Lady Renwick’s words would not leave her. They had been softly spoken, almost reluctantly offered, but they had lodged in Aurelia’s mind with a force no louder declaration could have possessed. Her mother had not been wholly imagined, nor wholly dismissed. At least, not by everyone.
She had nearly reached the carriage when a voice spoke behind her.
“Miss Finch.”
Aurelia stilled. For one breath, she did not turn. Her gloved hand tightened around the small reticule at her wrist, and the fragile hope she had carried from Lady Renwick’s drawing room seemed to draw sharply inward, like a flame threatened by a sudden draught.
Then she looked back, only to find General Langley standing only a few paces away, perfectly at ease beside the iron railing of the neighboring house. There was nothing improper in his position, nothing hurried or furtive in his manner. He might have been waiting for a call of his own, or passing by entirely by chance. His hat was in his hand and his bow exact.
That was what made it worse.
“General Langley,” she greeted him.
He straightened with a civility so complete it seemed almost polished into cruelty.
“I hope I did not startle you.”
“Not at all.”
The lie cost her very little. She had learned long ago that fear, when shown, became a weapon in another person’s hand.
His eyes moved briefly to the door behind her, then back to her face.
“Lady Renwick is an old acquaintance of your family, I believe.”
Aurelia felt the words like a hand closing softly around her throat.
“Yes, she was kind enough to receive me.”
“Indeed.” His smile was faint. “She has always been kind. Age often makes people generous with memories.”
Aurelia held his gaze. “Or honest with them.”
His eyes narrowed, though so slightly that another person might have missed it.
“How admirable,” he told her, “to have such faith in memory.”
“I have more faith in memory than in silence.”
His smile did not fade, but it became stiller.
For a moment, the street seemed to narrow around them. The carriage waited. The servant waited. London moved past them with all its usual indifference, and yet Aurelia was aware of nothing but the man before her and the terrible calm with which he studied her.
“You have been renewing several old acquaintances, I hear,” he mused.
Aurelia’s pulse struck once, hard.
“I was not aware my calls were of interest to you.”
“Interest is too strong a word.” Langley inclined his head. “Concern, perhaps.”
“For me?”
“For your cousin, certainly.”
At that, her composure nearly slipped. He must have seen it. A warmer man might have looked away. Langley did not.
“Miss Blackmore is making a charming beginning,” he continued. “So young and so hopeful. One would not wish old unpleasantness to attach itself to so fresh a reputation.”
