Pamela Sherwood

by A Song at Twilight

  Robin crossed his arms. “I imagine he wasn’t the only peer you met.”

  “Well, according to Amy, Thomas is related to a great many families in society, either through blood or marriage. So I met a number of his connections this past spring. But no one who particularly impressed me, or upon whom I made any great impression either, I suspect.”

  He eyed her narrowly. “You’re not going to convince me that you went an entire Season without attracting at least one offer. Not unless all the men in London—young, old, and middle-aged—were simultaneously struck deaf, blind, and witless.”

  A dimple quivered at the corner of her mouth. “Very flattering, sir! Well, I’ll spare my breath, then—there was indeed an offer. More than one, actually—and some were even suitable. But I can say, in all honesty, that none was exactly to my liking, so I am returned as I left, free of any entanglement.”

  “And heart-whole?”

  She colored, but her gaze was steady on his. “I wouldn’t say that, as well you know.”

  “Are you sure you haven’t had your head turned, even just a little?” he inquired lightly.

  “Well, I did enjoy being in London during the Season,” Sophie conceded. “Such an exciting, bustling city! But Cornwall will always be my home. I can’t begin to tell you how good it feels to be back! And I hear your grand opening’s just round the corner—wild horses couldn’t have kept me away from that! When is it to be, officially?”

  “July—we’re already booked solid for the first fortnight of the month, and I think we’ll be having more guests once the Season officially ends. Talking of which, are you sure your hosts didn’t mind your leaving London early?”

  Sophie shook her head. “Lady Talbot wanted to visit her daughter in Gloucestershire, and the Sheridans have been so busy this spring they’ll scarcely miss me. Did you know Amy’s becoming one of the most popular hostesses in town? And Thomas exhibited two paintings this year at the Royal Academy! Going about with them was tremendously exciting. Amy even had me sing at a musicale of hers, with my teachers’ blessing.”

  Robin eyed her closely. “And how did that go?”

  “Rather well, I thought. I wasn’t the only performer that evening, and I suspect Amy’s guests would have been pleased by anyone—or polite enough to act as if they were. But several of them came up afterward to tell me how much they’d enjoyed my performance.” She smiled in obvious pleasure at the memory. “If I was in any danger of having my head turned in London, it would have been then. But I still have so much to learn.”

  “Don’t underestimate your talents,” Robin told her. “London audiences can be very discriminating, and I’m sure Amy Sheridan was well aware of that when she asked you to sing. Well done, my dear—your teachers must be delighted with you.”

  “Well, I hope they’re pleased,” she replied. “I used to think they found fault with me in the early days because I was doing everything wrong, until someone else assured me they do so because they believe me to be worth the trouble. Once I realized that, I became a great deal less thin-skinned and truly began to enjoy my training.”

  “I hope to hear the benefits of that training soon. I’ve missed your voice—and the rest of you as well.”

  “I have missed you too. Which you should most assuredly know by now, since I kept up my end of our correspondence!” she added with a hint of asperity.

  Robin found himself grinning like a schoolboy. “It appears that I shall be paying for that neglect for some time. Well, then—allow me to show you how much I missed you.”

  He held out his hands to her as he spoke. She gazed up at him searchingly, then her eyes lit with that soft glow he loved, and she took them. Drawing her close, he kissed her over the bluebells still cradled in the crook of her arm, savoring the warmth and sweetness of her lips.

  The first time he’d kissed her without any reservations, without the ghost of the past breathing down his neck. He freed a hand to cup her cheek, the skin like warm satin against his palm, and deepened the kiss, licking at the seam of her lips, then letting his tongue just brush against hers. Sophie shivered beneath his ministrations, a low moan breaking from her throat as she strove to return his ardor.

  “You’ve never kissed me like that before!” she exclaimed, once they’d surfaced.

  “With good reason,” Robin said, wondering if he sounded as breathless as she. “No objection, I trust?”

  “None at all. Only…” She studied his face intently. “You seem different today. Not as—not as tense as I remember.”

  He smiled ruefully. “Have I been such a misery to deal with? Forgive me. I know I must have tried your patience sorely these past few months.”

  “You did rather strain things,” she admitted with the candor he loved in her. “Not that I didn’t understand why, of course. But you’re so much more relaxed now, far more than you were at Christmas. Freer—if that makes any sense,” she hastened to add.

  “More than you know, my love.”

  Her gaze sharpened at his tone. “Robin, do you mean… is this about that other matter?”

  He took a breath, nodded. “There has been some progress on that front—thanks in large part to James. We’ve become good friends since last summer—even more so, now that he’s decided to invest in the hotel. So I took him into my confidence a few months ago. Not about everything, of course, but I remembered how he’d begun the investigation into his cousin’s death last year. I told him I needed to conduct an investigation as well, on a matter of some sensitivity, and he recommended the inquiry agent he had employed himself. A Mr. John Norris who’s proved nothing if not tenacious.”

  “He’s found her, then? Your—wife?” Sophie still had trouble with that word, he noticed.

  “Not just yet. But he’s sent me some preliminary reports involving Nathalie’s possible activities for the last few years or so.” Robin paused, uncertain how much to impart. But this was Sophie, the girl—no, woman—with whom he meant to share his life. She had a right to know what they might be facing, although he still meant to shield her from the more sordid details.

  “It appears,” he resumed cautiously, “that Nathalie has traveled through much of Europe, most notably France, Germany, and Switzerland. At least a woman answering her general description has been seen there—often in the company of a man.”

  “The same man?” Sophie asked, without even a trace of a blush.

  “Apparently not. And she seems to have used different names as well—the better to travel undetected, no doubt.” And to avoid paying bills. Nathalie had left a trail of expenses behind her on the rare occasions she’d traveled alone.

  “But where is she now?”

  “Apparently she came to England about a year ago. And Norris is even now attempting to locate her.”

  “England?” Sophie seized hold of his sleeve. “Is she still here?”

  “He believes so. And”—Robin took another breath—“he believes her most recent lover to have been an Englishman, though his identity hasn’t yet been confirmed.”

  Sophie bit her lip. “I’m sorry, Robin. I know this can’t be easy for you to hear.”

  “Not easy, no,” he confessed. “But perhaps less difficult than it might have been. I have not thought of her as my wife for some time now. We’ve lived apart far longer than we’ve lived together.” He paused, thinking over how he’d felt on first reading Norris’s report. Impossible to deny that he had experienced anger and even hurt on learning of his estranged wife’s repeated infidelities. But, on reading further, he’d found those feelings subsiding—far more quickly than expected—and in their place, something almost like pity. For the callow youth he’d been, for the flighty, light-minded girl he’d married so hastily and ill-advisedly, and for the mess they’d made between them.

  “I don’t wish Nathalie any ill,” he said at last, half-surprised to find that he meant it. “But there’s no point in our continuing in this marriage. She may do as she pleases, as long as I can have
my divorce and my freedom. And you,” he added, laying his hand over Sophie’s.

  Smiling, she turned her hand palm up and twined her fingers with his. “You will always have me, Robin. I promise. Oh, it will be such bliss when this is over, and we can concentrate on the future!” she added on a sigh.

  “It will indeed, my love,” Robin agreed, enfolding her and her by-now somewhat crushed sheaf of bluebells in his embrace. Kissing her again, he deliberately pushed all thoughts of the past aside.

  Sophie was right: it was the future that mattered now. Their future—and he would do his utmost to make sure that they had one, together.

  Nine

  All night have the roses heard

  The flute, violin, bassoon;

  All night has the casement jessamine stirr’d

  To the dancers dancing in tune;

  Till a silence fell with the waking bird,

  And a hush with the setting moon.

  —Alfred, Lord Tennyson, “Maud”

  23 June 1892

  The pearls lay in their nest of black silk, a softly gleaming double strand with an ivory sheen just touched with rose. The perfect gift for a girl who’d become a woman.

  Nineteen tonight, on Midsummer Eve, Robin thought as he stared down at the luminous spheres. Did the distance between them seem just a little bit less with this birthday? Perhaps nineteen and twenty-seven sounded a fraction closer than seventeen and twenty-five.

  He was being absurd, he knew. Eight years was nothing compared to the difference in age between some couples of his acquaintance. And Sophie was mature for her years, far more mature than Nathalie had been, which was one of the many things he loved about her.

  When should he give these to her? Given the secret nature of their understanding, it would be unwise to offer them in the presence of her family. In private, then, when they managed to steal a few moments alone. And it would likely be some time before she could actually wear them. When they were in a position to announce their engagement, perhaps?

  All the same, he wanted her to have them tonight, somehow. The pearls were a promise of the future they would have someday. When he would be free to shower her with gifts, however extravagant and impractical. When he could call her his love, his future wife, and know it for truth.

  “Oh, I have bought the mansion of a love, but not possessed it.”

  A mansion—well, that was certainly apposite. Pendarvis Hall, his home and someday hers. And wonder of wonders, she did not mind that it was also a business. How many women would choose to be the wife of a country hotelier, rather than the bride of a peer?

  One in a thousand, no doubt. But he’d make sure she never regretted her choice. He was a man now, not a bewildered boy fumbling his way through a marriage he and his child-bride had been too immature and ill-suited to handle. And Sophie was nothing like Nathalie—he’d found true gold in her, not fairy gold that would vanish in a trice.

  Meanwhile, he was working hard to make the soon-to-open Pendarvis Hotel a fit home for them both. Perhaps in the days ahead, he could show her the wing where they would live after they were married. She could have her choice of chamber, decorate it however she saw fit. She liked cool colors, he remembered—shimmering blues and greens like the sea and sky. Perhaps he’d give her a parure of aquamarines as a wedding gift, if he found some fine enough.

  But he’d already begun to furnish a room on the ground floor to accommodate her music: a piano and a harpsichord, just like the ones at Roswarne, and enough space for any other instruments she fancied. They could have musicales there if she liked, or intimate evenings around the piano. Or she could simply use it as a place to practice or even compose. And if, in the fullness of time, they were blessed with children, perhaps some would inherit her talent. The thought made him smile—well, and why shouldn’t their whole brood be musical? They’d be Cornish, after all. Perhaps he should consider taking up an instrument at his advanced age. Piano, or perhaps the cello—they could play duets.

  Robin shook his head over the fanciful drift of his thoughts. Castles in the air. But then, what was so wrong with that? How could one live without something to look forward to? And it wasn’t as though what he dreamed was so impossible, or completely beyond his reach. Indeed, the future for which he and Sophie both longed seemed closer than ever before. Once he’d taken the first steps to dissolve his marriage to Nathalie, he could talk to Harry, let him know he meant honorably by Sophie. Despite their friendship, he knew Harry had had reservations about him as a suitor for his youngest sister. But surely things were different now, or would be soon. And now that Sophie had had her Season and come back still unattached…

  Perhaps they’d have to wait a year or so until the divorce decree was finalized. In which case, Sophie could return to the College of Music for another year if she so wished. It was only right that she have the opportunity to develop her gifts further. Perhaps she might even accept some engagements as a professional singer—just to see if she had any liking for a performer’s life. But she’d affirmed that she wanted him and a life in Cornwall, and if she were truly sure of that—well, he had no real desire to persuade her otherwise.

  Hope. It had been so long since he’d allowed himself to indulge in it that the merest taste was like to intoxicate him. It fizzed along his veins like the champagne she loved. If his voice had been better than merely passable, he would have burst into spontaneous song.

  If he were only free, he could speak tonight and ask Sophie to be his forever. But that was sheer greed, Robin told himself sternly. At least they had an understanding now—and this would be a night to remember, for both of them.

  He’d got the idea just a few days after Sophie’s homecoming. The hotel would open for business next week, in time to accommodate the first flood of summer guests fleeing the heat and dust of London for the seaside. James and Harry had told him there were likely to be more in August, after Parliament closed. Granted, much of Society would migrate north to shoot grouse. But for those less inclined to blood sport, a resort hotel in the West Country provided an appealing alternative. And in the meantime, what could be more appropriate than a private party at the hotel that he, Harry, and James had labored to create together? A party to celebrate not only their success but Sophie’s birthday as well? Sophie, whose casual suggestion just over a year ago had started him on the path to this, though she refused to accept any credit for it, insisting that the achievement was all his.

  The Tresilians and Trevenans had hailed the idea with enthusiasm and delight. So they would all assemble here this evening—the partners and their families—to sample the pleasures the new Pendarvis Hotel had to offer. Monsieur Renard, the hotel’s new chef, had prepared a birthday feast fit for Queen Victoria herself, and the dining salon and ballroom had both been suitably decorated, and musicians engaged to play for the evening.

  The mantel clock chimed the hour and Robin looked up from his study of the pearls. Seven o’clock—his guests would be arriving any moment now, if they hadn’t already. Smiling, he snapped the jewel box closed and slipped it into his breast pocket before heading downstairs.

  ***

  Sophie had always been secretly pleased that her birthday fell on Midsummer Eve, with its traditional associations of magic and enchantment. Ever since she was a little girl, she’d taken a special delight in all Midsummer festivities, from masquerades to bonfires. Last year, Harry had held a ball at Roswarne in honor of her birthday, and while the evening hadn’t ended well, she had enjoyed some parts of it—at least until Sir Lucas’s slanders against Robin, Harry, and James had come to light.

  But that was in the past. Tonight promised to be far more enjoyable. She’d been at once flattered and touched by Robin’s suggestion to celebrate her birthday here—and quick to accept, for she hadn’t yet seen the Hall since her return. Nor had any of the other women in her family, though that was understandable, given that Cecily lived on another coast and Aurelia had recently borne James a son and been preoccu
pied with motherhood.

  But tonight they were all here: Sophie, her mother and brothers—including Peter, home from school and several inches taller than he’d been at Christmas, James and Aurelia, even Cecily and Arthur, up from the south coast just for the occasion. Descending from the carriage, Sophie glanced up at the Palladian facade of the Pendarvis Hotel and felt the same thrill she had the first time she had seen it: imposing as ever, especially since repairs had been made to chimneys, roofing, and other areas of stonework. Minor repairs, according to a relieved Robin—the bulk of the renovations and remodeling had been to the interior of the Hall.

  The great front doors stood open to the warm summer night, a tacit invitation and welcome to all comers. Following her family up the steps and into the hotel itself, Sophie caught her breath at her first sight of the entrance hall—the same, and yet arrestingly different. For a start, it seemed so much larger, though that could have been the effect of the freshly painted white walls and the gilt-framed mirror that reflected everything back at them with dazzling clarity. To Sophie’s left, a doorway—wider than she remembered—afforded a view of a spacious reception room, converted from what she remembered as being the front parlor: furnished with low tables and comfortably padded armchairs, thickly carpeted, and dominated by a huge desk of gleaming oak, all neat compartments and pigeonholes. No one stood behind it at present, but according to Harry, they had employed a most efficient man, who’d managed hotels in York and London, to take up the position of concierge in three days’ time. For the moment, Praed was fulfilling those duties along with his own as butler.

  To judge by the reactions of those around her, Sophie wasn’t the only one impressed by what she saw. Her mother, Cecily, and Aurelia were all gazing about the foyer with astonishment and growing pleasure.