“Don’t feel bad,” Sara Sophia went on, patting Clarinda’s hand. “I’ve started searching for a governess position. The sooner I leave here, the better.” She managed a faint smile. “Now what about you? Were you talking to Lord Stormont just now? I saw him leave in rather a hurry, looking none to happy, I might add. Don’t tell me you were arguing.”
Clarinda’s first impulse was to divulge everything. And yet, Stormont’s kiss was so fresh, so earth-shaking, she needed to keep it secret within herself, at least for a time. To revel in the memory of his kiss? she wondered. To condemn herself? She wasn’t sure, she only knew that for now she could not reveal her feelings, even to her dearest friend. “We did argue,” she said. “I find him to be a most disturbing man, much too rough and uncouth.”
“Well, he’s certainly not Jeffrey,” Sara Sophia said with a curious lilt to her voice. Clarinda was not sure what she meant but didn’t ask.
After her talk with Sara Sophia, she finished with Donegal and hastened back to Graystone Hall. Tonight was Mama’s dinner party. Stormont would be there, not that she cared. Rissa would care, though. Clarinda dreaded the rest of the day, wherein Rissa, intent on making herself The Most Beautiful One of All, would bound to be in such a bird-witted state of agitation that the whole house would be in an uproar.
Rissa … Lord Stormont.
What if he did decide he liked Rissa? Despite her protestations, an unwelcome, most surprising pang of jealousy struck Clarinda’s heart.
*
When Clarinda arrived home, she found Rissa and Estelle in her bed chamber, rummaging through her clothes. “What do you think?” asked Rissa. Unabashed, clutching a gown of white lace over ruby satin, she glided to the mirror and held it up to herself. “Marvelous! Shall we wear this tonight?”
How Rissa could show such excitement over a silly gown was beyond her. “It looks fine to me,” she said with a weary sigh.
“Fine! Estelle, go to my closet and get mine out.”
After the lady’s maid had left the bed chamber, Rissa perched on the bed. “I know where you went this morning. Did you see Lord Stormont?”
“Only briefly.” Clarinda laughed to herself, picturing what Rissa’s reaction would be if she knew the truth.
“Did he mention me?”
“Not that I remember.” At least that much was true.
“Did you see Sara Sophia?”
“Rissa, really! Why all of a sudden are you so inquisitive?”
Rissa gave an elaborate shrug. “No reason, I was just concerned about her, that’s all.”
Clarinda eyed her sister with incredulity. “You’ve never cared one whit what happened to Sara Sophia. Why all the interest now?”
With shameless audacity, Rissa continued on. “Is she really poor? Have you any idea who her parents were? What will she do now?”
“She’s a poor orphan who plans to be a governess. Nobody knows who her parents were. Now are you satisfied?”
Rissa ignored her question. “Do you know, I have lived next to Hollyridge Manor all my life but have rarely seen the inside?”
“Whose fault is that?” Clarinda asked sharply. “You could have come with me to visit Lord Westerlynn many a time.” What was Rissa up to now? she wondered, detecting a suspiciously crafty expression in her sister’s eyes. No one else would notice, but Clarinda did.
Rissa pointedly ignored her last comment. “Hollyridge Manor is awfully old, isn’t it?”
“Built somewhere around 1530, I believe.”
“I have heard talk of secret rooms and passages at Hollyridge, haven’t you?”
Clarinda thought a moment. “I heard someone mention them once, I believe old Lord Westerlynn, but I’m not sure. At any rate, I’ve never seen any.”
“So you wouldn’t know if there are any there, would you?” Rissa asked, the craftiness still lingering in her eyes.
“Of course not.” Clarinda frowned. “Why are you asking? I can’t imagine any reason why you’d want to know if Hollyridge had secret rooms and passages.”
Rissa shrugged. “I had better see to my dinner gown.” She arose and left the room.
What was she up to? A feeling of unease came over her. More than anyone, she was aware there was never anything spontaneous about her sister. She was the most devious of schemers and calculated everything she did. When Rissa said, “No reason — just curious,” it was a glaring signal she was up to no good.
But what? Clarinda wondered. She had no idea.
Chapter 8
Alone in her bed chamber, Rissa opened the chinoiserie work cabinet and once again took out the ancient keys Lord Westerlynn had pressed into her hand the day he died. She could not get them out of her mind.
“What the devil are you for?” she muttered, glaring at the keys as they lay in the palm of her hand.
A fortune awaits. Look for the room in…
The old man’s last gasping words kept nagging at her. What room? And where? It was infuriating, knowing that but a mile away, in that musty old mansion, there existed some kind of a fortune hidden in a room someplace. A secret room? Was it a cache of gold coins perhaps? Was it a trove of precious jewels? If only she could sneak into Hollyridge Manor and look around. But how? Now she was sorry she had never made friends with Sara Sophia as Clarinda had done. But then, how could she have associated with such a low-class girl? This was all Clarinda’s fault. She probably did know of a secret room and was simply not telling. This wouldn’t be the first time Clarinda had plagued her. If people thought it was nothing but fun to be a twin, they were sadly mistaken. It was humiliating, having someone so exactly like herself, only she did everything easier and quicker. Clarinda had walked first, talked first, learned everything easier and quicker. She was even born first, by only two minutes, but just the same…
Rissa tossed the keys back in the cabinet and dropped the lid. Somehow, some way, she must think of an excuse to get into Hollyridge Manor, search for the secret room, and find the fortune, whatever it was. When she did, that mealy-mouth little orphan would not get a penny. Everybody knew the poor were poor because God wanted them that way. If there was a fortune to be found, she, Lady Clarissa Capelle, of impeccable wealth and lineage, deserved all of it, not that little tallow-faced Sara Sophia.
Rissa turned her attention to the gown she was planning to wear tonight. She would look so stunning Lord Stormont would fall at her feet, she was sure of it. Twenty were expected for dinner, including Lady Constance Lynbury, her son and daughter-in-law, and, regretfully, old Lord Skeffington, the most wearisome man on earth, whose passion for dull old medieval mansions caused him to drone on about them, ad infinitum. Indeed the guests would be a tedious lot, but welcome, nonetheless. They would fill the space between Lord Stormont and Clarinda, who, mercifully, would be sitting at the far end of the table, as far from Stormont as possible. And if her dear sister so much as batted an eyelid at him…
“She had better not,” Rissa muttered. She picked up the etched ivory fan she intended to use at the dinner. Facing her mirror, she raised the fan to her face, so that only her eyes showed above. With a tinkling laugh, she practiced, “Why, how amusing you are, Lord Stormont.” She would make sure she carried the fan in her left hand, a signal she was desirous of his acquaintance. But would he understand? Every dandy in London would know, but she wasn’t sure if a man as rugged and independent as Stormont would be much concerned with the language of the fan. It was worth a try, though.
She had never understood why Clarinda never flirted that way. In fact, Clarinda had not the grace to flirt at all, besides not caring all that much about clothes and her hair, and smelling of horse much of the time. That’s why she couldn’t work up much sympathy for Clarinda. That’s why all her life she had known she was much more deserving than her twin.
How much longer?
Seated at Lord and Lady Capelle’s dinner table, Robert had never been so bored. Worse, for at least the last ten minutes he had been forced to listen to L
ady Constance Lynbury’s steady stream of vitriol. Good God! He now knew more useless trivia about the neighbors than he would have wished to know in a lifetime. But what was his alternative? On his other side sat Lady Rissa, waiting to pounce.
“What delicious salmon,” exclaimed Lady Lynbury. “Do you not agree, m’lord?”
“Hmm … what? Oh, indeed it is delicious,” Robert answered, once Lady Lynbury’s question had finally penetrated his churning thoughts. He flicked a glance toward the far end of the table where sat Clarinda, looking absolutely dazzling. How unfortunate he had not been seated closer, but then, he warned himself, he was not going to get involved with her, so what did it matter how close he sat?
I must stop this foolishness, he admonished himself. This morning’s kiss in the stable had caught him completely off guard. All day he had been wondering why he had kissed her in the first place. He had most certainly not intended to. It must have been the lure of her golden hair in the early morning light, and those big blue eyes that regarded him so solemnly, not with that silly flirtatiousness of most girls that always put him off.
“I hear your stay here will be short, Lord Stormont, and that you intend to sell Hollyridge Manor.”
Now seemed a good time to set things straight. “I plan to stay, Lady Lynbury.”
“‘Pon my word!” cried the stout dowager regarding him with avid interest. “The ladies of the countryside will be thrilled, my good sir.” She wagged a finger at him. “Wait till you see the beauty of our local belles! Your bachelor days are numbered. We shall get you married, and soon, naughty boy.”
Damnation! Despite what he had been telling himself, there was only one person he wanted to talk to tonight, and that was Clarinda. Not much chance of that, though. Not once all night had she met his eye. He felt a slight nudge against his knee. Turning with reluctance, he looked into the wide, flirtatious eyes of Lady Rissa.
“I am so glad you intend to stay, Lord Stormont,” she gushed. “We shall get to know each other much better.”
Damnation again. “It would be most pleasant to become better acquainted with all your family.” He hoped she got the hint.
Undaunted, Rissa continued, “And I would just adore to see Hollyridge Manor, which I haven’t seen since I was a little girl. It’s such a beautiful old mansion, I would adore it if you would give me a tour.”
Before Robert could answer, stuffy old Lord Skeffington, who had been one of Westerlynn’s cronies, spoke up from across the table. “Yes, yes, Hollyridge Manor — a fine example of Elizabethan architecture built over structures of earlier date — dismantled abbeys, abandoned castles and the like.”
Robert groaned inwardly, suspecting all at the table were doing the same. Given the chance, Sir William, a devotee of the architecture of old English mansions, would ramble for hours, boring all with his references to trussed rafters, corbels, crenellations, and heavy-molded purlins.
Lady Rissa spoke up. “How utterly fascinating, Sir William. Tell me, was Hollyridge converted from one of the old monasteries that Henry the Eighth destroyed?”
Sir William, flattered by the attention, sat straight and cleared his throat, obviously preparing for a lengthy discourse. “Hollyridge Manor is an outstanding example of the sixteenth century conversion of a castle. The original castle, much in ruins, was bought in 1540 for seven-hundred-fifty pounds by Sir Jonathan Lavery, the third earl of Sharrington.”
“Is there much of the original castle left, Sir William?” Rissa asked with an expression of avid interest.
“A small portion remains. Perhaps the best example is the gatehouse. Above it rises a tower of thick gray stone that supposedly was used for defense in those olden times when the castle was in danger of attack. You won’t see it from the front. That entrance is no longer used. The gatehouse stands in a remote corner of the estate. Just as well, perhaps, considering beast heads snarl and grimace like medieval gargoyles directly below its Renaissance parapet.” He chuckled. “Gargoyles hardly fit with your Elizabethan architecture.”
“How remarkable,” exclaimed Rissa, “do tell us more.”
Robert was incredulous. The whole table was yawning, yet this feather-headed chit was urging Sir William to greater heights of tedium.
Clarinda spoke up from the far end of the table. “Sara Sophia and I used to play around the gatehouse when we were little. We were dying to see the inside, but could never get in.”
“Of course not,” said Sir William, regretfully shaking his head. “The entrance has a heavy oak door that’s locked tight. Tried to get in myself once, but no luck. Need the key.”
Rissa still appeared fascinated. “Tell me, Sir William, if Hollyridge was built around an old castle, might it not have any secret rooms or secret passageways?”
Sir William cleared his throat. “I don’t believe so. Unless … If any place, you’d find a secret room in the gatehouse — above it, in the tower. That would have been the place for medieval skullduggery.” He rewarded his remark with a kind of ancient cackle, then went on, “But getting back to…”
From her place at the far end of the table, Clarinda listened to the conversation with growing astonishment. She knew her sister as well as she knew herself, or up to now had thought she did, but Rissa’s sudden interest in architecture was baffling. What was Rissa up to? She never did anything without a reason, always a selfish one. Clarinda had no idea what it could be. Secret rooms and passageways, how silly! But one good thing: focusing her attention on Rissa gave her a chance to sneak an occasional look at Lord Stormont, who sat next to her. Had he forgotten what occurred this morning? All evening he had not so much as glanced in her direction. She, however, had been able to ignore him only with the greatest difficulty, especially after that kiss. There they went again — those little quivers in her stomach every time she thought of the wonderfully powerful way he had swept her into his arms this morning and kissed her soundly, not giving her a chance to demur and say no. Certainly not like Jeffrey, who had asked permission first. When she’d said yes, he had brushed her lips lightly, almost timidly, as if she were a delicate flower that might crumble and blow away. Compared to Stormont’s, Jeffrey’s kiss was tame as tepid milk. But what was she thinking? she wondered, struck with guilt. How could she have been so disloyal? Jeffrey had died a hero’s death at Trafalgar. She had vowed to mourn him all her life, yet here she was, so disturbed by Stormont’s kiss she could not stop thinking about it. That rogue had stirred her passion as it had never been stirred before. But in memory of Jeffrey, it must not ever happen again. Besides, what if they had been caught? She felt unnerved just thinking of the consequences if word of their passionate embrace in the stable had reached her parents. And yet…
Her gaze kept straying toward Lord Stormont, catching mostly a view of his clear-cut profile as he listened attentively to the loquacious Lady Lynbury. She felt a ripple of excitement just looking at him. All day she had been thinking about him. She liked how that lock of dark hair fell over his forehead. She liked —
He glanced her way. Their eyes locked. Oh! She wanted to look away but the intensity of his warm, expressive gaze held her captive. They were seated at opposite ends of a long, crowded table, yet it was if they were alone together, the message his dark, insolent eyes were sending unmistakable: I want you in my arms again. I want to kiss you again.
“You seem rather quiet this evening, Lady Clarinda.”
What was that? Oh, yes. Lucius, Lord Wentridge, seated next to her, had just spoken. She switched her gaze and gathered her wits. “If I am quiet, I’m not the only one, m’lord. You seem rather quiet yourself this evening.”
Gossip had it that Lord Wentridge was not much more than a Bond Street fribble, but to her surprise he bluntly replied with heartfelt emotion, “I have been thinking of Sara Sophia. What a crime she cannot be here.”
“I do agree.” She frowned in puzzlement. “Forgive me, but I can’t help but wonder why a man of your standing would give a fig about a girl li
ke Sara Sophia.”
“I wonder myself,” Lucius replied with an odd look of bitterness on his thin-nosed, aristocratic face. “Were we to become involved, such a situation would be hopeless.”
What a strange thing for him to say. She had no reply. Later, when she managed another glance toward the other end of the table, she caught Lord Stormont in an animated conversation with Rissa, who appeared all atwitter, waving her hands with great animation. If she keeps that up, she will fall off her chair, Clarinda thought, bemused.
It wasn’t all that funny, though. Rissa had announced she was going to marry Stormont. What if she did?
She would not like that.
I would not like that.
No, she would not like that at all. But she must stop thinking this way. She must keep reminding herself that her heart had been broken when Jeffrey died and she would never love another man the same. Besides, even if she did fall in love with Lord Stormont, what chance would she have? Rissa wanted him, and Rissa always got what she wanted — Mama and Papa would see to that.
Of course, she had never promised Rissa she’d stay away from him…
No matter. The price for showing her feelings for Lord Stormont was too high. Mama and papa would not hear of it if they knew that Rissa wanted him too. She laughed to herself, thinking how quickly she would be packed off to Grandfather Montagu’s.
Jennings, the butler at Hollyridge, let Lucius in when he arrived home from the dinner party, early and alone.
“Is anyone awake?” asked Lucius.
“She is in the north drawing-room, sir.”
Thanks you, Jennings.” Lucius headed for the drawing-room, musing upon the remarkable perceptiveness of servants, who sometimes knew a thing before he knew it himself.
Sara Sophia was sitting on a couch by the cavernous stone fireplace, her small face rosy in the glow of the fire. She was working on her embroidery. Hearing him, she raised her soft, luminous eyes and smiled sweetly. “Good evening, Lord Wentridge, home early are you not?”
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