, settling carefully into the seat. The beauty of the afternoon had fulfilled all the promise of the morning, the sun beaming down from an almost cloudless blue sky. In deference to her mother’s wishes, Aurelia had donned a wide-brimmed straw hat trimmed with violets to match her visiting costume of twilled lavender silk.

“We do indeed.” Trevenan climbed into the gig himself and took the reins, urging the carriage horse—a tall, placid bay—into an easy trot.

Aurelia relaxed against the squabs as they headed down the drive and out through the gates. While slightly surprised by her offer to accompany him, Trevenan had accepted it without demur after she explained Amy’s reasoning. Somewhat unexpectedly, everyone else had approved the idea as well. Aurelia suspected that Lady Talbot saw the advantage of publicly revealing that her nephew remained on the best of terms with his future bride’s family.

Trevenan drove as well as he rode, as well as he danced, Aurelia observed—his hands light on the reins that guided the horse down the track. Graceful and competent, without being the least bit showy. One could say the same of the man himself, and here, in Cornwall, he appeared to have shed many of the constraints that had dictated his conduct in town. Despite the cloud over his head, he seemed freer here: more relaxed, more expansive, and, she thought, remembering how he had looked this morning on the beach, infinitely more virile.