Breathing in slowly, Aurelia feigned the least bit of interest as she picked at a thread hanging loose from her sleeve. 'In what way?'
'Perhaps he has cried off from offering his hand in marriage. Rodney says his sister Lady Lindsay was never certain about such a match.'
'But Cassandra Lindsay told me Lady Elizabeth was lovely.'
'Lovely for a younger man, perhaps. Lord Hawkhurst needs a woman of more substance and resource.'
The words did not seem the sort Leonora would have normally used. 'Rodney told you that?'
'He did.' She clapped her hands across her mouth. 'Though on reflection he asked me to say nothing of it to anyone and I should have respected his wishes.' She paused for a moment and Aurelia knew that there was something on her mind. 'The thing is … Lord Hawkhurst specifically asked if you were coming tonight. I heard him enquire when he was speaking to Rodney the day before yesterday.'
Despite trying not to, Aurelia reddened and felt the unwelcome glance of her sister's puzzlement upon her. Would he wish to speak to her about Charles? She had promised him a letter, after all, but had not penned it because it was too precarious to entrust such a secret to a man whose motives she did not comprehend. Could the whole evening be a trap?
'Everyone says Lord Hawkhurst is a dangerous man, Lia.'
'I do not need a warning to stay away from him, Leonora, if that is what you fear.'
Her sister frowned. 'There is something about him that reminds me of you.' When Aurelia stayed silent with shock Leonora went on to explain. 'He cares not a whit for the good opinion of others whilst shepherding what little that remains of his family out of the range of any unkindness, and he has a certain menace that is … beguiling. All of the women in society are half in love with him, of course, even given his wildness, but the men admire him, too.'
'Then I cannot see much that is alike between us.'
'He holds secrets and keeps others out.'
'You think that of me?'
'Sometimes I wish you would allow us to help you more. There are things we could do, after all, if only you would let us.'
Turning away, Aurelia nodded. Leonora had grown up over the past few weeks and was no longer the girl she had been. Rodney's influence, she supposed, and was grateful.
'We could help at the warehouse sorting silks and Prudence could do your books. She is most adept at figures, after all, and seldom makes any mistakes. Besides, when I am married to Rodney I can bring the girls out … '
'He has asked you?'
'Not yet, but I think that he will, Lia, I really do.'
An image of herself eight years earlier came to mind. She had told her father of Charles's offer and of her wish to accept it and had been startled by his lack of joy. If only she had listened to his caution and cried off.
'Things will be better, Lia, I know they will be. Soon we will have money to buy the things we need and a proper nurse for Papa. I shall have pin money and servants and a house that is so very beautiful-'
Aurelia stopped her, the frozen ache of her own mistakes marking her next query. 'But would you still love Rodney if he possessed none of these things?'
The smile stayed in her sister's blue eyes. 'Of course I would. If we lived in a tiny cottage with only a single table and two chairs, I should be happy.'
Unlike me, Aurelia thought. So easy to see the stupidity in your own blunders from a distance in time, a hapless eighteen-year-old with the promise of freedom close. Any other suitor would have done her better; a dozen swains and she had taken the one man whose words were empty and whose character was flawed. Decisions held consequences that changed the circumstances of every year that followed. Of all the people in the world she was the one to know this; a wilful debutante who could not be told.
In her mistakes a lack of confidence had crept in; an uncertainty over any choice involving relationships had kept her a prisoner ever since.
At Medlands there had been friends of Charles who had made advances which she had refused-even in London men had come calling. Good men, respected men, men that did not listen to the rumours that swirled about her. But she had never been interested, not even slightly, because as her first freely given choice had been such a mistake it had left her … wary. Yes, that was the exact word. Until Stephen Hawkhurst had kissed her at Taylor's Gap and she had known to the very bottom of her heart that she wanted more.
Fanning her hand, she enjoyed the cold air upon her face. How ironic it was that just when she was beginning to feel in control of her own destiny it might all be taken away.
He knew it was Aurelia St Harlow even from a distance and dressed in a gown that made every other woman in the room pale into insignificance-bright emerald silk, the colour of the sea in the south of France in summer. Her hair this evening was piled into curls, an artful coiffure of living flame, and her lips were full and sensuous beneath the line of the mask.
'Why the hell would Charles's widow wear black for so long when with only a bit of colour she can turn out like that?' Nat's voice held an uncertain admiration.
'Perhaps because she no longer mourns her husband?' Cassie offered and looked directly at Hawkhurst. 'It seems that startling beauty can overcome even a ruined reputation. Word is much of the ton has abandoned their dislike of her after the touching show of familial solidarity at your ball.'
'O Fortune, all men call thee fickle … ' Hawkhurst recited, watching as a bevy of young and old suitors lined up to speak with Aurelia St Harlow.
'Lady Allum does not look like she has been swayed by public opinion, though is that not her youngest son amongst those awaiting an audience?'
Nathaniel laughed at his wife's remark. 'The sons of half the ton seem to be queuing up, and with Mrs St Harlow's charms so generously on display I can see why.' He laughed even more as Cassie swatted her fan across his arm, catching her hand as she did so and bringing it to his lips.
Hawkhurst looked away. Both of his friends had found women who completed them, strong women with their own sense of place and backbone.
Women like Aurelia St Harlow.
Tipping up his glass, he watched her, the ornamental trees placed in careful rows and bedecked in lights, giving his cousin's widow the appearance of an angel held in an unearthly grotto.
He was glad Elizabeth Berkeley and her family were not in attendance, for he did not wish to endure their eyes upon his back. No, tonight in a room of stars and trees and colour he felt the sort of anticipation he couldn't remember sensing for a very long time, the promise of something magical and bewitching. Drawing his mask away from his face, he laid it on the top of his head, pleased for the cold air and freedom.
'Your brother and Leonora Beauchamp seem cosy, Cassie,' Nat said as the young couple swirled by.
'She is a very sweet girl and most loyal to her sister. From general conversation it is said that Mrs St Harlow was virtually a prisoner in your cousin's northern property, Hawk, for all the years of her marriage. Servants talk and the word is Charles was an offhand sort of husband.'
'Offhand?'
'Seldom there. He had other pursuits that kept him occupied, by all accounts'
Shaking his head, Hawkhurst pushed back his hair. 'I was in Europe for much of that time … ' He left it there.
'Well, we all knew your cousin had a temper and Alfred said Mrs St Harlow was melancholy. At your ball, remember. He said that it was good to see her happier.'
Biting down on a growing frustration, Hawkhurst hailed a passing waiter. This time he chose a non-alcoholic fruit punch because he had a feeling that he might need all his wits about him in the coming hours and the men around Aurelia St Harlow seemed to be multiplying by the second.
If only she could get away from the crush about her she might be able to stalk Lord Hawkhurst and ask him outright just what action he was going to take. She was sick of all this worrying and the champagne that she had been plied with was also beginning to make her understand exactly what it was that she needed to do.
The dress was uncomfortable, as was the mask. Leonora and Rodney were still dancing and away in the distance she got a small glimpse of Hawkhurst and the Lindsays watching her as if she were a … leper.
Freddy Delsarte was here, too-she had seen him when she had first arrived-though he was nowhere in the numbers of those around her and for that she was grateful. Opening her fan, she made an effort to listen to an earl who stood directly beside her.
'I knew your husband at school, Mrs St Harlow. He was a friend of mine.'
'Indeed.' The warning bells had begun, clanging away in the bottom of her consciousness. This was exactly what it was she did not want: reminders of a past life that was shamefully submissive, reminders of her powerlessness and her compliances.