Free Waltz With a Stranger by Pamela Sherwood

was beginning to thin, slightly but appreciably. Perhaps visitors were recalling luncheon or other engagements, Aurelia speculated; she wouldn’t mind some refreshment herself, once they were finished here. But for now, it was simply a relief to have a clearer view of the remaining works.
    Further along the wall, they paused before another painting that, like Waterhouse’s, appeared to have a mythological theme. A young woman clad in flowing white robes sat at her loom, but her hands were idle, her rapt gaze fixed upon what looked like a huge mirror hanging before her. Reflected there were the shadowy forms of a man and a woman walking entwined beneath a softly glowing full moon.
    “Why, it’s the Lady of Shalott!” Amy exclaimed after several moments’ perusal.
    And indeed it was, Aurelia discovered upon reading the placard. “ But in her web she still delights / To weave the mirror’s magic sights ,” she quoted softly. “ For often through the silent nights, / A funeral with plumes and lights and music / Went to Camelot…”
    Trevenan took up the recital, his deep voice sending a shiver down her spine. “ Or when the moon was overhead, / Came two young lovers lately wed, / ‘I am half-sick of shadows,’ said / The Lady of Shalott. ”
    “Who’s the artist?” Amy asked eagerly.
    “Thomas Sheridan,” Aurelia reported, consulting the placard again.
    Amy stiffened—just enough for a twin to notice. “I see.” Her tone cooled. “Was this the friend you mentioned, Trevenan?”
    “Indeed,” he replied, smiling. “This is Thomas’s first showing at the Royal Academy. Do you like the painting, my dear?”
    She shrugged. “It’s quite pretty, but perhaps a bit—derivative? There have been so many treatments of the subject, after all.”
    Aurelia glanced at her in surprise. It was so unlike Amy, with her keen interest in paintings and portraits, to damn fine work with faint praise. But her twin’s face was an impenetrable mask, showing not so much as a trace of her previous enthusiasm.
    “True enough,” her fiancé agreed, sounding more amused than offended. He turned to Aurelia. “Do you agree with your sister, Miss Aurelia?”
    “Oh…” Wishing she wasn’t quite so conscious of Trevenan’s dark gaze, Aurelia turned back to the painting. “Well, I have seen other versions of The Lady of Shalott . But I do think each artist can bring something new to a familiar subject and make it his own.” She paused, peering more closely at Sheridan’s work. “I like the artist’s use of light and dark here, but I think it’s the lady’s expression that makes the painting truly memorable. How sad, how wistful she looks watching the lovers. Even her hands have fallen still. You can tell she’s seeing all the things she can never have. And the title—‘Half-Sick of Shadows’—is inspired,” she added.
    “Thank you,” a new voice remarked behind her. “I was rather pleased with it myself.”
    Startled, Aurelia turned to see that a lanky man with brown hair and clear green eyes had joined them.
    “Thomas!” Trevenan clasped the newcomer’s hand. “What brings you here today?”
    “Well, I’ve received a few offers for the Lady—good ones, as it turns out—but I wanted to see if I could bear to part with her.” Sheridan’s smile was quick and rueful. “No one tells you what a double-edged sword it can be—producing a painting good enough to sell.”
    Trevenan smiled, clapping his friend on the shoulder. “Well, it’s a fine piece of work—whatever you decide to do.” He turned to Amy. “You know my fiancée, Miss Newbold.”
    “Good day, Miss Newbold.” Sheridan bowed over Amy’s hand; she gave a cool nod in response, showing none of her usual warmth and friendliness. Watching, Aurelia wondered uneasily just what the story was there.
    “And this is her sister, Miss Aurelia,” Trevenan resumed.
    Sheridan turned, and Aurelia found herself the focus of those startlingly green