And there, right in the middle of a crowded street, with people hurrying by on each side of them, Aurelia understood what it was to truly desire a man. Not any man, but this one: his strength and his goodness, his dangerous solitariness and his secret grief.
Cassandra Lindsay had been right. Elizabeth Berkeley would never understand him as she did, never nurture that part of him that was wild and menacing, never stare into the heart of his solitude and recognise herself in the wasteland.
She looked away.
Something was worrying Aurelia St Harlow, Hawkhurst thought—the talk of marriage, probably, and his roughshod questioning. She had been through hell with his cousin and had made it abundantly clear ever since the first second of meeting at Taylor’s Gap that she was not looking for a replacement. Again, he cursed Charles with a vengeance.
‘I will send a carriage around just before eight tomorrow night to pick you up.’
He knew finances were tight in Braeburn House.
When she nodded in agreement Hawkhurst made certain he did not tarry longer than he had to in case she thought about the matter and changed her mind.
But as he walked away, the red flame of her hair juxtaposed against the familiar dark of her clothes burnt an image into his brain. And he knew without any doubt that tomorrow night would see an ending to the dance of sensual tension that smouldered between them.
Any thought that it might only be a very small birthday celebration was wiped away as Aurelia started down the hallway behind an austere-looking Hawkhurst servant. Voices of men and women were raised in laughter, though recognising Cassandra Lindsay amongst them she felt a little less worried.
Hawkhurst moved forwards to greet her. ‘You look lovely,’ he said, his glance taking in the hairstyle she had allowed Leonora to fashion. Normally she bound her hair back, tight against her head to hide the vibrant colour. Tonight she wore it in a looser style, her long curls tied at the nape. She had dispensed completely with the glasses. Her gown was scarlet silk.
Alfred had also risen, a broad smile on his face. Taking the wrapped present from her reticule, Aurelia handed it to him. The thin lengths of silk in the bow trailed down the side of old thin hands.
Hawkhurst’s uncle took his time to look at it, turning it this way and that, the fabric catching the light of a large chandelier above. Finally he loosened the ties and opened the wooden box.
A ring was inside, a ring she had found in a circus years before with her mother, gaudy and substantial, but beautiful, its cut-glass edges showing off all the colours of the rainbow.
‘Nothing as mundane as wine, then?’ Hawkhurst said this with a tenderness in his tone as his uncle drew the circle on to his finger before leaning across.
‘Thank you.’ Delight made his eyes sparkle.
‘You are most welcome.’
The scar on the side of his head drew the skin around his left eye upwards. Aurelia imagined the pain of receiving such a wound so far away from any hospital and in the middle of a war.
She liked the way Alfred stroked her hand, the expectation and restraints of Victorian society so clearly missing in the uninhibited reaction. She also liked the way Hawkhurst did not hurry him, but waited while his uncle processed what it was he wished to say and do.
The others further away were still chatting as though it was the most normal thing in the world for an elderly gentleman to hold on to her fingers and look deeply into her eyes. Perhaps it was for him, this man lost to time.
‘Rings are my favourite jewellery,’ he finally said and let her go, walking over to show the others his new and wonderful gift.
‘You remembered he liked your pendant?’ Hawkhurst asked the question.
‘Wine seemed too momentary for a man celebrating the length of seventy-five years.’
‘I know he will treasure such a gift. Even the packaging was inspired.’
‘Part of Mama’s heritage, I think. She was never a woman to do things by halves and I always wrap gifts that way.’
Cassandra rose from her place by the fire to join them.
‘Alfred is more than happy, Aurelia. Hawk instructed us to buy wine and we did, but next year we will take your lead and look for something far more original.’
Another woman also walked over, a beautiful, heavily pregnant woman with a white dress embroidered in multicoloured flowers at the neckline. The stitchwork looked like it had been done by a child, the rough sewing out of place against the elegance of the dress.
‘I was just telling Hawk, Lilly, that we shall be taking no notice of his suggestions for presents ever again.’ There was a soft tone in Cassandra Lindsay’s rebuke.
‘Absolutely, Mrs St Harlow, for yours has eclipsed our offerings entirely. I am Lillian Clairmont, and my husband is the one trying at this moment to wrestle the ring from Alfred’s hand. Lucas’s taste in material goods is more than questionable, you see.’ She coloured as she realised her criticism. ‘But I do not mean to imply that I think your present is…tasteless…’ She stopped and shook her head and her hair under the light showed up myriad hues. ‘I am expecting our third child very soon and the good manners that used to be the hallmark of my character seem to have all but deserted me.’
As the others laughed, Hawkhurst then made a proper introduction. ‘Lillian and Lucas Clairmont are down in London only for a few nights. They have a property in the north and children waiting at home for them.’
‘Lucas is the Luc of the dancing lessons at Eton?’ Aurelia had suddenly placed him.
‘Indeed.’ When Clairmont walked to stand beside his wife, Aurelia saw how he wove their fingers together.
‘We met at Stephen’s ball, Mrs St Harlow. I thought your entrance was one of the grander ones I have seen so far in London, though my first introduction to court may have even eclipsed your own.’
‘He arrived brawling with my cousin, blood on his lip and a sneer in his eyes,’ Lillian explained with a smile. ‘Americans like to…turn up with aplomb, you see.’
‘I shall take such information to heart then, Mr Clairmont,’ Aurelia returned, ‘if I should ever find myself in your homeland.’
‘Hawk could bring you. We are due to go back on a holiday next May and I would deem it a pleasure to show you Virginia.’
Surprised by the wash of yearning that was inspired by such an invitation, Aurelia glanced at Stephen Hawkhurst. What would months in each other’s company on a boat out of London feel like? Such freedom would be impossible, unless…She shook away the qualifier as all her responsibilities came crashing back in.
This was what her life could have been like had she married wisely. Family, good friends, a man who even in a roomful of others had her heart beating faster, the small flutter at the back of her throat making her swallow.
She wanted Hawkhurst to take her hand and hold it as Lucas Clairmont held his wife’s, safety and strength imbued in the very action.
Nathaniel Lindsay broke into her thoughts as he hailed a serving man near and offered up thin glasses of white wine to them all.
‘Let’s toast to birthdays and friendship,’ he said, looking over at Aurelia directly. ‘And to marriage,’ he added, this time observing Hawkhurst.
Hawkhurst knew what they were trying to do, each one of them, with their hopeful invitations and their clumsy innuendos. After all, he had spent the weeks since his ball fending off questions about Aurelia St Harlow, both Nat and Luc offering advice about his long-term future.
Tonight