“My mother was a truthful woman who refused to be frightened into falsehood.”
“Truth,” he spoke with a contemptuous softness, “is a word much loved by those who do not understand consequence.”
“No, General. It is feared by those who do.”
The mask of stern respectability thinned, and Aurelia saw, with a coldness that passed through her whole body, that he hated her, because she was her mother’s daughter, because she bore a name he had helped bury, and had presumed to return with it unashamed.
“You would do well,” he said, “to remember what became of Lady Finch.”
“I remember it every day.”
“Then profit by the recollection. Your mother had friends once. You see how little it availed her in the end.”
The words entered her like a draft under a door.
“You threaten me very openly, sir.”
“I advise you very plainly. There is a difference. A young lady in your position cannot afford renewed scandal, nor can those attached to her.” His glance moved briefly toward the ballroom. “Miss Blackmore appears to be enjoying some success. It would be unfortunate if her prospects suffered from the imprudence of her cousin.”
Aurelia’s fear sharpened into anger. “You will leave my cousin out of this.”
“Then leave the past where it belongs.”
“The past has not remained there by my choosing.”
“No. It remained there because wiser heads understood the necessity of silence.” He leaned closer, lowering his voice. “Some matters are best left undisturbed, Miss Finch.”
The words were quietly spoken, yet they seemed to fill the conservatory.
“I thank you for your concern,” she said. “But I have never found that men who destroy reputations are the best guardians of prudence.”
For one second, she thought he might seize her arm. He did not. He was too clever for that, and too near a ballroom full of witnesses. But the violence in his stillness was almost worse. Then, with a bow so slight it could hardly be called one, he stepped aside.
“Enjoy the ball, Miss Finch.”
Aurelia walked past him. She did not hurry. Pride carried her through the conservatory, along the passage, and back toward the music. She even paused at the ballroom door before entering, as though she had merely returned from taking air and not from having the past breathe its warning into her face.
Only when she had found a quiet corner behind a screen of palms did she realize that her hands were shaking. Across theroom, Clara was laughing at something Captain Harrow had said. Owen was standing beside them, with his attention upon his friend, until some instinct made him look up. His gaze found Aurelia at once.
He began to come toward her, but she gave the smallest shake of her head.
Not here.
Owen stopped. His expression changed only slightly, but she saw that he understood. She vowed to write him that night, to tell him everything her calm demeanor concealed and every fear pride refused to show.
Chapter 21
Owen had begun to understand that there were few trials in life so persistent, or so little altered by reason, as a mother determined to see her son properly married.
The tea had been brought into the smaller drawing room, where the afternoon light fell in pale bars across the carpet and caught upon the polished arms of the chairs.
“I cannot think,” his mother said, “that you have given the matter sufficient consideration.”
Owen looked into the fire, though there was little in it worth studying.
“On the contrary, I think I have considered little else since you first discovered Miss Finch’s existence.”
“Then you must forgive me for saying that consideration has not improved your judgement.”
