Waltz With a Stranger

by Pamela Sherwood

  Even Stupid Charlie could not misconstrue that hint. He flushed slightly and sketched a stiff bow. “Another time, perhaps. I wish you a pleasant evening.”

  He withdrew, making his way into the ballroom, where the crowd soon swallowed him up. Coldly satisfied, Amy watched him go. Let him carry tales to his father if he were so inclined, though she doubted he would feel comfortable mentioning this snub to anyone.

  “I can’t believe you just did that!” another familiar voice exclaimed indignantly.

  Dismayed, Amy turned around again, this time to see her brother glowering at her. “It’s not what you think, Andrew.”

  “It’s not?” he challenged, folding his arms. “You mean, I didn’t just see you snub my best friend? Tell me what I did see, then!”

  “You are making a scene!” she hissed at him. A few people standing near the ballroom doorway were glancing in their direction, looking understandably curious. Just what she needed—to be caught arguing publicly with her brother at her own birthday ball.

  Andrew glanced distractedly at them, then grasped her by the elbow and pulled her into an alcove to continue their discussion in more private surroundings.

  “What the devil is wrong with you?” he demanded, his voice lower but no less furious. “Snubbing Charlie like that! Where are your manners, Amelia?”

  “My manners are just fine, thank you!” she flashed back, losing her own temper now. “Where is your judgment? Don’t you even care about what your best friend did to Relia?”

  “Relia?” her brother said blankly. “What has she to do with this?”

  “Charlie jilted her,” Amy told him, and felt a stab of angry satisfaction when she saw his eyes widen. “She loved him—and he abandoned her when she was injured. I guess he didn’t want a sweetheart with a limp and a scar. Not the scion of the almighty Vandermeres!”

  Andrew paled. “No. I can’t believe—no one has ever said—”

  “He broke our sister’s heart!” Amy snapped. “And it’s high time you knew about it. Go ask Mama if you don’t believe me!”

  Andrew opened his mouth as if he would protest further, then shut it just as quickly and hurried from the alcove without challenging her again. Amy’s sense of righteous anger lasted all of two minutes after he had gone, to be speedily replaced by dismay and remorse.

  Dear heaven, what had she just done? And would Relia forgive her? She knew she was right to be angry on her twin’s behalf, but Charlie’s betrayal was Aurelia’s secret to tell, and she’d just blurted it out to their brother, Charlie’s best friend.

  Stifling a groan, Amy pressed her hands against her hot cheeks. Her wretched tongue! Mama and Aunt Caroline would have been mortified by her outburst, no matter how justified it was. She needed…solitude, a few minutes to calm herself and regain her composure.

  And then she would go and apologize abjectly—using sackcloth and ashes, if necessary—to Relia for her appalling lack of discretion.

  ***

  She had just told, if not the biggest lie in her life, something less than the full truth. And the sky had not fallen. Nor had her heart cracked in two, though it still ached treacherously for what might have been.

  Much to Aurelia’s relief, Trevenan did not speak again. They finished their waltz in silence, and he led her off the floor, escorting her back to the chaperons’ corner.

  Again she mustered a smile. “Thank you, Lord Trevenan. It was a pleasure to waltz with you. But then it always is.”

  He regarded her with somber dark eyes. “The pleasure was mine, Miss Aurelia.”

  It always is. The words hung unspoken on the air between them, and she hastened to fill the silence with words of her own.

  “I am sure Amy will be returning to the ballroom soon,” she said brightly. “And no doubt longing to make up for the dance she missed.”

  “No doubt,” Trevenan agreed, picking up his cue at once. Another brief exchange of pleasantries, and he had moved off through the crowd in search of her sister.

  Aurelia turned away, fanning herself. This next dance, a schottische, was another she’d left unclaimed, to give herself time to catch her breath. But she’d never guessed she would need that respite so desperately as she did now.

  As unobtrusively as possible, she sidled toward the French doors, standing open in the sultry night, and stepped out onto the terrace. The spring air, cool and mild, caressed her face deliciously. Closing her eyes, Aurelia drank in the scents of jasmine and honeysuckle. Five minutes of this, and she could endure whatever else happened this evening.

  The moment when Amy and Trevenan’s betrothal was announced.

  Unbidden, her thoughts returned to their last waltz, the sensation of his arms around her, leading her effortlessly through every turn and twirl…how was it that—on the night he was to become her sister’s affianced husband—he should feel more hers than ever?

  Madness. She had to stop thinking—feeling—this way, for all their sakes. Perhaps if they never danced together again, it might help. A sharp pang went through her at the realization that the next occasion on which they might be expected to do so would be Amy’s wedding. She felt an even sharper one at the thought of everything else that would follow.

  Amy’s life would be here, in England, with James. Almost certainly she would invite Aurelia to stay with her, but that could not happen yet. Amy must never discover how keenly her twin coveted her husband. And until Aurelia could meet the Earl and Countess of Trevenan without experiencing even a moment’s envy or regret, keeping an ocean between herself and them was surely the right—the only—thing to do.

  No one ever told you how much doing the right thing hurt.

  It mightn’t be so bad, Aurelia told herself firmly. She and Amy had managed to weather their separation while she was at Bad Ems, after all. Their parents and brother would be in New York. She could move in Society again; after London, she suspected nothing in New York could intimidate her. She could even go to college, as she had once considered before the accident. And perhaps, in time, in either Europe or America, there might be a man whom she could care for, with whom she could have a future and a family.

  Her life needn’t end with Amy’s marriage. Indeed, she could turn it into a new beginning. The future was what one made of it, after all, and she meant to make the best of it.

  She took another breath of the fragrant night air, opened her eyes, and turned around to reenter the ballroom.

  Charlie Vandermere stood on the terrace, blocking her way.

  Fourteen

  Ill-met by moonlight…

  —William Shakespeare,

  A Midsummer Night’s Dream

  Aurelia stopped, aghast, then nearly laughed aloud. Of course. It needed only that.

  “Mr. Vandermere,” she said with what she hoped was cool composure. “Good evening. I was on my way back to the ballroom. Pray excuse me.”

  Picking up her skirts, she started to move past him, when he sidestepped, again placing himself directly in her path.

  “Miss Aurelia, I—I need to speak with you.” His words came out jerkily, in disjointed bursts. “If you would grant me but one moment of your time—”

  “I do not believe we have anything to say to one another, sir,” Aurelia replied steadily. “I came out here for a moment’s privacy, and now I wish to return to our guests. I would appreciate it if you would respect my wish and step aside.”

  His face was resolute. “Not until I have spoken my piece!”

  Aurelia cast a frantic glance over his shoulder toward the ballroom. No one seemed to be looking in their direction just yet—a small mercy—but how long could they expect to remain undisturbed? “Pray lower your voice,” she urged, lowering her own. “I will not tolerate a scene, not tonight of all nights!”

  “Hear me out, and I will be as circumspect as you could wish.” His voice was lower but no less urgent—or determined.

  Aurelia looked longingly toward the sanctuary of the brightly lit salon behind them, so
close and yet so far, and made herself take a fortifying breath. “Very well. You may have your moment, but I fail to see what you hope to gain by it.”

  His gaze intensified, that brilliant blue gaze she had once adored. “Can you not?” he asked, and the melting tenderness in his voice sent a betraying tremor through her. “Since seeing you again, I must confess, you have been constantly in my thoughts.”

  Aurelia raised her brows. “Indeed?” She infused the word with a wealth of cool skepticism. “I fear I cannot return the compliment, sir. You have not been constantly in mine.”

  “No, nor could I expect to be, after—what passed between us.” Charlie paused, moistening his lips, as nervous as she had ever seen him. All the better, a part of her observed with a satisfaction bordering on the vindictive. “What I did…four years ago,” he resumed haltingly, “was unforgivable. As callous as it was callow—”

  Aurelia shrugged and looked away. “True enough, but it is over and done with. What purpose is there in dwelling upon the past?”

  “Because I have not known a day’s peace or happiness since parting from you.” Charlie’s voice was hoarse, his blue eyes now burning with an emotion Aurelia feared to name. “Because I now understand the worth of what I threw away so carelessly! I always did, in my heart of hearts,” he amended before she could voice her incredulity. “But like a coward and a cad, I told myself ending things was best for both of us.”

  “And now you believe otherwise?” Deliberately, Aurelia brushed the fringe back from her brow, exposing her hairline. “Those things that led to our parting have not changed, Mr. Vandermere. I am still crippled, still scarred—”

  “And still beautiful,” he broke in. “As beautiful as you’ve ever been. Even more so to my eyes than any other woman in the world.”

  The conviction in his voice took her breath away, even as she berated herself for a fool ten times over. But his eyes—he was gazing at her directly, as he had not done that dreadful day four years ago. And what she saw reflected there made her pulse quicken, her heart stutter…what flesh-and-blood woman could remain unmoved by such ardor?

  Helpless as a bird mesmerized by a snake, she stood stock still as he drew closer, his gaze still intent on hers. “Can you ever forgive me? Give me a chance to make things right?”

  Shock rippled through her at his words. “M-make things right?” she echoed. “But how…” Her voice trailed off uncertainly.

  Charlie swallowed. “Like this, my dearest girl.” He leaned in, his hands cupping her face as they had that long ago evening in her parents’ gazebo, and covered her mouth with his.

  Years fled away before the touch of his lips, the warmth of his palms against her cheeks. Too startled to resist, Aurelia succumbed to his embrace. At that moment she was sixteen again, lost in rose-tinted dreams of true love with the boy next door.

  Then, even through the haze clouding her brain, she heard a step behind them on the terrace—and a low, furious voice.

  “Get away from my sister, Vandermere,” Andrew said tautly.

  Awareness came rushing back at his words. With a gasp, Aurelia pulled free, even as Charlie dropped his hands to his sides. Good heavens, what had she been doing? Mortified, she turned to her brother, only to find that he was glaring not at her, but at Charlie, and with an intensity that sent a shiver of apprehension along her spine.

  Wait—another realization struck. Vandermere? Since when had Andrew addressed Charlie by his surname? Biting her lip, she glanced from one to the other. Something was going on, something important—beyond this small indiscretion—but she could not begin to guess what.

  After what seemed an eternity, Andrew spoke. “My God, it’s true. You and Aurelia—” He broke off, shaking his head in disgust. “Why, you cowardly cur!”

  Aurelia’s eyes widened. He knew?

  Charlie flushed, but made no attempt to defend himself.

  His expression stony, Andrew offered his arm to Aurelia. “Let me take you back to the ballroom, sister.”

  His tone brooked no argument, even if Aurelia had been inclined to give one. Instead, she meekly took his arm and let him lead her away. Neither of them looked back.

  ***

  No sign of Amy, so far, James observed as he scanned the ballroom for a golden head and a pink gown. Perhaps the repairs to her hem had taken longer than expected. In such a crush, hers was surely not the only gown to have suffered damages.

  Or perhaps she had opted for a breath of air on the terrace before returning. No harm in going to check, and he could do with a brief respite himself from all this noise and bustle. Something to clear his head, remind him of where his honor lay—and with whom.

  Somberly, he began to thread his way through the crowd, when a sudden motion by the French doors caught his eye: Andrew Newbold, his face white and set, had just reentered the ballroom, with Aurelia on his arm. At the sight of her face, equally pale and strained, James had to check an impulse to go to her. But she was with her brother, one of the men with whom she could be considered indisputably safe, who would surely look after her.

  All the same, his gaze followed them as they skirted the perimeter of the ballroom, heading not for the chaperons’ corner but toward a more distant destination. They paused at last before a doorway—one leading to a smaller salon just off the ballroom, if James recalled correctly—and then passed through it, disappearing from sight.

  What the devil—? Frowning, James glanced back toward the French doors—and stiffened when he recognized the man just slipping through them as Charlie Vandermere.

  James hissed a breath between his teeth. What had that bastard done to upset Aurelia? Hands fisting, he took an involuntary step forward…

  Dear God, what was he doing? He stopped short, fury and frustration curdling in the pit of his stomach. And horribly unsure which he resented more: Vandermere’s presumption—or his own impotence.

  He could not champion Aurelia as fully as he wished and as she deserved. Not with her father and brother present. Not when he was promised to her own sister: Amy, his future bride and the woman of whom he should be thinking most tonight.

  Taking a deep breath, James forced his fists to unclose. The dislike that seemed to bubble up from his very soul was directed wholly at himself right now. What sort of man pledged his faith to one woman, but continually yearned for another, as he was doing? And on what basis could he possibly justify it? Familial loyalty could only account for so much.

  Broodingly, he watched Vandermere until the young man was swallowed up by the crowd in the ballroom. Perhaps Andrew Newbold would take it upon himself to avenge the slight to his sister. Meanwhile, James’s own duty and his faith lay with Amy, wherever she might be.

  He turned his back on the French doors and renewed his search for her. A sense of having betrayed someone still gnawed at him, but he could not have said at that moment whether it was his intended, Aurelia, or himself.

  ***

  “Not one word,” Andrew had muttered in Aurelia’s ear just before they’d reentered the house. And so they had silently made their way to the blue salon, closing the door behind them.

  Now, however, her brother exploded into speech. “Hang it, Relia, why didn’t you tell me Charlie was courting you?” he burst out, running an agitated hand through his hair. “Or that he jilted you after the accident?”

  Aurelia moistened her lips. “How do you know?” she ventured, avoiding his question.

  “Amy told me.”

  Shock, followed by betrayal, lanced through her. “She had no business doing so!”

  Andrew sighed. “Don’t be too mad at her. She wouldn’t have said anything if I hadn’t started in on her about being nicer to Charlie.” He shook his head at his own folly. “Gad, it’s a wonder she didn’t throw something at me!”

  “I am sure the thought crossed her mind,” Aurelia said dryly.

  “I didn’t want to believe what she told me, so I came out to confront him.” Andrew gave a short laugh. “N
o need for that. His guilt was written all over his face. Why didn’t you tell me?” he repeated. “Then or now? I could have done something about it!”

  Aurelia raised skeptical brows. “You mean, challenge him? Duels are illegal—here and in New York.”

  Andrew’s face darkened. “Well, I’d have knocked him down, for a start.”

  “Just like a man,” she scoffed. “Thinking fists solve everything!”

  He glowered. “Tell me that wouldn’t have made you feel better—just a little!”

  Aurelia opened her mouth, thought for a moment, then closed it with a sigh. “Perhaps at first,” she conceded. “But it wouldn’t have changed anything in the end. What happened between Charlie and myself was private, and I meant it to stay that way. Amy knew, of course, and Mother figured it out once Charlie stopped visiting. But I didn’t want to make trouble for Papa—he said himself that he still has business dealings with Mr. Vandermere. And Charlie is your closest friend.”

  “Was my closest friend,” Andrew corrected her. “But you’ll always be my sister.”

  “Then, as your sister, I’m asking you to let this go—for all our sakes!” Aurelia insisted. “I am not some pathetic weakling, pining over a man who jilted her four years ago, and I refuse to be treated as one. I’m well, I’m strong, and I’m certainly not wearing the willow for Charlie Vandermere these days!”

  “Then why were you kissing him tonight?” Andrew demanded.

  “I wasn’t kissing him; he was kissing me!”

  “Pretty hard to tell the difference from where I was standing,” he retorted. “Are you sure you don’t still care for him? Because if you don’t, letting him kiss you like that is downright stupid. If you’d been caught by anyone but me, you’d probably be engaged to him right now—whether you wanted to be or not!”

  Aurelia flushed guiltily, unable to deny the truth of his words. It was mortifying to realize that possibility hadn’t even crossed her mind out there on the terrace—and after all those lectures from Mother and Aunt Caroline about young ladies needing to observe the proprieties and maintain a spotless reputation. She could have been compromised so easily tonight, and it would have been her fault as much as Charlie’s.