Mistress at Midnight(6)

Cassandra Lindsay's next words were therefore unexpected. 'We are having  a house party at our country estate in Kent in early September. Would  you and your sister like to join us for the weekend?'

Her heart began to beat a little faster, the rhythm of it imbued with an  unfamiliar kind of joy. It had been so long since a stranger had  reached out a hand in friendship. Still, she could not quite accept the  gift without honesty.

'Perhaps Leonora could attend with a chaperon, Lady Lindsay. My presence  may be detrimental to the success of your gathering, you see, for there  are many stories about me-'

Cassandra Lindsay broke in. 'There are always rumours, Mrs St Harlow,  and there are always detractors, but anyone whom Uncle Alfred takes a  shine to I would trust with my life.'

'Thank you.' The ache in her throat was surprising as she glanced  around, the heavy frowns of others less intimidating after such a  conversation.

As the music ended the party regrouped. Elizabeth Berkeley had joined  her mother to one side of the room, chatting with a group of other young  women all dressed in differing shades of yellow. Stephen Hawkhurst  unexpectedly walked back to Aurelia's side.

'Are you promised for this set, Mrs St Harlow?'

His question came quietly and in response Aurelia showed him her dance  card without a scribble upon it. 'I seldom garner partners, my lord,'  she returned, 'and certainly never the same man twice.'

His mouth turned up as he observed the empty page, and with the gracious  strains of Strauss from the orchestra at the head of the room Aurelia  felt disorientated.

Something else lingered there, too, but she did not care to examine  those feelings as his fingers lifted the battered spectacles from her  nose and held them away for a moment.

'Is that better?'

The faces of those around them came into full focus. 'Disfavour is often easier to stomach when it is barely seen, my lord.'

'Many here have their own skeletons should one bother to dig deeper, Mrs  St Harlow. Take heart, for you are not the only person in the room with  a past.'

Aurelia glanced away as he replaced her looking glasses. Did he speak about himself?

His hair was draped long across the nape of a snowy, crisp white collar,  strands of midnight reflecting blue, the sense of danger and menace  that she associated with him heightened here.

Charles had been a man who had promised everything and delivered  nothing, a liar and a cheat who used those in positions of less power  ruthlessly. Stephen Hawkhurst appeared to be the very opposite. She  could not imagine him striking fraudulent bargains or making empty  promises.

As his uncle joined them, the old man's hand reached down to extract a  large handkerchief to wipe his shining brow. Alfred Hawkhurst's eyes  were more opaque than she remembered them to be and he had a wheeze that  was concerning.

'They don't want me there, Stephen. They never do. I can feel it when I  speak to people.' His thin voice shook-a man who had had enough of the  lofty world surrounding him.                       
       
           



       

'I feel exactly the same, Lord Alfred,' Aurelia began as his nephew  failed to speak, 'though I find that the wine is helping.' She took two  glasses from a passing waiter and handed one to him. Alfred smiled and  downed the lot before leaning forwards in a conspiratorial way.

'You were always a favourite, my dear, and I am glad that you do not  seem so melancholy now. I used to worry for you when Charles was about.'

Embarrassment swept through Aurelia's whole body. A thousand lies and  yet an old man, reportedly mad, had seen through the lot of them. Like  her father had. Catching the golden glance of Lord Hawkhurst, she looked  away.

She had changed. She had grown up. No one could ever make her so sad  again. The silk of Leonora's dress swirled cornflower blue in the middle  of the floor, the weave of silver within it catching the light.

Macclesfield silk. Her lifeblood.

'I am more than content, Lord Alfred.' And quite competent, too, she  thought. Dancing, needlework, luncheons and music-the pursuits of a  well-brought-up young lady had long ceased to be a part of her domain.  She tried hard to smile. She fitted nowhere now, like Alfred, lost in  the middle somehow, an eternal outsider, looking in but never belonging.  Not even knowing how to.

Her fingers strayed to the pendant at her throat, clutching The single  diamond until she saw Lord Hawkhurst's eye upon the piece. Why had she  worn it? The kiss at Taylor's Gap hung in the air between them in the  particular manner of something unfinished. She could see the shape of it  in his eyes and in the way he stood, his shoulders rigid with the  tension of memory.

'I have always loved jewellery.' Alfred's proclamation was welcomed for  it broke the unease, his outstretched hand touching the piece. 'What  would you wish to be paid for this, my dear? Is it for sale?'

Hawkhurst carefully moved him back. 'Mrs St Harlow holds the bauble in  much esteem and would part with it only under the most extreme of  circumstances, Alfred.'

'She told you of that?'

'Indeed she did.' Shadows moved across his face, the planes at his  cheeks softer now, and her body recalled the feel of Lord Hawkhurst's  skin beneath her fingers, warm and solid, lips slanting deep with the  taste of safety.

Aurelia shook her head. Such dreams were not ones she could contemplate  again. Besides, had not Cassandra Lindsay stressed the need of a  suitable bride at Atherton?

The black bombazine covering her from neck to foot was synonymous with  the sort of life she led. Secretive. Careful. Lonely. In bed well after  midnight and up well before the dawn.

When Elizabeth Berkeley came back to the circle Aurelia excused herself  and wound her way to the ladies' room, where she sat for a good  three-quarters of an hour on a chair in the small salon, completely  impervious to the stares of others who were also using the chamber.

Another twenty minutes and she could be gone.

Hawk felt Elizabeth's fingers entwined in the fabric of his sleeve. He  wished he might have shaken her off and followed Aurelia St Harlow to  wherever it was she had gone at least half an hour ago, but appearances  had to be maintained and he was always careful in this respect.

Cassie Lindsay watched him vigilantly, too, as she had done for months  now, her eyes upon him filled with question. She had made it known that  she had asked Mrs St Harlow and her sister to their country seat of St  Auburn's in a few weeks' time and that the invitation had been accepted.

The evening was going exactly as Mrs St Harlow would have wished it to  and yet now she had disappeared off into a crowd that detested her and  was lost to sight.

Alfred had gone looking for her. Just that fact amazed him as his uncle  seldom stayed for more than a few moments at any of these public  gatherings and never inveigled himself into the lives of those he met  here. And what did he damn well mean by referring to her melancholy?

'I just love the colours of the gowns and the music, don't you, my lord?  Everyone says that yellow is quite the shade of things this season.'  Under the candelabras, Elizabeth's cheekbones were striking.

'Then you are eminently in fashion,' he returned, her gown the colour of  sunbeams shimmering in the light. The black bombazine of Mrs St Harlow  came to mind, for his cousin had been years dead already and it was far  past time to throw off the shades of mourning. He wondered how her hair  might look against emerald green or a deep translucent gold.

No. He needed innocence and a lack of complication, he must remember  that, the artless push of purity scattering the oncoming darkness. Why,  Aurelia St Harlow probably had as many demons inside her as he did.

'I went today into town with Mama and found a jewellery shop that I had not noticed before.'                       
       
           



       

Stephen smiled, imagining Elizabeth enjoying the wares.

'Mama said I should have purchased the blue sapphire necklace because it  showed off the colour of my eyes, but I preferred the ruby because it  caught the light so beautifully. Do you think I have made a wise choice,  my lord?'

His glance passed across the bauble nestled at her neck, the intricate patterns of gold fussy in design.

'It suits you entirely.'

'There was a bracelet to match, as well.' the glance she gave him had a  certain entreaty in it. Hawk knew he should enquire as to the name of  the shop and the exactness of its location given the unsaid promises  shimmering between them, but the words just would not come.

He saw Mrs St Harlow threading her way back into the room from the  corner of his eye. She looked neither left nor right, though even from  this distance he could see women and men turning away from her in a  deliberate cut. Her chin rose and if he had not known of her unease in  the social setting he might have thought that she did not care a jot for  the good opinion of others. He was glad she had the glasses to shelter  behind.