Waltz With a Stranger (4 page)

“All right,” the viscount said heavily. “I’ll stay away from her.”

There was a pause, then Thomas said, “You don’t intend to tell her about the engagement?” His tone was oddly devoid of expression.

“What’s the point? She’ll find out soon enough, when the notice appears in the
Gazette
.” Glyndon gave a short laugh. “Miss Newbold’s sharp enough to figure things out from there.”

“You show touching concern for the lady’s well-being.”

“Don’t pretend you care, Thomas,” his cousin scoffed. “You’ve said yourself these American girls are all pirates. I’ll wager she has another string to her bow, even as we speak.”

Amy clenched her fists, her fingernails digging into her palms even through her gloves. Mortification and rage flooded hotly through her, dissolving the ice in the pit of her stomach.

Glyndon was continuing, “I suppose Mater and Pater are right. Harford Park would best be served by a proper English duchess, not an American upstart.”

Amy had heard enough. Head high, she spun on her heel and stalked from the garden. She reached the path again within moments, following it back the way she had come. Her face was flushed—she could tell by the rising heat in her cheeks—and her heart thumped against her ribs with healthy fury. Fury at herself as well as at Glyndon, a small part of her was perceptive enough to recognize. How stupid she’d been, how complacent and naïve to have believed his protestations for even a moment! She’d have married him in good faith, done her best to be a loyal wife and a worthy duchess. And all the time he’d just been amusing himself, flirting with the “American upstart” before taking a proper English bride. How dare he? How dare they? Well, they could both go to the devil, Glyndon and that supercilious cousin of his!

Buoyed by her anger—infinitely preferable to tears—she rounded the last corner and saw Aunt Caroline standing almost exactly where she’d left her. Amy paused to collect herself further, then assumed a polite smile and ventured forth. Her face had cooled slightly; she hoped that meant her flush had subsided into something less hectic and more becoming.

“Amy, my dear,” Lady Renbourne greeted her with a fond smile. “I was hoping you’d return from your rambles soon. There’s someone I should like you to meet,” she added, indicating the tall, dark-haired man standing beside her. “Amy, this is the Earl of Trevenan. Lord Trevenan, my goddaughter, Miss Amy Newbold.”

An earl. Summoning up all the charm and grace in her arsenal, Amy extended her hand to the newcomer and flashed her most dazzling smile. “How do you do, Lord Trevenan? I’m delighted to make your acquaintance.”

Two lovely berries moulded on one stem;

So with two seeming bodies, but one heart…

—William Shakespeare,
A
Midsummer
Night’s Dream

Bad
Ems, May 1891

The trunks were packed and the porter summoned to carry them downstairs. All that remained was to wait for the carriage that would take them to the station.

Aurelia took one last look in the glass as she pinned her hat into place with hands that trembled only slightly. The face that gazed back at her was a far cry from the one she’d seen on arriving here eleven months ago: fuller and rosier. But it was the expression that made all the difference; her eyes were no longer shadowed but bright with anticipation, and, despite her apprehension, her mouth wanted to turn up in a smile.

She could not see her leg in the glass, as it was decently covered by her traveling dress. But she knew how much it had improved as well. Oh, her limp did become more pronounced when she was fatigued, but most of the time it was scarcely noticeable. And as for her scar…

A discreet knock on the door broke into her thoughts.

“Mother?” Aurelia called. Laura Newbold had been finishing her own toilette when her daughter had looked in on her five minutes ago.

“
Mais
non, m’amie
—it is I.” The mellifluous, slightly amused female voice that replied had been known to bring countless audiences to their feet.

Smiling, Aurelia opened the door. “Claudine,” she greeted her friend with equal warmth. “I hoped I would see you before we left.”

Claudine Beaumont, the sometime toast of Paris, brushed her cheek against Aurelia’s in a fleeting caress. “
Vraiment,
I have come to wish you and your mother
le
bon
voyage
. You will give my love to Paris, when you see her?”

“I will, though I’ll miss you terribly. I feel you helped me just as much as Dr. Strauss.”

Claudine gave a slight shake of her head. “
Eh
bien
, I could not have done so, were you not so apt a pupil
, ma petite.”
Slipping one elegant finger beneath Aurelia’s chin, she gently tilted her face up to the light and, after a long considering moment, smiled. “
Bon
. I see the queen and not the little mouse. Even the so-cold English will notice the difference.”

“Do you think so?” Aurelia asked, unable to keep the eagerness from her voice. “I should so like to make a…better impression than I did last year.”

“
Mais oui
.” Claudine’s dark eyes regarded her shrewdly. “Is there someone in England you particularly wish to impress?”

Aurelia felt herself coloring. “Well, ‘impress’ might not be the word, exactly,” she temporized. “But someone I might like to see again, now that…things are different.”

Mr. Trelawney—the name was never very far away. Other young men had come to Bad Ems this past year; some had even been quite attentive, especially after she and Claudine had become friends and taken to wandering about the town together. But Aurelia had to admit—if only to herself—that, compared to
him
, they all seemed rather bland and characterless.

What harm could there be in making discreet inquiries after Mr. Trelawney when she returned to London? He was Lady Talbot’s nephew—that much she did recall. And what could be more natural than to ask after an acquaintance when she had been away so long? And if some thought her forward and gauche for doing so—well, so be it. She was American, after all.

Claudine’s voice, laced with amused affection, recalled her to the present. “I shall wish you
bon
courage
then. And hope that you meet again this someone who has put the stars in your eyes.” She took Aurelia’s hands and kissed her lightly on both cheeks. “
Au
revoir
,
ma
chere
.”

Aurelia embraced her friend in turn. “What of you? Are you staying on here?”

Claudine shook her head. “
Non
. I shall be leaving for Nice at the end of the week. A dear friend has invited to me to stay. Should you like to have my direction?”

“Very much.” Aurelia wondered if Claudine’s “dear friend” was a man or a woman, but decided it would be impertinent to ask. “I can give you mine too, if you like. According to my sister, we’re renting a house in London for the Season.”

They quickly exchanged information before bidding each other a last fond farewell. Moments after Claudine’s departure, the porter rapped on the door. The carriage had arrived.

Following her mother and the porter downstairs, Aurelia felt her heart pounding in mingled excitement and trepidation. Paris and London—those two dazzling, terrifying cities—still lay ahead, but at this moment, she felt equal to whatever they held in store for her.

***

London, two weeks later

Descending from the train in her mother’s wake, Aurelia caught her breath when she saw the familiar figure waiting on the platform. Looking at Amy might no longer be like looking into a mirror, but she could still pick out her twin in a crowd.

Before she could wave or call out, Amy’s head turned in her direction—and a welcoming smile blazed across her face. “Mother! Relia!”

Hands outstretched, she came toward them, and Aurelia found herself moving forward as well. They met in a fierce embrace, half-laughing, half-crying. Breathing in her twin’s favorite rose-and-jasmine scent, Aurelia felt that she was home at last.

“That will do, my dears,” Laura reproved, but her blue eyes were smiling as she regarded her newly reunited daughters. “Amy, you haven’t misplaced Caro, have you?”

“No, Mama.” Releasing Aurelia, Amy greeted her mother more decorously. “Indeed, I believe she was right behind me.”

“Beside you, now,” Lady Renbourne corrected her crisply, but she, too, wore an indulgent expression. “Laura, Aurelia.” She kissed her cousin and her goddaughter in turn, then stood back to survey them from head to toe. “You’re both looking very well. No trouble during the crossing?”

“None at all, Aunt Caroline,” Aurelia reassured her. “We were both fine throughout.”

“You look it. And the spa seems to have agreed with you, to say nothing of Paris!”

“Monsieur Worth was very obliging,” Mrs. Newbold informed her cousin. “He’s designed a whole season’s wardrobe for Aurelia, and at such short notice!”

“Excellent,” Lady Renbourne said briskly. “Although I am certain you’ll both want to visit the London shops too. Now, let’s find a porter for all your luggage. The carriage is waiting.”

Amy linked her arm through Aurelia’s. “Wait till you see the house! It’s in Grosvenor Square, right in the heart of Mayfair and terribly grand. And I have so much to tell you…”

***

No. 17 Grosvenor Square was indeed “terribly grand,” both outside and in. Bemused, Aurelia let her twin, still talking nineteen to the dozen, lead her to a chamber decorated in soft blues and lavenders, with an Aubusson carpet and a four-poster bed worthy of Marie Antoinette.

“I’m just across the hall,” Amy told her as they sat down on a blue brocaded chaise longue. “In the room with the rose-covered wallpaper. We can trade if you like.”

“No, this room is lovely,” Aurelia assured her. Suzanne, her new maid, was already unpacking her trunks and hanging the gorgeous Worth gowns in the wardrobe.

“You look wonderful, by the way,” Amy remarked. “Even better than at Christmas.” She tilted her head to one side, studying her sister intently. “Your hair, for one thing…”

“Do you like it?” Aurelia fingered the short, feathery fringe that softened the expanse of her forehead and—better yet—rendered the scar at her hairline far less visible. “I thought it might help make my face look—not quite as thin.”

“Oh, it’s very becoming,” Amy assured her at once. “Your face does look fuller and healthier. I like the curls too, at the side,” she added, gently touching a wispy tendril.

“So do I.” The side curls drew the eye downward, away from her scarred cheek. “My friend Claudine calls them ‘à la Grecque’ because they remind her of Classical sculpture.”

“Who on earth is Claudine?”

“Her full name is Claudine-Gabrielle Beaumont. She’s a French actress,” Aurelia explained. “She arrived in Bad Ems for a rest cure, about a week after you and Father left.”

Amy’s eyes widened. “Mama let you associate with a French
actress
?”

“Not at first. I liked her right away, but Mother didn’t know what to make of her. But then when she was bedridden with the grippe, Claudine came to visit. She brought flowers and hothouse fruit and was so kind that Mother couldn’t help softening her stance. So while she was resting, Claudine and I would go for walks in the gardens or about town. After Mother recovered, she would join us now and then.” Aurelia smiled at the memory. “Once, the three of us had a picnic near the ruins of a Roman castle.”

“That sounds wonderful,” Amy said wistfully. “Is your friend very beautiful?”

“Not exactly. She said herself her nose was too long, her mouth too wide, and her cheekbones too high. But she could make you
think
she was the most beautiful woman in the room, by sheer charm alone.”

And charm had been the most important quality Claudine tried to instill in her. Exercise and Dr. Strauss’s treatments had strengthened her weak leg, but Claudine’s tutelage had helped restore much of the confidence she’d lost after her accident and Charlie’s defection.

“She took you under her wing, didn’t she?” Amy observed shrewdly.

“I suppose she did. And she gave me tons of advice on how to get on when I was back in Society. How to dress, how to move, how to carry myself…‘You must stand tall,
hein
?’” Aurelia quoted in a fair imitation of her friend’s accent. “‘And walk like a queen, not creep about like the little mouse.’”

Amy laughed appreciatively. “Oh, I do like the sound of her! What else did she suggest? I wouldn’t mind picking up some French sophistication myself.”

“Oh, she recommended certain creams and lotions to make the skin supple. And cosmetics.” With difficulty, Aurelia refrained from touching her scar. Claudine had surprised her by rejecting any sort of heavy maquillage for a light dusting of powder and occasionally rouge. “Her maid Françoise cut my hair, by the way. But Claudine said that the secret to being beautiful and poised is to believe you are—and not let anyone convince you otherwise. Not even your own reflection.” She paused, feeling self-conscious again, and smiled at her twin. “But enough about me! What’s been happening with
you
? You sounded so mysterious in your last letter.”

Amy flushed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. It’s just—well, things weren’t quite settled when I wrote, and even now, nothing’s been officially announced. But Father and Aunt Caroline approve,” she rushed on. “And I’m sure Mother will too, once she knows—”

“Approve of what?” Aurelia demanded, catching her sister’s hands in hers. “For heaven’s sake, Amy, spit it out!”

Amy took a deep breath. “I’m engaged—to be married.”

“Married?” Aurelia echoed, astonished. “Good heavens!” She sifted through her memories of Amy’s many admirers. “Is it Lord Glyndon?”

Amy’s mouth twisted as if she’d bitten into something sour. “No. Lord Glyndon is unofficially engaged to Lady Louisa Savernake.
I
am marrying the Earl of Trevenan.”

“Trevenan.” The name meant nothing to Aurelia. “Was he courting you last year?”

Amy shook her head. “He came into his title very unexpectedly—just this past January, in fact. But he says he saw me once when he was in London and never forgot me.” A dimple quivered at the corner of her mouth. “You can imagine how flattering that was to hear!”

“What’s he like?” Aurelia asked, relieved by her twin’s returning good humor.

“Tall, dark, and handsome—like someone out of a gypsy fortune-teller’s predictions. And he has a London townhouse and an estate in Cornwall, though the latter needs repairs. He apologized for that, but I told him my dowry should take care of any problems.” Amy shrugged lightly. “I was glad he didn’t pretend not to need money. We should deal well together, I think.”

Aurelia fretted her lip at this dispassionate assessment. “Are you in love with him?”

Amy flicked her an amused glance. “
You
were always the romantic one, Relia. I do like and respect Lord Trevenan, but we’ve only been acquainted for a month.”

Aurelia stared at her. “Only a month—and you’re marrying him?”

“It’ll be at least three months before the wedding—plenty of time to get to know each other better. And he’s invited us all down to spend part of the summer at his estate. I wonder if Cornwall’s anything like Newport—” She broke off with a little laugh. “Goodness, Relia, your face! You’d think I’d just told you I was engaged to Bluebeard or Henry the Eighth!”

“I can’t help worrying,” Aurelia pointed out with dignity. “Any more than you could if I were to tell you I was marrying someone I’d known for just a month.”

Amy sighed. “Well, you needn’t. Lord Trevenan is quite the upstanding citizen.” She began to tick off his virtues on her fingers. “Well-educated, clean-living, hard-working—”

“I thought English aristocrats prided themselves on never having to lift a finger.”

“I told you, he hasn’t been an earl very long. Before that, he had to earn his bread. His mother’s family owns a tin mine. He inherited her shares and helps run the business. That’s one reason Father approves of him. Trevenan’s not afraid of dirtying his hands.

“In fact, he’s been in Cornwall for the last week taking care of things there,” Amy went on. “But he’s supposed to be back by this evening. We’re seeing
The
Gondoliers
at the Savoy. You will come, won’t you? I want very much for you to meet—and like each other.”

Aurelia knew she could make but one answer; laying her doubts aside, she squeezed her twin’s hand. “Of course, dearest. Now, why don’t you help me pick out a gown for tonight?”