Waltz With a Stranger

by Pamela Sherwood

“Oh, bravely done,” he said softly. “But then I expected no less from you.”

  As always, his approval sent a rush of warmth through her. “Oh, Amy’s the brave one,” she demurred, keeping her tone light. “But I am not so poor-spirited as to let the Vandermeres overset me on what is supposed to be a happy occasion.”

  “Trevenan, Relia!” Amy called brightly to them. “Do you not mean to join us?”

  “In a moment, dearest,” Aurelia replied. She motioned to the earl to join the party now gathered on the other side of the room, where Mrs. Newbold presided over the coffee service. He hesitated for a bare moment, then gave her a slight bow and complied.

  Aurelia stowed her sheet music in the bookcase, resolutely not looking as Trevenan made his way toward Amy. The pang of yearning that shot through her at the thought of their betrothal, so soon to be formalized, shocked her with its intensity. Furious at her own weakness, she forced back that yearning, along with the jealousy that could so easily poison her best intentions. What good could come of caring more for James Trelawney than a sister should? And what of her sister? The very idea of hurting Amy…

  Who could have imagined, Aurelia wondered bleakly, that she’d someday have to face a sterner test than meeting Charlie Vandermere again? But this was a test she was determined to pass with flying colors. Summoning her most brilliant smile, she went to join her family.

  Thirteen

  When you do dance, I wish you

  A wave o’ th’ sea, that you might ever do

  Nothing but that; move still, still so,

  And own no other function.

  —William Shakespeare, The Winter’s Tale

  Long-expected one and twenty…

  Which, Aurelia had to admit, did not feel much different from twenty all by itself. But tonight supposedly marked a new chapter in her life—and Amy’s—in more ways than one.

  She took a deep breath and met the knowing gaze of her image in the cheval glass. All her secrets, all her worries seemed reflected back at her. She only hoped they were not as visible to the rest of the world.

  At least she had the consolation of knowing she looked her best tonight in a new ball gown made just for the occasion. Ciel-blue silk-satin beneath a draped overskirt of silver net, the close-fitting bodice trimmed with crystal beads that shimmered with each breath, each change of light. Monsieur Worth had outdone himself. While she had worn many of his creations with pride this Season, this one seemed by far the loveliest.

  Suzanne had done her best to bring the rest of her mistress up to snuff, applying cosmetics with a light but expert hand, brushing her hair until it gleamed like a river of molten gold, then coiling and pinning it up most elegantly with pearl-studded combs. Aurelia’s ringlets—freshly curled—still dangled to her shoulders, providing the same indispensable camouflage as the teardrop pearls in her ears.

  Amy’s face appeared behind her in the glass. “You look absolutely angelic in blue.”

  Aurelia smiled at her twin. “Thank you, dearest. You look utterly exquisite yourself.”

  As one, they studied their paired reflections. The only thing they had in common were the pearl necklaces clasped about their throats—birthday gifts from their father. Not since their days in the schoolroom had they dressed alike. Their mother had insisted upon it, declaring that her daughters were individuals, not copies of one another. Bewildered at first, the twins had come to appreciate this wisdom more and more over the years.

  Even without Aurelia’s distinguishing scar, there could be no question as to who was who tonight. Amy’s gown—another Worth creation—was as white as the wedding gown she would soon commission, trimmed with the palest pink silk gauze, like the most delicate and maidenly of blushes. Silk rosebuds of the exact same shade were woven into her coiffure; her gloves and slippers matched as well, and she carried the painted silk fan that was Lord Trevenan’s birthday gift to her. Even to Aurelia’s partial eyes, her twin glowed as though lit from within. Excitement, merely—or something more? Something to do with Trevenan, who would be announced as her future husband tonight? What if Amy was in love at last?

  Aurelia dropped her gaze, trying to conceal a flash of pain even as she reminded herself fiercely that Amy deserved to love and be loved by someone as wonderful as Trevenan.

  “I’ve brought our flowers up!” Amy announced, happily oblivious to her twin’s inner turmoil. “Roses, of course—white for you, pink for me.”

  She turned away and picked up the two boxes that held their posies. Except for the color, these were identical: delicate arrangements of rosebuds, just large enough to grace their corsages.

  After some judicious consideration, Suzanne pinned Aurelia’s posy to the left shoulder of her bodice. Amy immediately secured hers to her right shoulder, and after a last glance in the glass to make sure all was in order, the twins linked arms and left the room together, descending the long, curving staircase to the drawing room where they would soon be receiving their guests.

  Aurelia felt her composure waver momentarily at the prospect—because three of the Vandermeres would be attending, including Charlie. She pressed her lips together, refusing to think about it further. According to her mother and Aunt Caroline, Renbourne House would be bursting at the seams tonight. If Aurelia were lucky, she mightn’t even have to converse with the Vandermeres, except in the most superficial terms.

  And she wasn’t the only one who might have to see some not entirely welcome faces tonight. The Harfords—whom Lady Renbourne had deemed too important to slight—had sent back an acceptance as well. No doubt they would breathe a sigh of relief to see Amy engaged to Trevenan and thus no longer a threat to their heir’s engagement to Lady Louisa Savernake. Amy, however, wasn’t shaking in her shoes at the thought of meeting her former suitor, Aurelia reminded herself. High time she took a page from her twin’s book and conducted herself more bravely and with greater aplomb. Why else, after all, had she gone away in the first place?

  Amy turned her head and smiled at her. “Ready, Relia dear?”

  Aurelia returned the smile. “As I’ll ever be.”

  Heads high, side by side, they swept into the drawing room. The delighted smiles of their family upon their entrance assured them that they looked their very best. Cheered, Aurelia made her way to her mother’s side, as did Amy, to welcome their first guests.

  ***

  His betrothed’s coming-of-age ball and the occasion of their official engagement—James only wished those circumstances could have made him more comfortable this evening. Unfortunately, he found the crowds as oppressive and the noise as deafening as ever. According to Thomas, nearly everyone who was anyone had come here tonight. The twins must surely be the reason. American or not, new money or not, Amy had won over much of Society with her beauty and vivacity. Aurelia too had attracted a coterie of admirers since her return to London.

  They were both in their best looks tonight: Amy warm and glowing in pink, Aurelia cool and ethereal in blue. They flitted through the ballroom like brightly hued butterflies, in a near-perpetual blur of color and motion, and the captivated gazes of young men, the envious glances of young women seemed to follow wherever they alighted next.

  He’d danced the first quadrille with Amy when the ball officially began, then yielded her to a succession of other partners for most of the next hour. Even now, she was romping through a polka with a young man who appeared to possess more enthusiasm than skill. But she had promised the next dance on the programme—a waltz—to him.

  For his part, James had done what was required of him—from partnering other ladies to accepting the good wishes of the fashionable strangers surrounding him. Although the betrothal announcement would not be formally made until just before the supper break, word seemed to have got out that he and Amy were soon to marry. James thought he detected a certain wistfulness from several of the young men offering their congratulations. Odd to think that a year ago he had been among them, watching the exquisite Miss Newbold waltzing wi
th a peer of the realm and believing her far beyond his reach. One year—and so many changes…

  The strains of the polka faded away. James glanced back toward the dancers to see Amy’s partner escorting her from the floor and back toward the corner where the chaperons sat. From his contrite expression and agitated gestures, he seemed to be trying to apologize to her, an interpretation borne out by Amy’s response. She was smiling, but there was a hint of strain about her eyes and mouth that suggested irritation or impatience barely held in check. Frowning, James hurried toward her, even as her now red-faced partner withdrew.

  “Is everything well, my dear?” James asked on reaching his intended’s side.

  “Quite well. Only—” Amy lifted her skirts just enough to reveal the lace dangling from a satin flounce. “Mr. Elliot stepped on my hem during the polka. I need to have it repaired before I damage it further or trip myself up.” She gave him an apologetic little smile. “I am so sorry, Trevenan, but I’ll have to sit out our waltz.”

  “No need to apologize. We’re engaged for at least one more dance this evening.”

  “Why don’t you ask one of the other ladies to—Relia!” Amy hailed her sister, approaching on Thomas’s arm, with relief. “There you are!”

  Aurelia’s brows rose. “Yes, love. Is everything all right?”

  Amy explained about her torn hem. “So I’m off to the retiring room,” she concluded. “But that leaves Trevenan without a partner. Are you engaged for the next set?”

  Aurelia colored slightly as she consulted her dance card. “Er, no, actually—”

  “Perfect!” Amy declared, turning with a bright smile to James. “Why don’t you dance with Relia, my lord? That way neither of you is obliged to sit out.”

  “A most elegant solution, my dear,” James said after a moment. He met Aurelia’s wide, startled eyes. “May I have this dance, Miss Aurelia?”

  ***

  May I have this dance?

  Memories rose like an unstoppable tide at his words, the ones he had spoken to her a year ago in a moonlit conservatory. The words that had started her on the journey back to health and to this new self she’d created in hopes of seeing him once more. Not in her wildest dreams could she have imagined hearing them again and on such an occasion: his engagement to her sister.

  Aurelia forced her thoughts back to the present. A dance was just a dance, when all was said and done, she reminded herself. This waltz held no greater significance than the Lancers Quadrille she and Trevenan had danced at Lady Warrender’s last week. They were to be family now, and what could be more mundane than dancing with one’s future brother-in-law?

  “Certainly you may,” she replied, smiling, and set her hand upon his proffered arm.

  They took up their place in the set and assumed the proper position, observing the requisite distance between their bodies. All the same, Aurelia found herself excruciatingly aware of him—the warmth of his hands through his gloves, the achingly familiar scent of his cologne. They’d both come so far since that secret waltz, but at this precise moment she felt once again like that shy cripple, touched and dazzled by the kindness of a handsome stranger. Her Mr. Trelawney. If only it had been possible to forget.

  A year ago only the moon had witnessed their dance. Tonight all of Society would be watching as she took to the floor with Amy’s fiancé. And she must take care that Society saw nothing untoward in her demeanor. Esteem, respect, even—heaven help her—sisterly affection, but not yearning, not desire…and not love.

  The music started—Strauss, of course. She lifted a smiling face to Lord Trevenan’s and took her first step in the dance.

  ***

  Full circle. The thought popped into James’s mind as the waltz began and refused to leave it even as he and Aurelia circled the floor with the other couples. Impossible not to remember that night, though so much had changed.

  The same woman, but the face turned up to his was no longer shadowed and wan but glowing with health and vitality. The self-loathing he’d glimpsed in her then was likewise a thing of the past; the poise and assurance she had developed in the last year made her scar and limp of no account. Indeed, he would not even have noticed the latter had he not already known of it, for she moved with the liquid grace of flowing water.

  And yet—James found himself more unsettled by what hadn’t changed. Like her scent, still the elusive fragrance of lavender. And the feeling of her in his arms as they glided and twirled across the polished floor—that too was the same. And she wore blue, as she had that night, though she filled out this gown rather better. No need to ask if she remembered their first waltz. He knew it was etched as indelibly in her memory as it was in his.

  They had not spoken then, in the conservatory. The music, the moonlight, and the solitude had combined to weave a spell that made speech undesired—and somehow unnecessary. Very different from his waltzes with Amy, who seemed to expect, even require, conversation when they danced. Not that there was any fault in that, but this complete absorption in the dance and in his partner was something he’d not experienced with any woman but Aurelia. Absorption—and the sense, both now and then, that he was holding the world in his arms.

  Unnerved, he moved to break the spell. “You look lovely this evening.”

  “Thank you.” Her bright, social mask relaxed into something warmer and more intimate. If her smile was perhaps a degree less vivacious than her sister’s, it was—sweeter somehow, as if she’d learned not to take compliments for granted. Indeed, he suspected she had. “Fine feathers, of course. It’s hard not to look well in a Worth gown.”

  “The gown is the least part of it, I assure you.” And could I sound any more banal? James wondered rather savagely as he maneuvered Aurelia into a turn.

  She followed effortlessly, appearing not to mind his descent into platitudes. “Then perhaps it is the occasion.”

  He seized thankfully upon the rope she’d thrown him. “Very likely. My best wishes on your coming of age.”

  “Oh!” Her eyes widened, impossibly blue in the light of the chandelier. “Well, thank you again, my lord. I was—actually thinking of your engagement to Amy.”

  Startled, James regarded her more closely, but her gaze did not waver. “Of course,” he said, feeling as though he’d spoken just a fraction too late. “Our engagement.”

  “You must be anticipating it eagerly,” Aurelia went on. “I know my sister is.” Again, her lips curved up in that achingly sweet smile. “I wish you both every happiness, Lord Trevenan, from the bottom of my heart.”

  He did not doubt the truth of her heart, even for a moment. It was his own heart that seemed to be rebelling, suddenly crying out against the fate he’d been so willing to embrace mere weeks ago. That wondered, wildly and far too late, how it could be right to pledge himself to one woman when it was another who stirred such feelings in him—tenderness, longing, and passion, beyond what he had known before.

  And yet—he could not betray Amy. Not that bright, laughing girl who had accepted his proposal in good faith and for whom he had genuinely come to care. Even to think of jilting her was monstrous…and Aurelia would hate him for it, even if she knew the true cause. Worse, she would hate herself if she did know, and he could not allow that to happen.

  Either way, she would be lost to him. And he had given his word: his betrothal to Amy must stand.

  So he did his best to return Aurelia’s smile and steer her through the dance that had brought them together and must now dictate the end of whatever else they might have shared.

  And as mad and dangerous as it was—sheer folly, no doubt—he found himself wishing that this waltz would never end.

  ***

  The repair was accomplished quickly, though the seamstress exclaimed in dismay at the tears in the fragile lace and suggested that Amy replace it as soon as she had the chance.

  Just outside the ballroom, she paused, listening intently. The strains of Strauss told her that the waltz was still in full swing. No
doubt Trevenan and Relia were among the couples swirling about the floor. It did Amy’s heart good to think of her sister waltzing the night away, as she had before the accident. And how pleasant that she and Trevenan should get along so well. Though Amy would not have owned it for the world, she had been somewhat worried that her twin and her betrothed would not be at ease in each other’s company. Instead, they appeared to be on quite friendly terms; they’d even gone shopping together for her birthday present.

  “Miss Amelia.” A familiar but thoroughly disliked voice spoke up from behind her.

  Amy felt her spine stiffen and the smile congeal upon her face. Drat this man. Wasn’t it enough that they’d had to invite him and his wretched family tonight? After what he’d done, he should at least have the decency not to approach her or, worse, Aurelia.

  She turned around, not bothering to hide her displeasure. “Mr. Vandermere.”

  Her sister’s betrayer looked slightly older, but he’d kept his fair good looks, Amy conceded grudgingly. Pity he hadn’t grown fat or started losing his hair prematurely. He looked ill at ease, however; she took some comfort from that.

  “I wanted,” he began, then paused to clear his throat. “That is, I would like to wish you happy on your birthday.”

  “Thank you. I hope your family is enjoying the ball?” she inquired, hoping nothing of the sort. The Vandermeres were more likely to leave early if they weren’t enjoying themselves.

  “Indeed. Sally claims she hasn’t had to sit out one dance yet. Speaking of which,” he paused again, “I was wondering if you might honor me with a dance?”

  Amy’s eyes widened. What could have prompted such a request from Stupid Charlie? Surely he must know she felt only antipathy for him after the way he’d broken Relia’s heart. Unless, of course, he was hoping to ingratiate himself to Aurelia through her…

  Well, he might as well save himself the trouble. Recollecting her wits, she stared him down coolly. “I fear all my dances are claimed, Mr. Vandermere. For the rest of the night.”