Chapter 7
That evening, at dinner with Lucius and Sara Sophia, Robert recounted his visit to Lord Capelle.
“So you have yourself a new horse,” Lucius casually commented, before taking a bite of his Open Tart Syllabub.
Sara Sophia had been listening with intense interest. “Poor Clarinda,” she exclaimed, turning a stricken gaze to Lucius. “I fear you don’t understand what a tragedy this is. Clarinda must be broken hearted. If only there were something I could do, but there’s not. I feel so helpless.” She stood and pushed back her chair. “If you will excuse me, gentlemen, I shall retire early.” With a bare nod she left the room.
“It appears we’re not too popular with the ladies today,” said Lucius.
Thoughtfully, Robert took a sip of his Burgundy. “Not popular hardly describes Lady Clarinda’s animosity. It was bad enough when I announced I was removing Hollyridge’s horses. Now I’ve changed my mind, but to no avail. I’ve made a bad situation a thousand times worse by buying the young lady’s prized gelding.”
“But you were only trying to help,” Lucius declared indignantly. “If it weren’t for your kindness and generosity, she might never have seen her horse again. Only heaven knows what its fate might have been.” Lucius frowned and nodded emphatically. “Lady Clarinda should realize that and be properly grateful.”
“Ha!” Robert’s dark brows drew together. “The girl detests me. My own fault, of course. I should have foreseen she’d be distraught at losing her beloved horse in such a humiliating fashion. Of course, her parents are the ones to blame, but I suppose it’s only human nature that I’m the one she despises, despite my good intentions.”
“I doubt she despises you,” Lucius commented, none too convincingly.
Robert ignored his comment. “The worst of it is, my efforts were all for naught. I had thought she could come and ride Donegal, but she won’t.”
“She’ll come ‘round.”
“I doubt it. She said, and I quote, “If you bought Donegal, fine, but if you think I’ll come and ride him, or come see him, you are much mistaken, because I never shall.’” Robert took another generous sip of his Burgundy. “Does that sound like a woman likely to change her mind?”
“She will,” Lucius declared staunchly. “I’d wager twenty pounds on it.”
“She won’t.” Robert finish off his wine and signaled the footman for more. “Twenty pounds? Done. You’re going to lose, Lucius. Now let’s talk of something else.” He shrugged elaborately. “Actually, I’m not in the least concerned. Why should I give a groat what some silly little chit thinks of me?”
*
Oh, Jeffrey. Clarinda sat atop her coverlet, in her lap the book of poems Jeffrey had given her.
…Had we never lov’d sae kindly,
Had we never lov’d sae blindly!
Never met — or never parted,
We had ne’er been broken-hearted….
*
If only he had lived, was her anguished thought as she clutched the book tight to her bosom. He would never have been hers, yet even had he married Rissa, she would have felt comforted by his presence, especially now, during the most humiliating time of her life. Unexpectedly, thoughts of Lord Stormont crept into her head. How different Lord Stormont was from dear Jeffrey, who had been kind, sensitive and gentle, whereas Stormont…
There was no comparison. The man was rough, crude, and overbearing. Why she would waste one extra thought on him, she didn’t know. It was strange, though, how, when she did think of him, her pulse raced. There must be something wrong with me.
She closed her eyes and tried to picture the one time Jeffrey had kissed her. Just one precious kiss in the rose garden, his lips barely grazing hers, so sweet, so gentle. Somehow her vision of it was blurred today.
The door opened and Rissa burst in. Clarinda quickly tucked the book beneath a pillow.
As was her custom, Rissa plunked herself down on the foot of the bed. “Why so gloomy?” she asked. “It was just a horse. At least they’re not sending you to Wales.”
Clarinda thought to protest, but what was the use? Rissa would never understand how wretched she felt. “You are so right, dear sister.” She swung her feet to the floor and pulled on her shoes. I should be grateful for the little things, shouldn’t I?”
“Yes, you should.” Rissa smiled triumphantly. “Guess what? The boring Lords Sufton have left for London.”
“Have they really?” Here, indeed, was good news.
“Yes!” Rissa giggled with delight. “Just imagine, all that money we could have had! Well, they’re gone, and good riddance. You didn’t want Larimore, whereas I shall happily relinquish Lawrence now that I have another prospect in mind.”
Thoughtfully Clarinda regarded her twin. “You think you have a chance with Lord Stormont?”
“Of course.” Rissa slid off the bed, half danced to the mirror, and turned this way and that, running her hands lovingly over the indentation of her tiny waistline and the smooth curve of her hips. “He and Lord Wentridge are coming to our dinner party next Friday night. What shall we wear?”
Clarinda wondered if she would even be allowed to go to dinner in her own house, but she supposed she would. “I really don’t care what we wear. You choose.”
A wary look crossed Rissa’s face. “You do remember what I said, don’t you?”
Clarinda looked away in disgust. “Stormont is all yours, Rissa. Only a few minutes ago I made it quite clear to Lord Stormont that I didn’t find his company agreeable.”
“Good.” Rissa looked relieved, then frowned. “But what about your horse? Won’t you want to visit Hollyridge Manor to see him?”
“I informed Lord Stormont I would never visit Donegal.”
But did I mean it? Clarinda asked herself after Rissa had left. Thinking of Donegal, her misery was so acute it was like a physical pain. It was awful, knowing her beloved Irish Hunter was only a mile from Graystone Hall and that, in a moment of pique, she had declared she would never see him again.
How can I stay away?
*
The following Friday morning, Robert went to the stables early. His purpose was to take an early morning ride, or so he told himself, but he also felt the urge to check on Clarinda’s gelding, as he’d done every morning since the horse had arrived. That stubborn girl, he thought as he entered the stable. Apparently she’d meant what she said. Nearly two weeks now, and no sign of her. Even if she doesn’t like him, she could at least…
He heard a noise and stopped abruptly. Looking down the row of stalls, he saw that the slatted door to Donegal’s stall was slightly ajar. He stood listening and heard a woman’s voice. Faint, but he knew. Clarinda had come to see her horse! Thank God. His pulse leaped. You fool, you mustn’t let her know how happy you are to see her.
In a stern voice he called, “Who’s there?”
Clarinda had awakened early. As usual, thoughts of Donegal weighed heavily on her mind. She had stayed away long enough. No question, she had to see him. Casting aside her vow to Stormont, she threw on her old gray riding gown and in the dawn’s first light walked the mile to the stable at Hollyridge. She was feeding Donegal a carrot, delighting in humming sweet nothings in the gelding’s ear, when, all of a sudden, Stormont’s voice boomed out loudly.
What was that? she wondered, nearly jumping from her skin. Quickly she shoved the remainder of the carrot into Donegal’s eager mouth. Telling herself she must stay calm, she stepped into the aisle where at least fifteen horses, their heads poking over their stalls, regarded her solemnly.
“Ah, Lord Stormont, what a surprise,” she said, pleased that her voice sounded perfectly normal.
“Good morning, Lady Clarinda,” Stormont replied, equally composed. Dressed in plain riding clothes, he was standing, hand on hip, in the aisle, where shafts of sunlight from windows high above struck the hay-strewn, wooden plank floor. His other hand rested lightly atop a stall gate; his booted foot was at a point, crossed c
asually over the other. “I see you’ve changed your mind,” he said with a trace of a smile. “You have cost me twenty pounds.”
“Do tell,” she said, indicating with a toss of her head that nothing could concern her less. She picked up a bucket of oats and held it beneath Donegal’s nose. “I trust your invitation still holds.”
“That you could come here any time?” Stormont got a gleam of mischief in his eye. “Of course you can, although if memory serves correctly, you most emphatically said you would — how did you put it? — rather die?”
“You should have known I didn’t mean it.” She had tried to keep a straight face, but burst into laughter. “All right, you win. That was silly of me. How could I stay way from Donegal knowing he was only a mile away?” She grew serious and regarded him curiously. “Why did you buy Donegal?”
He shrugged. “Just think of me as a friend who wishes you well.”
She might have believed him but for the questioning, sensuous light that smoldered deep in his dark brown eyes. He moved closer, so close that amidst the earthy horse-and-hay aromas of the stable she could detect a faint smell of honey water coming from his person. Just a friend? Send her to Bedlam if she believed for a moment this man closing in on her, radiating his fascinating charm, was after friendship alone. Her heart beat faster. Catching her breath, she tried to recall if Jeffrey had ever made her feel this way and had to answer, no, he had not, nor had any other man. She must strive for nonchalance, though. She must bear in mind she didn’t like this man at all. He must not know how he was affecting her. She tried to feign a deep preoccupation with Donegal’s chewing of his oats. The trouble was, she didn’t dare look up for fear Stormont would detect the quickness of her breathing and her racing pulse.
“How lucky you are, Donegal,” he said, reaching over her head to stroke the horse’s nose, “you can throw your mistress off your back and she doesn’t think you’re detestable, but as for me, ah well, it seems I cannot win.”
Clarinda also addressed the animal. “Donegal, kindly inform his lordship that I cannot endure any man who plans to remove all of Hollyridge’s horses for no other reason than his very own greed.”
“Donegal, inform your mistress that I have reconsidered such a move.”
Taken by surprise, she swung around to face him, dropping the oat bucket to the ground. “Are you serious?”
“Quite.”
“But you seemed so set on selling Hollyridge. Might I ask what changed your mind?”
He smiled down at her. “Who knows? It appears I am developing a fondness for Hollyridge Manor. There’s no reason why I can’t leave the horses here, and spend part of my time here, if it suits me. I might even sell Oakley House and move all my horses here.”
She asked, “What about Bottom and Nicker?”
“They can stay.”
She broke into a relieved smile. “That’s wonderful!” Amusement flickered in her eyes. “Perhaps you’re not the knave I thought you were.”
“Perhaps.” He moved closer still. Her pulse raced faster. She should start brushing Donegal, but Stormont was staring down at her with such intensity she couldn’t look away. How overwhelmingly masculine he was! Not like quiet, sweet Jeffrey, but rather like a man who knew he could take what he wanted whenever he wanted it. Frantically she searched for something — anything — to say to break the spell. “Sara Sophia will be pleased to hear your news.” She turned, picked up Donegal’s brush and started brushing. “Sara Sophia loves these horses. Sara Sophia — “
Ah … his hand was touching her. She felt first the light tracing of his fingers along her upper arm. Then his grip slowly tightened. Back away, she told herself. It wasn’t too late. But she could not. It was as if her whole being was held captive. She felt his clasp tighten, heard the quickness of his breath. She hadn’t looked at him, but now she knew she must although her heart pounded even harder at the thought of what she knew she would see. Pulling her gaze from the gelding, she turned slowly and looked into Stormont’s eyes. Ah, as she had guessed. The amusement was gone. In its place was a burning look of desire — need — lust — passion. “I had best put the oats away,” she murmured, but stood rooted to the spot.
“Later,” he said. “Ah, Clarinda…” She could feel his uneven breathing on her cheek as his arms went about her. “Beautiful Clarinda.”
Like a moth to the flame, she dropped the brush and bent toward him, only faintly aware of the distant coo of a dove, the indifferent whinny of a horse from down the aisle, the shaft of sunlight that struck a bright spot on Donegal’s shiny coat. She thought of Jeffrey and tried to pull back. “Sir, I am in mourning for another, and I really don’t think — “
“Then don’t think,” he answered roughly. His lips came down on hers. At first his kiss was slow, thoughtful, gentle, like Jeffrey’s. But then he smothered her lips with demanding mastery. She found herself responding, slipping her arms around his neck, returning his kiss with reckless abandon. Blood pounded in her brain as his lips pressed harder, as he rocked her in his arms in a grip so tight she felt every hard inch of him. Then, just when she began to wonder if she had lost total control, he pulled his lips from hers. Thrusting her slightly away from him, he kissed her in the hollow of her neck, on her nose, her forehead, the top of her head. He stepped away and looked down at her. Hoarsely he murmured, “Say you didn’t like that, Clarinda.”
It took a moment for her to regain her senses. What was she doing? she thought with horror. “This is folly!” she cried. “I cannot do this, not after last night. What if my parents saw me? I would be sent into exile for the rest of my life.” Firmly, she backed away. “I am not supposed to … this mustn’t happen again.”
“Of course not.” He was in control again, the passion faded from his eyes. With an amused quirk of his eyebrow, he said, “You’re a beautiful woman, Clarinda. Do forgive me if I was carried away.”
“I don’t know that I should,” she answered with an indignation she didn’t feel. Her knees were still weak, her senses still reeling, but he must not know how his kiss had affected her. “I can only hope you will allow me to come here to care for Donegal without … what just happened.”
He gave her a devilish grin. “I suppose you have my word.”
She was in no mood for silly games. “Really?” she snapped, “well, according to my parents, I’m damaged goods, so if you have plans to indulge yourself again, you had best take up with my sister.”
“That is absurd,” he replied, instantly sober.
Clarinda picked up the brush where she had mindlessly dropped it and began brushing Donegal. Over her shoulder, she flung, “Rissa likes you, so why not? We are exactly the same, you know.” She gave Donegal an extra-vigorous stroke and tartly added, “Just two peas in a pod.”
Stormont seemed to stiffen. “I think it best I leave you now.” He smiled, if faintly and wryly, and said with a slight, mocking bow, “Stay as long as you like. I shall see you at dinner tonight. Rest assured, I shall know which twin you are.” He turned and was gone.
When Clarinda stepped into the cobblestone courtyard, Stormont was nowhere to be seen, but Sara Sophia had arrived, warm eyes full of delight at seeing her friend again. After a hug, she said, “I think it’s terrible, your losing Donegal, but how wonderful he’ll be close by.”
“At least I shall get to see him,” Clarinda told her. “Apparently Lord Stormont plans to stay. Isn’t that wonderful news? That means you won’t have to leave and be a governess. You can stay right here and keep on taking care of the horses.”
To her surprise, Sara Sophia did not appear overjoyed. “I shan’t stay much longer in any event,” she said. Clarinda started to protest, but Sara Sophia sadly shook her head. “Don’t you see? ‘Tis time I made my own life, away from here. Of course Lord Stormont would allow me to stay, but only out of charity. I must go where I am truly needed. If I don’t, I shall feel useless in this world.”
“Please reconsider. I would miss you so.�
� Clarinda’s heart ached at the very thought she might lose her dearest friend.
“I cannot stay. There are other things to consider, like…” Sara Sophia hesitated, and to Clarinda’s surprise a blush bloomed on her cheeks. “I feel it best to get away from … certain problems in my life.”
Clarinda was baffled, then suddenly it all came clear. “It’s Lord Wentridge, isn’t it?” She felt a sudden anger. “Has he made advances? Because if he has, I shall inform Lord Stormont immediately.”
Sara Sophia looked horrified. “Oh, no, nothing like that. Lord Wentridge has been the perfect gentleman. It’s just that…”
Clarinda waited patiently while Sara Sophia hesitated, obviously debating with herself whether or not to tell all. “We’ve gone riding together every morning since he arrived,” Sara Sophia began, a dreamy look of pleasure in her eyes. “We talk and talk and talk.”
“What of?”
“Everything and nothing. Poetry … art … music. Horses … the cost of hay. We could talk all day, all night. He is a truly brilliant man, and so very knowledgeable.”
“I would have thought him just another dandy.”
Sara Sophia vigorously shook her head. “I know he appears vain and arrogant, but that’s all for show. Underneath, he’s kind, considerate, and very much the gentleman.” A look of deep sorrow crossed her face. “I am falling in love with him. Such folly, for I am such a nobody. Even if he loved me, he could never in this world take me for his bride.”
“Does he love you?” Clarinda asked softly.
“Who knows? Sometimes he looks at me in such a way that I think, yes, I can see love there, deep in his eyes. But then I think, you foolish girl! Lucius is a first son. He must marry well.” Sara Sophia gave a bitter little laugh. “What a catch I would make! No dowry and a bastard to boot. To say the least, he would be marrying poorly if he married me. His parents would disown him.”
“Sara Sophia, don’t you dare say that about yourself,” exclaimed Clarinda, wishing with all her heart that what her friend said wasn’t true. Yet she couldn’t argue. The facts spoke for themselves.
The Rebellious Twin Page 11
