Waltz With a Stranger (26 page)

“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 be 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.”

“Lady Durward.” Aurelia inclined her head toward Trevenan’s cousin.

The countess wore grey tonight—perhaps to show that she was still in mourning for her father and brother?—and her gown was fashionably cut, showing off a handsome, deep-bosomed figure. Even seated, she appeared quite tall. Aurelia, who did not consider herself a tiny female by any means, felt slightly intimidated nonetheless by Lady Durward’s extra inches.

But she had not only her own part to uphold, but Amy’s
in
absentia
. So she straightened her spine and prepared to act the queen for both their sakes, if necessary. It helped to know that she looked her best as well in a gown of apricot silk, trimmed with blond lace, which complemented the new rosiness in her cheeks from this morning’s excursion.

“Miss Newbold.” Lady Durward’s chilly blue gaze swept over Aurelia and—predictably—lingered upon her scar. “I gather it is your sister who is betrothed to Trevenan?”

“She is,” Aurelia acknowledged levelly.

“Such a pity she was too—unwell to join us tonight.” Her tone insinuated that to be unwell amounted to the gravest liability a future countess could face.

“Indeed it is,” Aurelia said, deliberately accepting the remark at face value. “But she’s seldom out of sorts for long, and she brings such vivacity to every occasion.”

Lady Durward’s brows arched. “Indeed? I should hope she understands that not every occasion calls for—vivacity.”

Odious
woman
. “Oh, Amy has an infallible sense of what every occasion requires.”

“How extraordinary. I should have expected an American to find herself somewhat out of her depth in English society.”

And
I
should
have
expected
an
Englishwoman
to
have
better
manners,
Aurelia thought. “My sister is forever defying expectations. She’s been the toast of London for two Seasons now.”

Lady Durward’s nostrils flared as though scenting blood. “And what of you, Miss Newbold? Have you enjoyed such a distinction yourself?” Her tone implied the impossibility of such an occurrence.

What a nasty piece of work she was, Aurelia mused. A bully, much like her late brother. Well, one stood up to bullies—preferably before they got the upper hand and thought they could ride roughshod over everyone in their path. She gave a light laugh. “You must not encourage me to be immodest, Lady Durward.”

“Immodest?” Lady Durward’s lips curved in a feline half-smile. “You surprise me. Given your—condition, I’d have thought you would have found moving in Society difficult.”

There could be no question of what she was alluding to. Feeling her mother stiffen indignantly beside her, Aurelia stepped at once into the breach.

“Oh, not particularly. Most of the people I’ve met are far too well-bred to comment on one’s personal appearance. And in any case,” she gave the countess her most dazzling smile, “an ugly scar is far easier to live with than an ugly character. Do you not agree, Lady Durward?”

Her mother gave a faint muffled sound that might have been shock or even suppressed laughter. Lady Durward flushed—unbecomingly, as she was high-complexioned already. Aurelia continued to smile at her adversary, even as she braced herself for the next onslaught.

“Dinner is served,” Pelham announced from the doorway, coming to everyone’s rescue.