“The sneaky one,” Clarinda interjected with more than a little satisfaction.
“You’re just jealous,” Rissa lightly replied. “It all goes back to Jeffrey, doesn’t it? You’re still mad that I stole him away from you.” Her mouth took on an unpleasant twist. “Which I deliberately did, you know, and it was so easy.”
Clarinda was taken aback. “You deliberately stole Jeffrey?”
Rissa slapped a hand over her mouth, very much looking as if she’d caught herself saying too much.
“Speak up!” demanded Clarinda.
“That’s all I have to say,” Rissa replied, on the defensive, “except you can call my behavior sneaky if you like, but that’s the reason I’m Mama and Papa’s darling and you’re the one who’s been in trouble since the day you were born.”
Clarinda gave her sister a cold, hard stare. “No, Rissa, you’re not going to change the subject this time. Tell me about Jeffrey. What did you do?”
Rissa cried, “Oh, Clarinda, I was so madly in love with Jeffrey I was desperate!”
“What do you mean, desperate?” Clarinda asked coolly.
Rissa covered her face with her hands. “I told a lie,” she whispered through her fingers.
“What lie?”
“But I only told it out of sheer desperation.”
“What lie?”
Rissa looked up again. “If you must know, I pretended I was you and told Jeffrey I had fallen madly in love with someone else.”
Clarinda sat stunned. Of course! Now it all came clear. No wonder Jeffrey, without warning had turned cold as ice, and then started courting her sister.
Apparently Rissa’s distress was short-lived, for now she looked not in the least contrite. “Actually I was doing you a favor.”
“And what might that be?”
“Jeffrey was so weak it was pathetic. I had been dying to capture him, but once I did, I discovered what a shallow pate he was. So I lost interest. I was amused the other day when you remarked on my ‘brave’ demeanor when Jeffrey died. The truth is, I really didn’t care. You wouldn’t have either, if you’d gotten to know him better.”
“That’s not true!”
“You can cry tears all you want over that old book of poems he gave you, and your withered rose, but the truth remains, Jeffrey was a milksop. The only reason he’s a hero is because he’s dead.”
Clarinda’s shock yielded quickly to fury. But what could she say? Jeffrey was gone, there was no going back. One thing she must make clear though. In a voice cold and exact, she said, “I won’t forget this, Rissa. Don’t you ever, ever pretend you’re me again, do you understand?”
“But I was only — “
“Never, never pretend you’re me!” She wanted to shout, wanted to shake her sister until all that deviousness, and deceit, and selfishness were gone.
“But is Jeffrey the issue?” asked Rissa, assuming her wide-eyed innocent look.
Clarinda fought to calm herself. She would think of Jeffrey later. Right now she should stick to the point. “I can never prove Cranmer thought I was you, but considering the serious consequences to me, I thought just this once you might have the decency to go to Mama and Papa and confess.”
Rissa shook her head. “I just can’t. You know how delicate I am. I couldn’t stand to have Mama and papa mad at me.”
It was hopeless. When Rissa got that obdurate look on her face, there was nothing she could do. But considering the dire consequences, she would give it one more try. Clarinda sat on the edge of Rissa’s bed again and took her hand. “Please help me, Rissa.”
Rissa made a face and jerked her hand away. “I told you no, and I meant no. Don’t drag me into this.”
“You said yourself you’re Mama and Papa’s darling,” Clarinda went on. “You know as well as I, they won’t send you off to North Wales, no matter what you do.”
“But even so, they’d have to punish me, and you know how fragile I am.”
“You’re as fragile as a brick.”
Rissa pondered for a moment. A crafty expression crossed her face. “What if I did tell the truth? It wouldn’t help you the least bit.”
“What do you mean?”
“Do you think Mama and Papa would believe me? Or would they think that I, the sweet, devoted twin, was simply trying to take the blame for her naughty sister?” Rissa regarded her triumphantly. “You see, I really cannot help you. You lose either way.”
With a sinking heart, Clarinda realized her sister was right. “You win again,” she answered, not attempting to keep the bitterness from her voice.
Rissa continued, “And since we’re talking honestly, there’s something else.”
“Yes?” Clarinda asked warily.
“I have decided I shall marry Lord Stormont.”
Clarinda felt a jolt at the sound of Stormont’s name, which was strange, considering her hostile feelings toward the man. “I thought your heart was set on marrying Lord Sufton.”
“Lawrence is as exciting as a bowl of porridge.” Rissa broke into a childlike smile. “But Lord Stormont! Did you see how handsome he looked tonight? The man simply oozes excitement. When he danced with me I thought I should die.”
“So what do you want me to do?” Clarinda asked abruptly. She was in no mood for Rissa’s childlike gushing.
“I want you to stay away from him.”
“Your request is hardly necessary. Do you think I could care for a man who plans to remove all the beautiful horses from Hollyridge?”
“Then you promise?”
Leave it to Rissa to pay no attention to concerns that did not involve herself. “Promise what? That I not throw myself at Lord Stormont’s feet in hopes he will marry me?”
“Exactly.”
What did it matter? Clarinda could easily promise, especially considering her feelings for the man. But considering Rissa’s behavior tonight, it was galling she would have the nerve to ask for anything. “Take him if you can get him,” Clarinda said with a shrug. “I really don’t care.” She managed to shrug and say offhandedly, “Besides, thanks to you I shall soon be in North Wales.”
“I still want you to promise,” insisted Rissa.
“I don’t have to promise you anything,” Clarinda snapped. She could stand no more of this. Not bothering to conceal her disgust, she strode the door.
“Don’t be mad!” Rissa called after her, all sweetness again.
At the door, Clarinda turned. “No, I’m not mad, but a word of advice — it might be marvelous fun to do something ‘deliciously naughty’ now and then, but someday your actions will come back to haunt you.”
“Don’t be silly,” Rissa replied as she snuggled into her covers. “You’re the one with the problems, not me. I lead a charmed life. Nothing bad ever happens to me.”
*
Back in her own bed chamber, Clarinda wondered if she had been completely honest with herself. Aside from the obvious, did she have some ulterior motive for not making that promise to Rissa? She had to admit that despite Stormont’s display of selfishness this evening, she found him most charming and devilishly attractive. Yet would she ever consider marrying him?
No, let Rissa have him.
The troubles of the day came flooding back. Why was she even thinking about Stormont when her world was about to fall apart? She should have known Rissa wouldn’t help. No surprise there. Her heart sank at the realization there was no way out of her predicament. She was doomed, no matter what she did.
*
Rissa had only pretended to be sleepy. After Clarinda left, she lay wide-eyed in the dark, feeling irritable with herself, wishing she could have changed the events of the evening. She was sorry about that misadventure concerning Cranmer. Clarinda had been obliged to take the blame, which was really unfair, she supposed, but then, Clarinda was the strong one. She can handle Mama and Papa’s anger much better than I.
Rissa recalled her sister’s angry warning: “Don’t you ever, ever pretend you’re me again,
do you understand?” Mercy, but she’d been upset. It was just a good thing Clarinda didn’t know about those other times she’d been impersonated, like with Lord Westerlynn…
Again, Rissa thought about the keys. What should she do about them? She had better check and see if they were still there. Rissa slipped out of bed and lit a candle. Holding it high, she went to her chinoiserie work cabinet, decorated with black lacquer and gilt, which was fitted with boxes for storing her sewing things. She raised the lid and lifted one of the boxes. Underneath lay the two ancient keys, still safe. What to do? She wished now she hadn’t kept them. But she had, and now it was much too late to suddenly announce, “Oh, by the way, before Lord Westerlynn died, he gave me these keys…”
Ah, well, why should she care if Sara Sophia did or not have a fortune? She was curious, though. What doors would the keys unlock? It was most intriguing. Perhaps she should simply throw the keys away, but no, on second thought, she would keep them a while longer. One never knew what might happen.
The leaves still glistened with morning dew as Robert guided Sham at a brisk pace along the riding path that followed the course of the river. Always an early riser, he had just spent over an hour in the well appointed study, trying to make sense out of Hollyridge’s accounts. Inexcusable, the way old Westerlynn had allowed the management of Hollyridge Manor to slide into what amounted to sheer chaos. Robert had decided he needed a break, which meant a highly enjoyable ride on Sham.
At the stables, he discovered Sara Sophia saddling two horses. “Good morning,” she called, “I see you’re also out for a ride.”
After he greeted her, he casually asked, “And who is going riding with you?”
“Why, Lord Wentridge.”
“Lucius?” He could not prevent his burst of gleeful laughter. “There must be some mistake. Lucius hasn’t been up at this early hour since the day he was born — unless he’d made a night of it and was just coming home.”
“We shall see,” Sara Sophia said confidently.
Now, riding along the tree-lined trail, Robert reflected upon his inability to sleep last night. All that little chit’s fault. Thoughts of Lady Clarinda Capelle had kept him awake far later than he cared to admit. Try as he might, he could not prevent the regrettable image of her in the arms of that nodcock, Cranmer, from flashing through his mind. He had tossed and turned, cursing himself for a fool, then asking himself over and over how a girl like Clarinda could have been so foolhardy. In the wee, small hours he concluded she could not have been. Surely there must be another explanation.
Don’t think of her, he commanded himself as he rode along. He was happy to be away from the musty account books for a while, and should concentrate on nothing else but guiding Sham and admiring the view. Idly he noted that somehow he had found the path to Graystone Hall. He wondered if he might possibly meet Lady Clarinda again, as he had yesterday. Not likely. There he went again. His thought was ridiculous, considering he didn’t give a groat whether he see her again or not.
But here she came! His heart leaped. Shafts of early morning sunlight slanting through the trees lit her path as she, riding astride, approached at top speed on Donegal. How beautiful she looked — not wearing that dull black riding dress of yesterday, but a gracefully draped gray riding gown, her golden hair streaming in the breeze, not covered by that ridiculous plumed hat. Spying him, Clarinda tightened her reins. The horse slowed and continued on at more dignified pace. As they drew near, he could see that her cheeks did not hold yesterday’s rosy glow. In fact, as she drew ever closer he was struck by her pale, drawn expression.
“Good morning, m’lord,” she said, not slowing Donegal to a complete stop. It was obvious she planned to ride right by.
“Good morning, Lady Clarinda.”
“Ah, he knows it’s me,” she said, rolling her eyes skyward, finally reining her horse to a stop.
“Of course I knew ‘twas you,” he replied. “Or does your sister also ride Donegal at a breakneck speed” — he lowered his gaze to where her legs hugged the horse’s flanks and a good bit of trim ankle was showing — “and astride?”
She gave him a haughty glance, nudged her steed and started off. Damnation! Never had he met such a stubborn chit. Suddenly it was of the utmost urgency he talk to her. “Don’t think you’re going to ride right by me because you are not.” He leaned and grabbed the gelding’s bridle, thus bringing him to a halt again.
Apparently unperturbed, Clarinda simply gazed at him. In a dispirited voice she asked, “What more is there to say, sir? I told you what I thought last night. My opinion hasn’t changed.”
What is amiss? Stormont wondered. Where was the lively girl who had roundly set him in his place last night? “What’s wrong?” he asked. “Don’t tell me it’s nothing, I can see it in your eyes.”
She gave him a twisted smile. “Oh, it’s something all right. They are selling Donegal. This will be my last ride.” She lowered her gaze as she reached out a hand to stroke the horse’s black mane. He waited. She did not look up but remained with her head bent, fingers lovingly entwined in Donegal’s long, silky hair, silent, her face hidden from view. Then her shoulders shook and he knew she was trying to keep from crying.
Robert was at a loss for words. He thought to inquire as to why the gelding was being sold but stopped himself. He didn’t have to ask. It was obvious her parents were taking Clarinda’s horse away as a punishment. How cruel. He thought of the first time he’d seen her — only yesterday, but he’d never forget. It had taken his breath away — the sight of that young, spirited girl, laid out nearly flat on the back of her magnificent Irish hunter, the two of them streaking across the field, graceful as a swan in flight, almost as if they were flying. He remembered, too, before she mounted again, how she had pulled down Donegal’s head and whispered something endearing. In acknowledgment, the horse had pawed the ground, nodding as if he’d understood, his ears fluttering like young birds. It was obvious Clarinda loved that horse nearly as much as life itself. Now, for reasons he was positive were unjust, her unfeeling parents were going to sell her beloved Donegal.
“I am terribly sorry,” Robert said, then waited quietly, knowing the worst thing he could do was gush with sympathy.
Finally she raised her head, revealing tear-stained cheeks. “Thank you,” she said simply. He offered her his handkerchief. Gratefully she took it and blotted the tears away. “It’s nothing anyone can do. I am being punished for my so-called indiscretions.” He could hear the tears in her voice as she laughed bitterly. “I am such a naughty girl.”
“Are you really?” he asked, knowing full well his question was beyond the realm of politeness.
She looked him square in the eye. “That was my feeble attempt at a joke. There was a misunderstanding. I have done nothing wrong. That’s all I can tell you.”
“If you say you are innocent, then you are.” Robert felt a great relief. He had known her only briefly, but he sensed she wouldn’t lie. “Might I ask, what’s to be done with Donegal?”
“My parents are selling him, I don’t know to whom.” She looked so stricken he was afraid she would start to cry again, but she bit her lip and smiled bravely. “I shall never see him again, that’s the worst of it. Oh, dear.” She gulped and again dabbed at her tears with the handkerchief. When she raised her eyes, she was in control. “But I shall be fine, sir.” She lifted her chin and eyed his hand which still grasped her horse’s bridle. “I must be on my way, that is, if you would not mind letting go?”
“As you wish.” He dropped the bridle and watched as she signaled Donegal with a nudge of her knees. The horse started away. He called, “Good day, Lady Clarinda. I’m sorry for your troubles.”
“Don’t be,” she said, looking back with her features deceptively composed. “Thank you for your kindness. I shall be fine, just as I always am. I don’t want your sympathy.” Her horse picked up the pace and disappeared down the trail.
Perdition! thought Robert staring after her.
How utterly unfair. He wished he could help, but what could he do?
Nothing, he firmly told himself as he turned Sham towards home. He must get all this nonsense out of his head and concentrate on those musty, muddled account books. Then he would go back to London — do a bit of gambling and also visit Selena. Strange, since yesterday he’d hardly given her a thought.
*
Shortly after Robert resumed his work in the library, Lucius strode in, dressed in his riding clothes. “Damme if she wasn’t right,” Robert commented. Lucius nearly always slept until noon, but here he was, not only up, but with a spring in his step and an eager spark in his eye.
As usual, Lucius retained his aplomb. “Not only am I up, my good fellow, but I am going riding.”
Robert gave him an odd glance. “I never knew you to be so eager to take the morning air. Could it be a certain dark-eyed young female is involved in your decision?”
Instead of returning his usual caustic reply, Lucius nodded pleasantly. “There’s a first time for everything,” he said softly. “I find Miss Sara Sophia Clarmonte most attractive.” Before Robert could answer, he raised his hand. “No further comment, please! She’s a delightful riding companion, that’s it, nothing more.”
“I’m glad to hear you say it. What a disaster it would be if you — “
“If I fell in love with Sara Sophia?” Lucius laughed loudly — too loudly. “Ridiculous!”
Not ridiculous a’tall, thought Robert, not taken in by Lucius’s so obviously false laughter. But there was nothing to be gained from further comment. He changed the subject by mentioning what was utmost on his mind: how he had met Clarinda on the trail and the sad news that her parents were going to sell Donegal.
“Damn shame,” commented Lucius.
“The girl loves that horse. She will be devastated…” Robert let his words trail off, aware he was revealing more of his thoughts than he wished his friend to know. “Something should be done. What they’re doing is a crime.”
Lucius sized him up with a slanted glance. “My, my, such concern for a chit you hardly know? How unlike you, Robert. What do you care whether the girl loses her horse or not?”
The Rebellious Twin Page 9
